The bed dips slightly behind me as he sits down—but not close. He gives me space, exactly the amount I need to not feel trapped. “Talk to me. What are you afraid of right now?”
I swallow hard. “You seeing me and realizing I’m… not what you thought. That I’m not built right. That I don’t fit.”
Silence stretches. Not heavy. Just thoughtful.
Then his voice, steady and certain. “Minerva, look at me.”
I hesitate, then turn. He’s watching me like I’m something fragile and precious, not something that might disappoint him. His hands rest on his thighs, open, patient.
“I don’t want to touch you unless you want me to,” he says. “But if you do… I want you to know exactly what I see.”
Something in his tone makes my chest ache. I nod. Barely.
“Can I come closer?” he asks.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He moves slowly, giving me time to change my mind, then reaches out and gently pries my arms away from my body, holding my wrists for a moment like he’s grounding me rather than restraining me. “You don’t have to hide.”
“I’ve been hiding my whole life,” I say, voice breaking.
“I know. You can stop with me.” His fingers slide to the hem of my sweater. He waits. “Can I?”
I nod again, tears blurring my vision. He pulls it up, taking it off inch by inch. Cool air kisses my skin, followed immediately by his warmth as he leans in, mouth brushing my collarbone.
He doesn’t rush to the places I’m afraid of. He kisses slowly. Sternum. Throat. The tender hollow at the base of my neck. When his hands finally cup my breasts, tiny and unfamiliar even to me, he does it like they’re exactly what he wants.
Tristan touches the parts I’ve hidden my whole life… and they stop feeling like flaws. The air is heavier than it was a few seconds ago. His hands cup me gently at first, then with clear reverence, thumbs sweeping over my nipples until they tighten into hard points.
“Look at these tits, Min,” he breathes, voice rough with awe. “So fucking pretty. Been dreaming about getting my mouth on them.”
He lowers his head and takes one peak between his lips, sucking softly, then harder when I gasp. His tongue flicks, circles, worships until I’m arching off the bed.
“Fit right in my hand.” He breathes against my skin, palming one completely. “Fit right in my mouth. Exactly how I like them. Flawless and mine.”
My breath stutters as his thumbs brush my nipples, coaxing heat instead of shame. I’ve spent years trying to make myself smaller, flatter, invisible. His hands make me feel… chosen.
“They fit,” he says, almost to himself. “Right here.”
I let out a sound I don’t recognize. Relief, maybe. Or grief.
“I don’t want another hand on my cock,” he says quietly, forehead resting against mine. “And I don’t want another girl under my tongue. I want you. Only you.”
The words sink into me like slow heat, and I’m still trembling from them when Tristan pulls back just enough to give himself room. His gaze stays locked with mine as his hand moves down, deliberate, unhurried. The rasp of his zipper is loud in the hush of the room, and my breath catches at the sound alone.
He reaches inside his jeans and draws himself out, slow and confident, wrapping his long fingers around the base. God. He’s thick, flushed dark. Then he gives one lazy stroke. My mouth goes dry, and my thighs press together without thinking.
He doesn’t rush. He just holds himself, stroking in a steady, almost reverent rhythm, letting me look my fill. The veins stand out along the shaft, pulsing faintly with each pass of his hand, and a bead of wetness gathers at the tip, catching the low light. My pulse is hammering between my legs now, a frantic counterpoint to the calm, controlled way he touches himself. I reach out and touch him, fingers trembling as they wrap around him. God, he’s thick, heavy, velvet-hot. I can’t even close my hand all the way.
Tristan groans, hips jerking. “That’s it, baby. Feel how hard you make me? This is what your brain does to me. What these little hands do. What this tight body does.”
He wraps his much bigger hand around mine, guiding me in a slow stroke. “At some point, I’m gonna watch you try to take every inch of this cock and I’m gonna lose my fucking mind, but tonight we go as slow as you need.”
My hands move on their own then, tentative but determined, touching him back.
And for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m bracing for impact.
I feel like I’m being caught.
