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You wouldn’t have known this at first, but he had been preparing for weeks. Months, even.

Research of all kinds, trying to ensure he’d have the right technique if (when) the time came. He was obsessed with it, enamored with the idea of going down on you especially. He researched everything else too, of course, but there was a special emphasis on the best ways to give oral. He wanted to turn himself into a tool you could use for your pleasure. He wanted to impress you, blow you away with how good he could make you feel. He wanted to be good for you.

There was definitely a lot of insecurity he had built up inside him due to being inexperienced. It wasn’t that he wanted to be able to name a bunch of women who were notches in his bed post, no, he just wanted to prove he could be everything you’d ever need. He had the money, the stability, the shoulder to lean on, the only thing he lacked was sexual experience. So he dove head first into research, hours and hours spent collecting as much info as possible. He would take notes and, hell, he even practiced using fruit. There was one thing he was sure of…he would be prepared and he would be confident.

Except, being face to face with your clothed core, able to see a darkening wet patch in the middle…yeah, that confident bit was a tad more difficult than he had expected. He honestly was in awe that he was actually in this position right now. Weeks of guilty fantasies and secret exploration had actually led up to the real thing. It was odd, the first thing he did, but he couldn’t help it. He pressed his nose right to your core, his eyes fluttering shut as he took a deep breath. The sigh he let out was so shaky, so overwhelmed…you had never seen him so undone. The sight of him inhaling your scent made you flush a bright red, unsure how to react to such an action.

He looked back up at you, keeping his face pressed to your core as he reached up to grab your hand and thread his fingers through yours.

“My apologies, I have imagined this for a very long time. You won’t mind if I’m thorough, will you?”

You blinked down at him, the warmth in your face becoming hard to ignore. He sounded so…gone? Like he was doing everything he could to not lose himself. You were used to his icy, firm tone he used professionally, or his softer tone he had adopted only with you over the past few months you’ve been dating. Not this breathy, desperate one that made heat curl low in your belly. You swallowed thickly before reaching your other hand down to card through his hair. He lifted his head to reach your hand easier, looking at you with pure adoration.

“I don’t mind…I’ve been wanting this for a while too.”

He smiled at that, grabbing your hand to gently kiss your knuckles. “Thank you, darling. I promise I’ll make you feel good…”

With that, you removed your hand and he dove right in. He began to kiss around your inner thighs, even nipping lightly at times. He knew that he had to build up to the main course, no matter how badly he just wanted to shove his tongue into your leaking hole. After light kisses and licks over your panties, he finally reached for the hem of the garment, looking to you for permission.

“May I, darling..?”

You nodded and lifted your hips for him to pull them down your legs and set them off to the side. When he looked back, wow…the view was just too beautiful. He let out a shuddering sigh as he took her in. All her gorgeous folds, how she glistened, how soft she looked…he must’ve been staring too long as you had started to whine and try to shut your legs. He gently held them open.

“Don’t hide, you’re stunning…”

You blushed and hid your face in the crook of your elbow. He chuckled lightly, reaching up to grab your hand once more.

“Do you need a moment? I can be patient, no matter how…difficult…it may be.” He said the word difficult with a quiet shakiness. Oh, he was desperate for a taste.

You shook your head, inhaling deeply before setting your arm down.

“No…I…I want your mouth on me, zayne. I need it…”

And that was all he needed to hear. It was like a switch flipped in his brain, one that made him dive into your pussy like a man starved. He snapped, he lost control, he couldn’t help it! He tried to take it slow, but hearing you say you needed him? Gloves off, he was gone. And oh, god, your taste. You had already smelled and looked divine, but the taste was better than anything his imagination had conjured up. He knew from that moment alone that he was hooked, and he could never go without it.

His dick was rock hard, straining against his slacks. There was an obscene wet spot by his tip where he had been leaking since he got on his knees. He found his hips were grinding into nothing, and he was wholly unable to stop himself from doing so. The slight friction from his pants just felt too good.

