Anita moves down Asher's chest, her lips teasing a nipple while her hands slide up and down his thighs. He tastes warm to her, smelling of the expensive French soap he uses on his skin. Of the woods, something musky and clean at the same time. She likes the smell, perfectly Asher, and she moans softly as her tongue reaches the waist of his trousers.

She traces the line of cloth, nipping at his side before sitting up enough to press her hand to him. "I think these need to come off now."