Wild Desire
‘What,’ she asked through gritted teeth, ‘is a nénuphar?
Now Nero’s head was between her legs. ‘A nénuphar,’ he whispered, ‘is a water lily.’ His hands were somehow all over her, pressing more urgently on her skin, stroking her and filling her with strange sensations. And he was speaking in short, staccato bursts, his tongue now forming a word, now darting forward to taunt her clitoris and tease her vulva. ‘It is also .. . the slang word ... fora vagina. A pretty word ... is it not?’
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