You cried out above him, your free hand now firmly rooted in his hair as you started to rock against his mouth. This must be what heaven is like, he thought. He was getting the cues you were close, so he really began to focus. He suckled gently on your clit which earned him a tug on his hair and a whine of his name. It only took a few more licks before your back arched and your orgasm ripped through you. He held your hips down and attached his mouth to your clit as you rode out your high. Honestly, it was so intense it was almost like he orgasmed as well.

Well, that’s because he did. Sometime during your orgasm, he had also managed to spill into his pants. Though, he wasn’t worried about that right now, being more focused on savoring every last bit of your slick before finally pulling away, cheeks flushed and panting. He hadn’t even taken his glasses off, so now they sit askew on the bridge of his nose. They were foggy, so with a shaky hand he plucked them from his face and sat them on the couch beside you.

You both just caught your breath for a moment, taking in the afterglow of such an intense, first time experience. That was when he looked down and seen the mess he made of his slacks. He blinked rapidly as he started to understand what happened. He had then set his head to rest on your thigh, the tips of his ears burning.

“That was…incredible. Are you sure you’ve never been with anyone else?”

You had no idea the research and effort he put into this, and he planned to keep it that way.

“I have not, I suppose my knowledge of anatomy is just proving even more useful than I thought.”

You panted together in the quiet living room, your hand gently running through his hair. You had caught a quick glimpse of the dark patch on the front of his slacks, making you realize just how good it felt for him too. You smiled to yourself, but kept quiet as you didn’t want to further embarrass him. As you both finally came back to earth, he peppered your lower half with gentle kisses.

“Thank you…for allowing me to have you this way.” He murmured, before pressing another soft kiss to your inner thigh.

“Thank you…for having me.” You murmured back, just as blissed out as he was.

Needless to say, the next time he went down on you wasn’t far in the future. He was addicted, and there was no stopping this new craving of his. 🩷

“It’s nothing that you did, Zayne,” you sigh as you sit up, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I know you’d never hurt me. I’m just…scared.” 

“Of?” he asks softly, and the way his kind face is void of any judgment makes you want to extract your brain and beat it for denying you the chance to feel him. 

Another sigh escapes you as you gather your thoughts. “What if it hurts?” you wonder shyly, fiddling with your clammy hands. “I always imagined it’d hurt. And there’s never…been…anything there, outside of medical stuff. That’s the only thing I have to compare it to.”

Nodding along patiently, Zayne extends a hand to you, pulling you to him when you accept it gratefully. “I’m sorry that you’re frightened, but I understand your hesitation. I’m content to just hold you in my arms, if you’ll let me. As long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”

“No, I-I want to. With you, soon. That’s the problem—I’ll think I’m ready, but then the second we get close, I freeze up. I just don’t know what to expect, and that scares me.” 

Humming contemplatively, Zayne laces your fingers together. “I think I can help with that.” 

The usually bustling corridors of Akso Hospital are eerily quiet at night. 

Hurrying through them as if a ghost will jump out at any second, you scour the door plaques for room 429. 

I’ll be finishing up early today. If you’re able, can you meet me at the hospital this evening? Room 429, Zayne had messaged you hours ago. And with no other plans and a lingering sense of guilt that you know he’d disapprove of, you’d agreed almost instantly.

Combating pangs of confusion—he never asked you here at night, outside of official events—you don’t realize you’ve scurried past the door until the room numbers grow too high. Backtracking briskly, you tap the wood with two soft knocks before a calm “Come in!” beckons you inside. 

Room 429 is a standard hospital room—a large examination table, a sink and cabinets, and two simple chairs. At the small table near the back of the room—much humbler than the sleek standing desk in his office, you note perplexedly—Zayne sits, pen in hand, leafing through an endless stack of paperwork. Why did he move his office here for the night? 

“Great, you’re here,” he says, setting his pen atop a thick packet. “Take a seat.” 

“Um, okay,” you mumble obediently, heading toward one of the navy guest chairs. 

“Not there,” he calls. 

Turning to face him, you catch the way his eyes shift to the examination table. “Is this some kind of impromptu appointment?” you ask, his secrecy filling you with stubbornness. 

Zayne rises from the rolling chair that’s too small for him, crossing the room in measured strides. “Not a sanctioned one.” 

