“Like this,” he says to her in the shadowed corridor, voice low; shows her how to tilt her head just so, when to part her lips, introduces tongue and teeth into her lessons, lets her cling to his neck, his hair, her hands hot against his face, her mouth tasting of fire under his.

Years later on the beach, someone’s taught her lessons he never quite managed to get to (not that he minds; virgins have never been a particular favorite of his), and yet -

Her kisses are the same still, her mouth still speaking wholly of his work.