“She has the filthiest tongue of any woman in France. Burn her mouth clean.”

“Rob, do me a favour, tell your angry boss that I will see her and that when I do, I will be cleaning that mouth out and if she's lucky it'll be with my tongue.”

“Her tongue was in his mouth, and oh, Jesus, God, she tasted good. Like coffee and brandy and woman. Any thought of resistance fled.She kissed him endlessly, again and again and again, like she was starving. Like she might never get enough. Like she could eat him alive. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever known.”

“Kiss me, woman. I command you,” the voice echoed, this time compelling her to obey. Helena’s survival instincts gave her a hard kick, jarring her back into the horrific reality of the situation. But as she tried to regain control of her body, her tongue slipped from her mouth and wet her lips. Traitorous tongue. Backstabbing lips. What the hell are you doing?”

“or to lick along the smooth velvet lining of a woman's mouth with his tongue.”

“That was magic, sweetest.” The witch flexed her fingers, wriggled them in front of her. “Did she think it a wave of the hands? A slip of the tongue?” A kiss upon her skin. She could see the woman reaching out and taking her in hand, kissing each finger as though they were her possessions. Then it was gone. Charlotte blinked. The woman had not stirred. “Not all things are so simple. I was he and he was me and I took your poison into myself, and made it his. All things join beneath the earth. I burned, then so did he. More will burn. Come hair or wool, more will burn.”