Oh sure, I've since read "exquisite" many, many times in different contexts. Frankly, it's a staple of pretty much every erotica book ever written. All that "exquisite" pleasure and pain and whatnot...which, with my twisted humor, suddenly changes the Alpha Dom into Sir Percy Blakeney in all the hysterical glory Orczy wrote him (That'd be the Scarlet Pimpernel, folks. SINK ME!)
Or, those historical romances in which the Duke (aren't they always dukes?) espies the "exquisite flower" from across the ballroom. Her fragile beauty a beacon of innocence amid the harridans, termagants, and match-making mamas. His bold stride clears a path straight her. The Duke rises from his bow to behold the exquisite beauty of...SINK ME! Is that Belgian lace?
The next time you see the word "exquisite" imagine Blakeney.