"For one, your wife's sweet little tongue that I tasted some four hours ago."

Maybe that was what the titanic tongue tasted on the air.

The yellow eyes looked at me unblinking, the tongue tasted the air again.

Her tongue tasted like something which had been used to line a cat-box.

His tongue tasted the hollow and he sipped her skin in the curve.

Her tongue tasted the special, wonderful taste of him.

Its tongue unrolled and it tasted the gritty air for anything that was like itself.

Her mouth was dry, and her tongue tasted like copper.

His wet tongue tasted of blood as it probed her.

Her mouth hangs open a little; her tongue tastes the air.