But Zoe didn't pull back. Not yet. She held him gently in her mouth, letting him soften there, her lips still locked around the head as she savoured the taste of what lingered. Only when the twitching stopped did she begin to retreat -- slow, deliberate -- letting him slip free with a wet, obscene pop that echoed in the stillness of the kitchen like punctuation.

She sat back on her heels, exhaling through parted lips, the air thick with heat and salt and silence. Her chin gleamed. Her lips glistened. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then brought her tongue to her lip, tasting what...