Yes

Emily’s hands moved with unhurried care, tugging the hoodie further upward, bunching the soft fabric just beneath his arms. He raised them, obedient now, dazed, and she lifted it over his head entirely, tousling his hair in the process. The hoodie fell to the side, forgotten, leaving his torso completely bare.

He was pale, yes. Slender. Not soft exactly, but thin in a way that made his ribs visible, the contours of his chest still filling in, skin untouched by sun or anything else. His breath came shallow and fast.

She took a moment to look at him.

Then lowered her mouth to his chest again.

A kiss just beneath his collarbone. Then another, lips parted, tongue gliding slow and wet across the dip between his pecs. His skin tasted clean—faintly of soap, faintly of nerves. Her tongue circled his nipple, and he gasped, body jerking as if he hadn’t expected the sensation at all.

Emily smiled softly.

Then kissed lower.

Her mouth found the shallow groove between his ribs, tongue flattening and dragging along it, leaving a damp trail that made him twitch beneath her. His hands clenched at the edge of the table. He didn’t touch her—didn’t dare—but his hips shifted involuntarily, grinding upward as if pulled by some **** ****.

She didn’t stop.

Down past his navel, her lips kissed the faint ridge of muscle disappearing into his waistband, and his cock pulsed visibly beneath the denim, straining hard and obvious now. The zipper bulged.

She pressed her lips just to the line of skin where jeans met belly, and the sound he made was helpless—part moan, part whimper. His head dropped back, neck taut, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Still clothed from the waist down, Emily leaned into him, her bare breasts brushing his stomach now, warm and yielding.

She whispered against his skin, lips grazing him, “Still feel like hiding?”

Emily sank slowly to her knees, her bare thighs brushing the edge of the table as she lowered herself between his legs. The tile was cold beneath her, but the air felt warmer now—or maybe it was just the heat pooling low in her belly, thick and insistent.

She looked up at him.

Still seated, still shirtless, he stared down at her with eyes wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast. She could see the pulse fluttering in his neck. Could feel the heat radiating off his body. Her nipples grazed the denim of his jeans as she settled in close, and she watched the way his stomach twitched at the contact.

She tilted her head, meeting his gaze squarely.

“Still feel like hiding?” she murmured again, voice low.

His lips barely moved. “No.”

It was just a whisper. A breath. But it was enough.

Emily’s hands moved to the button of his jeans, and with a practiced flick, she undid it. The zipper followed, drawn down slowly, teeth parting with a soft rasp. The denim peeled open, and his boxers strained forward instantly—black cotton pulled tight, visibly damp at the tip.

And then she saw him.

Even through the fabric, the shape of him made her pause.

Thick. Heavy. Long. Pressed hard against the inside of his briefs, the shaft stretched up toward his waistband, visibly outlined, the head swollen and straining the elastic. The fabric clung to him like a second skin.

Nine inches, easily. Maybe more.

Her brows lifted, and something hot stirred deep in her gut.

Well then.

He’d said he hadn’t been with anyone before, but he’d clearly had no idea what he was working with. Her fingers brushed the outline, soft and slow, and she felt the way it twitched beneath her touch.

“Jesus,” she murmured, almost to herself.

She didn’t need to fake the arousal now. It was already blooming across her chest, curling down her spine. This wasn’t just about helping him anymore.

This was about her, too.