It tasted like perfume.
I asked as I tasted my bourbon on the rebound.
A cheeseburger had never tasted so good.
She touched, smelled and tasted everything she could, determined to remember every pleasurable part of every day she had left.
It actually tasted like tea.
Now that he'd tasted the fires that burned in her voluptuous body, no other woman could ever so satisfy him.
He kept his hands behind his back and tasted her, enjoyed her, tested her without pushing either of them over the edge.
Nothing tasted good or settled on her stomach.
I never tasted it.
Though his blood didn't ensnare her as Damian's did, it tasted familiar.
They parted instinctively, and she tasted him.
He opened to her, and she was thrilled to find he tasted as good as he smelled.
"Sweet, little, defenseless, bet you're wet and taste just as sweet," the man who'd tasted her said.
It tasted even sweeter than that from the carafe.
His hearers expected a story of how beside himself and all aflame with excitement, he had flown like a storm at the square, cut his way in, slashed right and left, how his saber had tasted flesh and he had fallen exhausted, and so on.
He tasted the toast and nodded approvingly.
Betsy loved reveled in it and it fulfilled my needs; the wine did the trick and, I was hungry and the food tasted good.
He tasted blood and spit it out, rolling onto his back with a belly laugh.
Morning air had never tasted so wonderful!
His lips were warm and tasted of sweetened coffee.
I can't remember the last time I tasted one, he whispered.
She took the roll and bit into it, surprised to find it tasted perfect.
The broccoli tasted normal, and she ate all of them.
They weren't water cubes; they tasted of nothing she could identify.
It certainly tasted like beef, though the tangy spices were unfamiliar.
She hadn't tasted it yet.
He tasted only ambrosia, sweet beyond imagination.
I don't think he's ever tasted one!
Carmen tasted the name on her tongue.
His lips were warm and tasted of fresh coffee.
He managed to catch a few stray rats for food, but they tasted different.
Every Italian artist and man of letters in an age of singular intellectual brilliancy tasted or hoped to taste of his bounty.
The idea that persons who have made their way to the abode of the dead can return to the upper world if they have not tasted the food of the dead appears elsewhere, as in New Zealand (R.
Under such conditions the deeply-rooted nature of the blood-sucking instinct is most remarkable; for insects whose ancestors for many generations may not have tasted blood will seek for it with the utmost keenness and pertinacity so soon as an opportunity presents itself.
In the retreat from Ctesiphon (117) the old emperor tasted for almost the first time the bitterness of defeat in the field.
Occasionally after having tasted human flesh, the jaguar becomes a confirmed man-eater.
Moreover, Professor Lloyd Morgan found that young birds that had tasted and rejected workers of the hive bee as unpalatable subsequently refused to taste not only drones, which have no sting, but also drone-flies.
The origin of things is a problem which has everywhere ' Indra was a hawk when, " being well-winged, he carried to men the food tasted by the gods " (R.
In almost all the gates of hell are guarded by fierce beasts, and in Ojibway, Finnish, Greek, Papuan and Japanese myths no mortal visitor may escape from Hades who has once tasted the food of the dead.
By a natural consequence of the spirit of conquest he had aroused, all these parvenus, having tasted victory, dreamed of sovereign power:
"was ever constant in sacrificing to the gods"; and that he now, in the presence of the commissioners of the sacrifices (01 ripolAvoCTC,P Buo v), has both sacrificed and drunk [or has poured libations], and has tasted of the victims, in witness whereof he begs them to sign this certificate.
I have never so much as tasted a grub worm.
I tasted them out of compliment to Nature, though they were scarcely palatable.
Pierre thought he had never eaten anything that tasted better.
Kennedy liked the restaurant's famous chowder so much when he tasted it on a campaign stopover that he took two buckets with him on the campaign trail.
Much as she hated to admit it, they tasted good.
She tasted like honey, and he reveled in the warmth of her body, her hot mouth.
Fire lit up half her face, and she tasted blood in her mouth.
She tasted sweet and saucy, like the woman herself, her heat, scent and silky skin filling his senses in a way that left him wanting more of her.
He tasted as good as he smelled.
She didn't remember his passion, the way he tasted and smelled and felt, or the movement of his muscles beneath taut, smooth skin.
I tasted blood and it was hard to breath.
When I tasted the sister, I saw her mind.
Sasha.s words reminded him that he, too, had tasted Katie.
She.d tasted so sweet, and he prayed her sister tasted the same.
She tasted like honey, and her hot mouth soon became more demanding.
The first mouthful tasted like bitter honey and she drank the bottle down, sighing again.
She tasted sweet, as if she'd snagged a bite of dessert from the caterers before coming up to gloat.
It is a vulgar error to suppose that you have tasted huckleberries who never plucked them.
She tasted his skin, but it, too, wasn't enough.
She tasted slightly sweet, the heat of her mouth contrasting with the chill of her skin, and smelled of lake water.
It tasted like a plain jelly bean, until she swallowed, when it felt like a stream of water spilled from the back of her mouth to her gullet.
His eyes scoured her face, lingered on the plump lips he had tasted, and glanced lower at the healthy bosom pressed to his chest.