He told me that my cheeks, always rosy, glow brighter as he makes love to me. I would never have known but, apparently, I taste something like sweetcorn between my legs. 

He told me that, as I approach orgasm, my eyes roll back in my head. It is, I am reliably informed, cute how I am obviously struggling to keep quiet as I come, even when there is no one around and no reason to hold my tongue. Oh, and he’s noticed that, in the throes of passion, my nostrils quiver involuntarily. 

He holds me, comforting me as I blush.