The shirt was plenty big for her, which was a good thing. She pulled off Mary-Ann's damp flannel item and dragged the shirt over her head. It was thic... and harsh and itchy, and freezing cold, but it came down almost to her knees and within seconds it seemed to be warming up. Mercy! She scrambled out of the soggy breeches and was pulling up the trousers as Garrick came back into the cabin. The legs were too long and she had to roll them up. "What should I do with these?" she asked, picking up. They were wet and thick, and their warmth sent a glow racing over her. She sucked greedily at them while her body leaped and twisted. His tongue came out; she drew it deep into her mouth and opened her jaws widely. Ward probed at the inside of her mouth and the tip of his tongue thrust into the arch of her throat. It was the next thing to getting fucked, she reflected. It was mouth-fucking, and it ought to be called that instead of all the other things they called it. His tongue was an oral. More

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