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“You talk to him about the fact that we haven't had sex?" Six says, completely embarrassed. My father shakes his head. "No, he doesn't have to. I know because every night he comes home he goes straight to his bedroom and takes a thirty-minute shower. I was eighteen once." Six covers her face with her hands. "Oh, my God." She peeks through her hands at my dad. "I guess I know who Daniel gets his personality from." My father nods. "Tell me about it. His mother is terribly inappropriate.”

“You talked about some stones you found a while ago,” he says. “Three years.” Mee-Hae quickly turns around to face him, holding her unwashed panties. From this close, they smell prominently feminine to the Monk’s highly evolved nose. Mee-Hae Ra throws them with her faultless aim to a basket twenty feet away; she’ll have to wash them in the river later. “Your a while ago is actually three years,” she says. “You didn’t pay attention then. I wonder what happened? You even brought the rarest tea on the planet!” She throws a piercing gaze at him. Her pouty lips make her look angry. Abandoning her cleaning, she approaches the balcony, holding the tea package. “It looks hand-procured,” she mutters. “By any chance, did you pluck it yourself?” She looks at the Monk and already gets the answer that a modest monk won’t provide.”

“You taste injustice, even if it’s fictional, really taste it,it has a way of doing that. Sometimes, you can never put the shoe on the other foot. We can’t go back in time and know what it was like to be a black person then. Even today, when things are supposed to be so much better, not one of you can understand what it’s like to be black, to live with the knowledge of what happened to your ancestry and still face injustice. But that book makes us taste it and, reading it, we know how bitter that taste is and we know we don’t like it. But that bitter wakes you up, and when you wake up, you open your mind to things in this world, you make yourself think. Then you’ll decide you don’t like the taste of injustice, not for you and not for anyone, and you’ll understand that even though all the battles can’t be won, that doesn’t mean you won’t fight.”

“You taste like chocolate buttercream," he murmured against her lips. "I had to taste it to make sure you did an adequate job." "Mmm. I think I did a more than adequate job." "Cocky." He smiled against her lips before kissing her again. He swirled his tongue into her mouth and she gasped, pressing herself more firmly against him, wrapping one leg around his. His hands moved to her hips to keep her steady, and hers moved up to his neck. He pressed her against the edge of the counter, and she almost bit him when she felt his erection at the apex of her legs. It made her greedier, and it made everything a little sloppy---but in a good way. Because it was Ryan, and she'd wanted him for a while now.”

“You taste of the cool water that hides deep in a stream. You taste of the night air, soft and scented and mysterious. The taste of you drives me wild. I want to be with you, be inside you, shout to the world that you are mine at the same time I want to keep you hidden where you will exist only for me. You make me feel invincible, little bird.”

“You taste salty-" Matilda licked her lips "-like pretzels." It was an intimate gesture. I brushed her lips with mine, and it brought me back to that magical night at the estate bowling alley when I treaded carefully with my lips. "You taste sweet," I said. "Like sugar." "Like guava." Matilda grinned playfully. "I missed you." It came out before I could think about it. "I missed you squared, times seven, plus four," Matilda replied. It reminded me of something Matilda would have said at the estate- childish in a way. She was a completely different woman than the girl I had met on the tennis court, yet in some ways still the same. I needed to love the woman she was becoming, not just the girl she had been.”

“You taste so sweet." The whispered words sent a shiver down her spine. Somehow, whenever she had imagined this intimacy with a man, she had thought of darkness and urgency and groping. She had not expected firelight and heat and this patient courting of her body. Jack's lips wandered in a velvet path from her throat to the sensitive opening of her ear, played lightly, and then Amanda jerked in surprise as she felt the tip of his tongue stroke along a tiny inner crevice. "Jack," she whispered. "You don't have to play the lover for me. Truly... you are kind to pretend that I'm desirable, and you-" She felt him smile against her ear. "You are an innocent, mhuirnin, if you think that a man's body reacts this way out of kindness.”