She tasted like peaches.
He liked peaches.
He liked her.
Every night, he showed that to her, his face buried in the crevice of her legs, tongue buried deep in her folds.
"You taste like peaches," he would whisper against her sun-kissed skin, breath running over her.
"Eat me," she would moan in return, and he would return to his meal.
Sometimes, she would return the favor.
He tasted like… Well, she didn't know what he tasted like.
She liked how he tasted though.
Humming as she bobbed her head up and down his hardened flesh, his hand clasped in her dark brown tresses.
"How do I taste?"
She would pull away; look him in the eyes with deceptive innocence before licking his tip again.
"Like oranges…" she finally figured out.
She liked oranges.