She wasn't wrong. My whole body felt wired, every nerve lit up from how gentle she was being.
Her thumb brushed over the tip then—accidental at first, just the edge of it. But when she felt the wetness there, she paused.
"Oh…" she breathed, circling it slowly, spreading the bead with the pad of her thumb. Light. Curious.
I hissed in a breath. "Fuck—Aria…"
She froze. "Too much?"
"No," I said quickly. "Just… sensitive there."
She nodded, eyes wide. Then did it again—slower this time. Deliberate. Watching how my abs tensed, how my hand gripped the sofa cushion.
"I didn't know it would be this… slippery," she said softly, almost to herself.
I let out a shaky laugh. "Only because you're doing this to me."
Her fingers wrapped around me again, fuller this time. She started a slow, tentative stroke—up and down, loose grip, soft palm gliding over heated skin.
Not fast. Not skilled.
But perfect.
Because it was her.
