" And he bent and kissed her clitoris.
She froze because she'd had no idea what he was going to do and if she had-
He opened his mouth, licking her.
'Oh, God!'
One hand flew to her mouth. She bit down on her knuckles, trying to keep any sound from escaping. The other hand clutched at his hair, that tawny mane, as he ravished her with his mouth, licking, kissing, 'sucking.'
She gasped, unable to fill her lungs. What he was doing to her was diabolical, something supernatural, an act so extraordinary she wanted to squirm away.
Wanted to hold him there forever.
How was it possible that he could give her such pleasure?
He tongued her and she arched into his face, wanting, wanting, rubbing herself against him, noises from her throat escaping around her knuckles. She was hot, trembling, shaking, waiting for a transformation.
He opened his mouth wide over her, thrusting his tongue again and again against her clitoris.
She fell apart, exploding from her center, moaning mindlessly, her hands filled with his thick hair as he licked her relentlessly.
She was scattered, her mind blanking, for some long, unmeasurable time. She simply existed, a creature of wonderment.
And with all her parts finally resettled, when she unclenched her fingers from his hair, and gasped for breath, her body dewed with moisture, she knew:
She was born anew. "
― Elizabeth Hoyt , Sweetest Scoundrel (Maiden Lane, #9)