Before her sight was utter darkness, though she was relieved from the fate of acquiring a first-class view of Dimitri's ghastly specimen exhibition, she still tumbled into another marsh as his tongue slathered her skin with hot butter, searing and casting her skin into a fiery kiln.
With their bodies pressed together, Dimitri could hear the throbbing of her heart along with the pulse of her neck, beating like a gong, melodies drifting in the warm tide created by the strumming of his fingers and tongue.
His movements sped up. The hands kneading her head touched an acupoint, and his warm tongue, like the pianist's gifted hands pressing on the keys, caused her body to shudder in a series of sonatas.