Before you can ask what he means, his hands are wrapping around your waist, lifting you up to deposit you on the soft table padding. 

“Hey!” you squeak, surprised but not fighting him. “What is all this? I had my annual checkup a couple weeks ago, I’ll have you know. And I won’t be your guinea pig, either.”

Zayne tsks with amusement. As he presses a button, a large black mount lowers from the ceiling, its sturdy hooks securing a small silver device. Another button, and the device’s tiny red light flicks on. 

And suddenly, your reflection stares back at you from a monitor on the opposite wall. 

Anticipating your interrogation, Zayne speaks before you can. “This is a high-definition surgical instrument. It’s used to help us see the body during minor procedures.”

You blink at him quizzically. “So…a camera?” 

“Yes. A camera. Repurposed for…recreational matters,” he quips with a slight upturn of his lips.

“You should know your own body,” he continues gently. “Exploring yourself—whether with or without me—is your right. And after last night, I figured…perhaps being able to see my actions as they happen would assuage some of your fears.” 

“You…when did you have time to…?” you trail off, staring up at him in wonder. 

“I believe I told you I finished my work early today. This was the reason,” he reveals. Even with you perched on the examination table, Zayne’s imposing height exceeds yours. His assurance is a warm blanket as he stands beside you, resting a large palm on your bent knee. “I’d like to help you explore yourself now. Will you allow me to?”

With a heavy gulp—more from anticipation than nerves, you realize—you nod your consent meekly.

“I don’t know what that means, darling. Can you give me words?”

“Yes,” you exhale shakily. “Help me. Please.”

Smiling softly, pride flashing across his face, he leans in to kiss you sweetly. Then, reaching up to bring the camera closer, he angles it toward your lower body. On the far wall, the feed is dangerously close to revealing what lies beneath your skirt. 

“I’ll raise this,” he says, lifting the fabric with care. “And these…will need to come off,” he eyes you, gesturing to your thin cotton panties. 

For a moment, you debate removing them yourself. But if this was about overcoming fears….

“Can you do it, Dr. Zayne? I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” you whisper coyly. 

His eyes widen as he pauses. Then, collecting himself, he inches his hands forward to tug at the sides of your panties, sliding them down with precision. “Of course,” he says softly. “I’ll take care of you.” 

As he sets his eyes on your naked cunt for the first time, Zayne shows admirable restraint, looking away after only a few tense seconds. Some hypocritical, eager-to-please part of you would almost be offended, if not for his tells: his quickened blinks, heavy breaths, and fidgeting fingers. 

“I’ll get started now,” he exhales, voice husky with veiled desire. “You’re free to stop me at any time.”

And as you gaze at him with trust and only a little bit of fear, Zayne begins. 

“This is your pelvic bone,” he gestures slowly. “It supports your body weight.” 

The warmth of someone else’s hand on your bare hip is a foreign feeling. Foreign, but not bad, you decide, relaxing under his touch. 

“The mons pubis,” he continues, hands ghosting over the mound beneath your belly. 

“And this,” he murmurs, spreading your folds carefully, “is your pretty little pussy.” 

The word—in here, from him, in reference to you—is so scandalous it makes you gasp. You try desperately to avoid his gaze, eyes flitting across the room in panicked arousal, but you don’t find the reprieve you’re looking for. 

Because on that far wall, looking back at you tauntingly, is the velvety skin of your most private part, glistening with your growing desire. 

Snapping you out of your staring contest, Zayne taps the flesh of your thigh twice. “Open, please. Wider.” 

Swallowing thickly, you oblige.  

“Good,” he praises, tracing your exposed entrance with an elongated index finger. “This is where I’ll touch you. Is that alright?”

Through heavy drags of air, you forget his earlier instructions, nodding quickly as your answer. When all he does is lift a brow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips, you hazily remember his request. “Yes,” you whimper apologetically. “It’s alright.”

“Well, then. Suck,” he orders simply, holding his finger to your mouth. 

The command startles you at first. But as you look between the man beside you and the far wall, recalling how frustrated you’d been with your fears last night, you part your lips slightly. Just enough for him to enter. 

