You're Craving Depths That Don't Exist.

But this time when he kissed her, his astonishingly resourceful tongue managed to break through the heroic barricade that her teeth had heretofore formed.

There was a clean clink of enamel on enamel, an eruption of hot saliva as his tongue made a whirlwind tour of her oral hollow. A sudden jolt shot through the peachfish, fuzz and fin, and inside her No Nukers T-shirt her nipples became as hard as nuggets of plutonium.

“Jesus,” thought Leigh-Cheri, “how can men be such lummoxes, such wads of Juicy Fruit on the soles of our ballet slippers and still feel so good? Especially this one. This mad bomber.”