There’s happiness wetting my eyes and filling my chest, almost buzzing as they’re grinding into my palm. Their boxers are still on, strap around their hips but nudged enough to allow me the room to offer them my touch. As much as they could take from it.

My hands felt like they were trembling, excited and cautious. One gripping the sheets, the other hot with the grind of their skin through the material of their boxers.

My lips are parted and my breathing hitches when I move, press into them before they’ve allowed me to. They hiss, fingers bruising my hip. “Stay still,” They grit out. “Don’t…don’t move…”

“Okay, sorry,” I manage to say in a breath, eye glued on their hips, feeling their need for me soak the fabric of their boxers.

I swallow back the saliva building in my mouth, eyes raking up their covered chest to meet their eyes. Which I find already looking at me, making my heart leap into my throat.

Their brows are weaved together, and their jaw seems tight, lips almost pursed. I part my own to ask, but their hand on the bed is moving up to cover my eyes, push my head back into the pillows. “Stay still,” they repeat.

I allow them the space to explore my touch. Hand dampening with their arousal and ears perked as they moan while chasing the feeling.

“Thank you,” I’d say when they cum, when they take their hand from my face. I can still feel them twitch against my hand as they pant.

“What’re you thanking me for, gorgeous?”