Timidly, you circle your tongue around him, coating his finger in your saliva. Once he deems it wet enough, he taps your thigh again, and you release him with a soft pop. 

With half-lidded eyes, Zayne hums his approval, pushing closer to you to angle the digit at your entrance. “Hold onto me if you need to,” he whispers, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder.

And then, his finger sinks inside you. 

It’s one thing to feel the tension. To clench as a light, unfamiliar pressure pushes firmly inside your heat, claiming the untraversed territory with every inch. 

But as the discomfort subsides and you open your eyes, seeing it unfold is something else entirely. 

On the large screen, Zayne’s slender finger pumps in and out of you slowly, impactfully. With every exit, your pulsing pink walls hug his retreating digit, begging him to stay. And when he grants their request, every thrust back inside has them clamping around his finger, as if barring him from leaving them lonely. 

Watching with rapt attention, Zayne splits his focus between the monitor and you, gauging your expression for signs of discomfort.

But as your body melts with newfound pleasure, you sigh softly along to the rhythm of his pumps, eyeing the way he breaches your wetness with wanton intrigue. 

The way he disappears inside you, giving his body to yours…you want to kiss him. You need to kiss him. But the moment you lift your gaze to his lips, licking your own as you lean in, Zayne moves his face just out of reach.

“No,” he murmurs his denial, stroking your walls with added vigor as he turns your face back toward the screen. “Don’t get distracted.”

Grumbling your disappointment, you allow his hypnotic movements to recapture your attention. But before long, you’re curling into his touch. “Can you…m-more?” you pant, risking a longing glance up at him. 

“More?” Zayne repeats, slowing his pace to a deep probe that makes you writhe in impatience. “Is that something you can handle?” 

“Yes,” you cry, clutching his pristine lab coat. “Can handle it, if it’s you.” 

He hums contentedly. And a split second later, another long finger joins the first. 

Eyes glued to the screen, you see the intrusion before you feel it: his thick, united digits headed straight for your core. As he prods at the small opening, advances met with quivering resistance, you almost think you’ve asked for more than you can take. But as slick dribbles out of your squelching hole to welcome him, the fluid dulls the stretching sensation, and your fluttering cunt sucks him in greedily.

A loud, lewd moan has you arching erratically, and Zayne wraps a strong arm around your lower back to support you. 

“How does it feel?” he murmurs between steady pumps. “Are you still frightened?” 

“No,” you mewl ardently. “It’s good. You’re good. But I…” you pause, racking your fuzzy brain for the right words. 

“You what, my love?” 

“I can’t…I don’t think I can…like this…” you trail off with an embarrassed whine, hoping he understands your babbling. 

“Mm,” he nods sympathetically. “It’s natural that you can’t come from this alone. What a good girl you are for telling me.” 

With his free hand, Zayne leans forward to adjust the camera, centering it over your glistening cunt. Once satisfied, he flexes his thumb to rest gently on the twitching bundle above your entrance. “You know what this is, don’t you, darling?”

“Clit,” you breathe, the word leaving you in a garbled gasp thanks to the shocks of his feather-light touch. 

“That’s right,” he praises, kissing your temple while his fingers scissor lazily inside you. “This is how you’ll finish.” 

As your voices fade, room filling with the wet sploshes of your tightening walls, the force of his thumb grows heavier on your clit. You almost squeal as the pressure increases, instinctively lifting your hips out of the camera frame—to which Zayne firmly pushes you back down. 

“Watch,” he commands sternly. “So you’ll know how to do the same when I’m away.” 

Curling his other fingers inside you, Zayne rolls his thumb in devastating circles, grinding so deeply against your nub that it greets you with spasmic, greedy twitches on the monitor. For a moment, his movements are mesmerizing, his thumb drawing patterns on your clit in time with his measured pumps. But as he slips out his index finger to pinch your aching bud, the gushing slick heralding your release is the last thing you see before your eyes screw shut from ecstasy. 

As you writhe against him with thankful sobs, Zayne’s movements slow before stopping altogether. “It’s alright,” he shushes you. “Let it take you. You look beautiful like this.” 

