Chasing coolness at Fandom was a ridiculous proposition anyway--and still far better than at whatever school she'd gone to first.

He was glad that Xanthippe had shed some of her brittle self-chastisement now. She was focusing on the important things: her, him, the pleasure spilling between them. Now was not the time to be worried about what he was thinking--it was not time to be thinking at all.

Hyacinthe gripped her leg more tightly and eased it up, closer to her chest, giving him more room to push into her. His tempo was increasing, rocking into her harder, faster, deeper. D'Angeline spilled from his lips and a harsher, more guttural language. 'Twas hard to keep speaking his third tongue in moments like these.

Especially when the tongue he was born with wanted to be wrapped around one of those sweet, pink nipples of hers.