I fidget with the hem of my shirt. “So… do you happen to know? About the taste variables?”
He laughs again, softer this time, stepping closer until his forehead rests lightly against mine. “Min, if you want to find out someday, you can just check. You don’t have to run a peer-reviewed study.”
“I’d still like to run one,” I murmur.
“Of course you would.”
Tristan doesn’t even blink when I tell him what I want.
Just tilts his head like he’s making room for it in his brain, like I’ve handed him a slightly strange ingredient to figure into a new recipe. But not a rejection. Not even surprise. Just... quiet acceptance. That’s the thing about Tristan. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t try to fix it. He just sees me.
* * *
I sit cross-legged at the foot of his bed, knees bouncing, fingers twisted in the hem of my hoodie. I’m practically vibrating.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I blurt, already regretting it.
“I know.” His voice is low. Patient. A promise. “That’s why we take our time.”
He’s leaning against the headboard, shirtless, legs spread in those worn gray sweatpants that drive me insane. He’s hard already, not in a showy, aggressive way—but in that quiet, thick press of heat against fabric that makes my mouth go dry.
“I want to learn,” I say. “Not because I think I’m supposed to. Because I want to know you. That part of you. What you like. How you… work.”
His breath hitches. “Min.”
“I read a thing once. About how oral sex can help lower cortisol and build oxytocin bonds.”
That gets an easy laugh. “You trying to hack our chemistry?”
“No,” I say honestly. “I just want to be good to you.”
He reaches out his hand and waits.
I crawl forward, settling between his knees, and place my hand in his. It grounds me. His thumb strokes slowly over the back of mine.
“Then let me show you what feels good,” he promises. “We don’t rush. You stop if anything doesn’t feel right. Okay?”
I nod, catching my next inhale.
He guides my hand to his waistband. “Start here.”
I tug gently, and he lifts his hips to help me, never breaking eye contact. When his cock springs free, I go still.
Oh.
It’s... beautiful. Thick and flushed and already beading at the tip. Up this close, it’s bigger than I expected, heavy in my hand, the skin hot and satin-smooth over steel. A thick vein runs along the underside, and I trace it with one finger, fascinated, then watch another bead of precum well up and spill over the head.
“God, Min,” he rasps, hips twitching. “You’re staring at my cock like it’s a lab specimen, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
My breath stalls. My brain floods with questions, fascination, instinct. I want to taste him. Want to please him.But also, I want to study the way his body reacts. I want to learn everything.
“I didn’t expect it to… curve.” I brush my fingertips down the shaft.
He groans, head tipping back. “Jesus.”
“I’m sorry! Too much?”
He laughs softly. “You’re fine. You just say things with your scientist voice, and it’s wrecking me.”
