Her gaze is vulnerable. “You didn’t... You didn’t hate that.”
I go still. “What?”
Her voice cracks a little. “Putting your mouth on me… there. Me being... loud.”
I kiss her forehead. “I fuckin’ loved it.”
Jane’s eyes shine.
She’s quiet for a moment, then her hand moves tentatively down my chest. “I want to—” She bites her lip. “Can I touch you? I want to make you feel like that.”
The question hits me hard, but not because I don't want it—damn, I want it—but because she’s asking. She’s claiming this moment instead of waiting to be invited.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice raspy. “Yeah, you can.”
I sit back and pull my shirt over my head. Jane’s gaze rakes over my torso, then stops on a scar. Her fingers hover, but she doesn’t touch this time.
Instead, her eyes lift to mine. “Okay?”
The question hits me like a punch to the chest because that’s my word, my carefulness. And she’s giving it back to me, checking in the way I’ve been checking in with her, as if she understands that consent runs both ways. As if she sees that I have scars I don’t let people touch.
I nod. “Okay.”
She gently glides her hand down my chest, feeling the hard muscle, the scar tissue, the heat pouring from my skin.
I unbutton my jeans slowly, giving her time to look away if she wants.
She doesn’t. Her cheeks flush, and she inhales sharply as I free my cock. “Oh!”
I huff a quiet laugh.
She looks at me, mortified. “I didn’t mean?—”
“It’s fine,” I say, and I keep my voice gentle. “We can talk. We can laugh. We can be awkward. It’s allowed.”
Jane shakes her head. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I’ll teach you.” My voice roughens. “If you want.”
She nods quickly. “I want.”
I take her hand again, guiding it slowly to my throbbing cock. “Start here,” I encourage, placing her palm around me. “Not tight. Just… hold.”
Jane’s fingers close around me carefully.
The sensation is insane because it’s her, because she’s trying, because she’s looking at me like I’m fascinating and precious.
I inhale slowly through my nose.
“Okay?” she asks again.
“Yeah,” I grit out. “You’re doin’ good.”
Her hand moves slightly.
“Slow,” I guide her, moving my hand over hers to show her the rhythm. “Like this.”
Jane watches intently. She’s learning to touch me the way she’d learn a new skill, with all that fierce concentration and determination. The knowledge nearly breaks me because she’s not simply learning how to touch, she's learning who I am. And she’s paying attention like it matters. Like I matter.
