And Victor likewise could not have said a thing about the Greek, or about the hymn from which he was reciting. His tongue traced circles over her softness for several moments, and his hands moved to her hips, fingertips starting to trace down over her legs, enjoying how soft but toned they were, how feminine she was. His tongue continued to trace circles, making its way to her sweetest spot, pausing there, mumbling, "hail, sweetly-winning, coy-eyed goddess," he sucked on it and licked it, alternating in his ministrations.