Maybe give him some confidence

He was still apologizing, red-faced and breathless, fingers gripping the hem of his hoodie like a lifeline. Emily let him stammer, watching him with a strange mix of amusement and heat, her heart still thudding from the press of him against her skirt. That… hadn’t been expected.

But it had been flattering. Very.

And clear.

He wanted to help her. That much was obvious—he was just paralyzed, stuck in his own head, probably cycling through a thousand nervous thoughts at once. And maybe he didn’t think he could offer her anything but a blush and a hard-on he couldn’t hide.

But she could offer him something.

Something simple.

Something he’d remember.

Her blouse hung useless at her sides now, completely ruined. The cold still prickled at her bare chest, her nipples stiff in the open air, but she made no move to cover herself again. Not yet. Instead, she let her arms fall naturally, casually, her skin flushed but calm now.

“I meant it,” she said gently. “You’re not ugly. You just… need to stop hiding.”

He stared, eyes wide. His lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Still frozen.

Emily tilted her head slightly, taking a step closer again—not enough to touch, but enough to close the distance, enough to draw his eyes back to her breasts without effort. She saw the flicker of movement in his gaze. He couldn’t help it. Didn’t want to.

“Look,” she said softly. “If I can be out here like this… maybe you can too.”

His breath caught.

Her fingers moved—slow, measured—and reached for the hem of his hoodie again. Not yanking. Not pushing. Just brushing, gently, suggestively. Not forceful. Just a question, left in the air.

“Let me see you?” she asked, voice quieter now, low and almost teasing, but not cruel. “Just for a second. You don’t have to take it off. Just…”

Her fingers slid under the edge of the hoodie, resting there.

“You helped me. Let me help you feel okay with… you.”

She smiled then—not seductive, not quite—but kind. Honest. A glimmer of that older-woman confidence she hadn’t known was still in her.

Her fingers rested beneath the hem of his hoodie, warm against his skin.

“You helped me,” she said again, voice low. “Let me help you feel okay with… you.”

Without giving him time to answer, Emily took his wrist lightly in hers and guided him back a step—then another—until the backs of his legs touched the edge of the low reading table tucked into the corner. He sat when she nudged him, too stunned to resist, eyes huge behind his glasses, mouth parted as he stared up at her.

She stepped between his knees, bare-chested, blouse torn and forgotten, close enough now that her breasts nearly brushed his face with every breath.

Then she reached for the hem of his hoodie.

He stiffened under her hands, but didn’t stop her. She lifted slowly, easing the fabric upward over his narrow hips, his soft belly, up his ribs. Pale skin was revealed inch by inch, and she followed its rising edge with her mouth.

First a kiss, just below his navel—then higher, the tip of her tongue dragging over his skin.

He shuddered.

Her lips found the faint line of muscle between his ribs, and she kissed it, soft and slow, then again higher, just under his sternum. His chest rose beneath her with a trembling breath, and she felt his fingers twitch at his sides, unsure what to do, where to hold.

She dragged the hoodie higher, her mouth following.

A kiss to the left side of his chest, where his heart raced just beneath the skin.

Then to the right, her tongue flicking gently over his nipple, her breath warm against his skin.

She felt him harden again below, unmistakable, thick and heavy beneath the denim, pressed between her thighs and his.

And she didn’t stop.