I don’t.He does.
“You came.”
My throat is dry.“You left the door open.”
A flicker of a smile.“I said come if you wanted.I didn’t say what we’d do once you got here.”
He crosses the room, deliberate but unhurried, and sits on the edge of the massage table.Not a sprawl.A perch.Like he’s givingmethe power.Like he’s not going to touch unless I sayplease.
And that is what makes my knees feel like they could give out.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I say.It’s too honest.It scrapes up my throat.
“That’s the best place to start.”
I move toward him, expecting him to reach for me, but he doesn’t.He just leans back slightly, letting his thighs part, giving me space to choose what comes next.
I kneel.Not because I have to.Because Iwantto.He draws in a breath, but still doesn’t touch me.
I look up at him.“You said you’d teach me.”
His voice is steady, but there's heat curled beneath it.“Start by kissing the inside of my thigh.”
My hands shake when I press them to his knees.He’s sowarmand solid.I lower my head, lips brushing hot, damp skin.His breath catches.I do it again, slower this time, letting myself sink into the feel of him, the scent of clean skin and something deeper.
When I glance up again, his eyes aredark.Not from lust alone, but from restraint.
“You’re doing fine,” he says, voice hoarse.“Keep going.”
So I do.I explore him with my mouth, first tentative, then bolder.Every moan I pull from him is a reward.Every muscle twitch, every sigh, every moment he bites his lip to keep from begging?It lights me up inside.
I feel powerful.Wanted.Not just for how I look.For what I can do.
When I finally take him into my mouth, the noise he makes is low and strained, his hips twitching before he forces them still.
“Luca—fuck—just like that.”
I keep going, head bobbing, tongue working.I’m learning him.I’mlearning myself.And when he fists the sheets, when he breathes my name like it means something, I know I’ve found something I never knew I needed.
He warns me, but I don’t stop.He comes with a broken sound, hand barely brushing my hair.And when I sit back, mouth slick, heart racing, he looks at me like I’ve just undone him.
I wipe my lips with the back of my hand, eyes meeting his.“I want to do that again,” I say.
He smiles, wide and slow.“So do I.”
We haven’t spoken in a while, just breathing through the thick steam, not since I stood up and he pulled me into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.Like we hadn’t just met.Like I hadn’t just learned the shape of his pleasure by heart with nothing but my mouth.
Now his arms are around me.Loose.Comfortable.One hand strokes lazy paths up and down my spine like he’s trying to memorize me.My head rests against his shoulder, damp curls sticking to his neck.His breath is steady.Mine isn’t.
I don’t know what this is supposed to feel like.I don’t know if I’m supposed to get dressed and leave, or if I’m allowed tostay, just like this.
He doesn’t seem in a rush, which helps.
“Was that your first time?”he finally asks, voice rough, like he’s been holding the question in his chest.
My cheek brushes his collarbone when I nod.
He leans back just far enough to meet my eyes.“You’re good.Better than good.Youlistened.Most people don’t.”
