“Before I can do anything else, I need to get that tank top off you. I pull it from your waist and slip it over your head. Your braids slap against the mat and I can see that thin Victoria’s Secret bra straining against the weight of your breasts.”

Victoria held back her laughter at the mention of her bra. She had worn a very secure sports bra that night and it would have been an impossible struggle to shrug out of in her sweaty state. She tried to ignore that John was still a man who fantasized about lacy underwear and got back into the mood.

“Your breathing is heavy,” he continued. “You keep panting my name and begging me to hurry before someone sees us. But I remind you that I don’t need—”

“—a plan,” she interrupted while taking off her T-shirt. Her breasts, now exposed to the cool air of her bedroom, were still warm from the blush John described.

“Exactly,” he purred. “I take my time unhooking your bra and let it fall to the floor. When I kneel over you with my cock pressed to your ass, I make a trail of kisses along your spine. Does my beard scratch your skin?”

“Uh-huh,” Victoria said as she ran her hands down her neck, picking up on the heat of her skin. She fanned her fingers over the tops of her breasts, brushing across stiff nipples.

Her luxurious sigh must have been audible on his side because he said, “Tell me what it feels like, baby.”

Victoria’s breasts rose and fell with every breath she took. “It feels like the time your beard was between my thighs. You kissed my thighs and rubbed your cheek against my skin.”

The rich timbre of his voice followed her hands down her body as she pinched and squeezed her own breasts. “Would you like my beard down there again?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Please.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said in a low chuckle. “I push your shoulders down to the mat and raise your hips upward. You’re dripping wet, Victoria, and I’m thirsty.”

With one hand on her breast, she let the other one snake downward. As she parted her thighs, she waited on him to continue.

“My love, you’re the last ice cream cone on a hot summer day. The more I lick, the faster you melt, and the more of you I want. I kneel behind you and lick your clit and then your lips. I flick one while lapping the other. Have you ever had ice cream drip down your hand, darling?”

Oh god, I have. Her fingers worked her swollen flesh as his words scandalized her ears.