“I don’t want to fuck this up”

The words were still hanging in the air between us when she stood up from her chair, stepped around the table, and pulled me in.

Veronica was a full foot shorter than me. She had to tilt her head back to look up, and when she wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed in, her face landed right against the centre of my chest. The top of her head tucked under my chin like it had been made for that exact spot.

I froze for half a second — not because I didn’t want it, but because I wanted it too much.

Then my arms came up on their own and closed around her.

She was warm. So much smaller than me, but solid and soft in all the places that had been driving me quietly insane for weeks. The oversized hoodie bunched under my hands as I settled them carefully on her back — high enough to be safe, low enough that I could feel the dip of her waist and the beginning of the curve that flared out into her hips. I took a deep breath of her hair without thinking. Vanilla and whatever shampoo she used and the faint, clean scent of her skin still warm from the day. It went straight to my head like a ****.

Hugs were innocent.

This one wasn’t.

Everywhere my mind went was far from innocent.

I could feel the full, heavy weight of her breasts pressing against my stomach through the hoodie. The way her stomach and hips moulded against the front of my thighs. If I let my hands slide even an inch lower they’d be cupping the top of her arse. If I pulled her any tighter I’d be able to feel exactly how soft she was everywhere. My cock was already half-hard just from the smell of her and the way she fit against me, and I had to shift my hips back slightly so she wouldn’t notice.

She didn’t let go.

If anything she pressed in closer, cheek rubbing gently against my chest like she was settling in. One of her hands stayed flat on my lower back; the other slid up between my shoulder blades in a slow, soothing stroke that felt more intimate than anything we’d done so far.

“I meant it,” she said quietly against my shirt, voice muffled but clear. “We can figure this out together. The money stuff. The streaming. Us. However slow you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

The words vibrated through my chest. I closed my eyes and let myself breathe her in again, arms tightening just a fraction. My hands had drifted lower without permission — resting now on the curve where her waist met her hips, thumbs brushing the soft give of her through the hoodie. Not grabbing. Just… holding. Feeling.

She felt perfect there. Small and curvy and warm and real in a way the long shifts and the deposit numbers never had.

“I don’t want to fuck this up,” I admitted, voice low and rough against the top of her head. “The living situation. You. Any of it.”

“You won’t.” She tilted her head back just enough to look up at me, eyes warm and steady. Her hands stayed where they were — one on my back, one now resting lightly over my heart. “We’re both adults. We can be honest. And if it gets messy we talk about it. Like we’re doing right now.”

The hug lingered. Neither of us pulled away. The kitchen was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and our breathing. I could feel every soft curve of her pressed against the hard planes of me, and my mind kept supplying images I had no right to — what she’d look like without the hoodie, how those full breasts would feel in my hands, how easily I could lift her onto the kitchen counter and step between her thighs…

I swallowed hard and **** my hands to stay respectful. Barely.

She smiled like she knew exactly where my head had gone and didn’t mind one bit.

“Tonight doesn’t have to be anything more than this if you’re not ready,” she said softly. “But I’m here. And I want you. The real you. Not just the tired warehouse guy who thinks he has to grind himself into the ground alone.”

The words hit somewhere deep in my chest at the same time my body reacted to how close she was. I was fully hard now, and there was no way she couldn’t feel it if she shifted even slightly. But she didn’t pull back. She just stayed there, small and soft and pressed against me like she belonged exactly there.

I took another slow breath of her hair and let my forehead rest against the top of her head.

“I want you too,” I said, quiet and honest. “Have for weeks. The hug is… it’s killing me in the best way.”

Her soft laugh vibrated against my chest. One of her hands slid down my side, fingers brushing the waistband of my track pants for a second before settling again.

“Good,” she murmured. “Because I’ve been thinking about this — about you — for just as long.”

The hug didn’t end. It just… changed. Became something warmer. More intentional. My hands finally settled properly on her lower back, thumbs stroking slow circles over the hoodie. Hers stayed on me like she had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

We stood there in the middle of the kitchen, her a full foot shorter, tucked perfectly against me, and for the first time since I’d moved in I stopped worrying about ruining the good thing we had.

Because maybe this was the good thing.

And she was offering it with both hands.