He pressed his lips against hers. Lips so different from his own; as soft as rose petals, fuller, holding him in thrall at the very first brush. He pulled back, marveling, and then he went in again... marveled anew at the decadence of her... then again, and this time, moaning, she opened for him. Her tongue rolled against his, bringing with it the taste of summer: berries dipped in cream, newly blooming roses and sultry midnights. As focused on her as he was, he was able to follow her lead. When her tongues thrust, he knew to meet it. When her tongue retreated, he new to chase it. He relished every new experience, growling his desire for more. Her fingers slipped through his hair, decadent sensations dancing over his scalp, tickling skin that had never before been touched by another's hands. "I don't know about you but I like this," she breathed, sounding surprised.