I let the silence settle again.But this time, it doesn’t feel empty.
It feels like permission.
The silence grows thick.Like his cock.
I stay against the wall.His body is bare and open in front of me, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t push.Justwaits.Like he knows exactly what I need, and exactly how long it takes to admit it.
My heart’s hammering.Not just with want.With fear.
Because this?It’s not just sex.
It’s surrender.
If I cross the room, if I let myself be touched—seen—I don’t get to pretend anymore.Not about what I want.Not about who I am.
I’ve spent months behind the counter.Playing the role.The one who keeps the peace, mops the mess, stays out of the stories.Watching everyone else give in.Everyone elseburn.
But never me.
Until now.
I glance down at my shaking hands.My chest’s tight with heat and nerves.My cock’s pressing hard against my pants, leaking at the tip, aching.I’m so hard it hurts.And still, I don’t move.
Because if Ido, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop.With him, with others.All of them.
What if I ruin it?What if I’m not enough?What if he’s just curious?Just kind?
His fingers drift up, slow, ghosting over the curve of his stomach.Just enough to make my mouth go dry.He’s not even touching himself, just letting me see the shape of him.The potential.
He’s giving me this.Not demanding.Not begging.Justoffering.
And suddenly, I realize something.He’s as vulnerable as I am.But braver.So much braver.
That shifts it.That cracks me open.
I push off the wall.One step forward.Then another.My feet feel too loud against the tile.The air is thick and damp andalive.With lust.With need.
He doesn’t move.Just watches.Maybe waiting to see how far I’ll go.
I stop in front of him, close enough to touch.Close enough to fall.
I don’t speak, just reach out—slowly, carefully—and rest my fingers on his knee.
The moment I do, he exhales.
And I break.
The second my fingers touch his knee, his breath shifts.A soft, open sound, relief, maybe.Or hunger.
And Ifeelit.All of it.The weight of being wanted.Not just watched.Chosen.
His hand slides up, slow, curling around mine, guiding it higher.My palm skims the heat of his thigh, the fine hairs, the twitch of muscle just beneath his skin.His body responds like it’s been waiting for me.Like it knows me already.
I step between his legs, knees brushing his, and he leans in, his lips ghosting the edge of my jaw.Not kissing yet, justhovering.Letting me feel how close he is.How hard he’s gotten.
“You sure?”he whispers.
I nod.
