“TASTED” на русском языке

Cassian didn’t dare say a word to Nesta, or even glance at her, at the body on display—the body he’d tasted so many times now it was a miracle no imprint of his lips lay against her neck.

He tasted clean enough, but by the end of the evening his new clothes would harbor that buck scent.

He knew their thoughts and tasted their fear.

She tasted the Kermit-green Popsicle Taryn shared with her the day they met.

He said it tasted of dates and sea salt.

It circled and swooped and settled on the top of a single tower made of glass and gold, a strange sorcery, weak and fragile when set against those it remembered, yet one not tasted in its many lives before.

Blood tasted good.

Not enough to make him scared or anything like that, because Adamantine Men didn’t get scared, but it tasted bad enough to get him moving again and gave his legs something to think about before they started back up with their moaning.

While sitting there chewing the tortillas, which under these conditions tasted none too good, the three suddenly stopped, held their breath, stiffened their bodies, and listened.

She also tasted her own fear as she sat behind the wheel of Judy’s car, scared witless to drive, but more afraid of her punishment should they not get home before their parents.

It tasted like the sea.