And in the comfort of his reassurance, those sobs turn into quiet, blissful moans. 

You’re not sure how he does it—the sink and paper towels are on the other side of the room—but when you open your eyes, Zayne’s hands are clean. 

“I’m very proud of you,” he says gently, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you mumble, nuzzling into his palm. “You were right. Seeing it, knowing what you were doing…it did help,” you finish shyly.

“Do you ever take a break?”

Zayne doesn’t look up from his textbook as he replies, his voice quiet as it always is. “I’m a medical student. I don’t have time for breaks.”

A smile plays on your lips as you stir your coffee idly. “That’s not healthy, you know. You’re going to burn out.”

His pen taps once against the table before he finally glances up. His hazel-green eyes catch the café’s amber light, framed by the faint gleam of his glasses. “Your point?”

You trace a slow circle along the edge of his thick textbook. “How are you going to be a fine surgeon if you’re bottled up in stress?”

A hint of a smile ghost across his mouth, leaving as quick as it came. “As I said, I don’t have time for that.”

“You don’t have time,” you counter, “or you don’t make time?”

That earns you a faint flush along his ears. Zayne looks down, then back at you with a small, almost shy curve of his lips. Up close, he looks tired, the kind of exhaustion that sits behind his eyes, but stays distractingly handsome.

“You already know the answer to that,” he murmurs.

Leaning forward, you prop your chin on your hand. “So truly, you only study?”

He nods.

“You don’t go to the gym? Watch movies? Do anything remotely fun?” There’s teasing in your tone, but its lined with something genuine.

Zayne rubs at the back of his neck, a gesture that’s both nervous and endearing. “Sometimes I go for a run, but… no. Not really. It’s just studying.”

You watch him take a long sip of coffee, and you think the conversation should end there. But curiosity nudges you forward.

“Do you ever date?” you ask before you can think better of it. You don’t have the intention of changing the conversation the way it does when you ask, but suddenly the room feels warmer.

He chokes on his drink, coughing into his sleeve. “Um—no. Definitely not that,” his ears turn crimson. “I don’t really see how that’s relevant to stress relief.”

You can’t help but smile, caught between amusement and intrigue. “Well,” you say slowly, “some people would argue.. you know… helps.”

He blinks, startled by your statement. You can definitely feel the temperature of the café rise now.

“I—uh—” he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, eyes darting away. “I’ve never really… had time for that.”

The silence stretches, but it’s gentle. You watch his fingers fidget with the corner of his notebook, the tension gathering in the slope of his shoulders. Finally, he adds, so quiet it could have drowned out if you weren’t listening:

“Ever.”

You blink back, startled but not judgmental. “Ever?”

He shakes his head, eyes still downcast. The movement is small, almost apologetic.

Something twists in your chest. It’s not pity, but rather a strange warmth. Zayne looks so flustered that you instantly regret asking, though his admission sends an unexpected rush of heat through you.

“That’s alright,” you say softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay,” he assures, voice barely above a murmur. Then his eyes lift to meet yours, waves of uncertainty crashing through the color. “You’re not going to make fun of me?”

Your lips part in quiet surprise. “Of course not,” you say in a firm tone. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

A short humorless laugh escapes him as he closes the textbook. “Right. Nothing like still being a virgin.”

The words shouldn’t affect you the way they do. But they hang in the air between you. His nervous honesty tugs at something deep inside you.

“There isn’t,” you assure once more.

Zayne looks away, flustered again, unaware of how intently you’re watching him now. Maybe he’s always look at you like that—shy, half-hidden glances behind those lenses. Maybe you’ve always looked at him like this.  

You clear your throat softly, trying to dispel the tension, but it lingers, humming along the calm in the café.

“I should get going,” he says finally, glancing out the window. The sun has dipped beneath the horizon, leaving streaks of rose and amber melting into the dusk.

You stand with him, stacking cups and napkins. “I’ll walk with you,” you offer lightly. “If you’d like.”

Zayne looks at you, then offers a small, grateful curve of his lips. “Of course I would.”

The evening air hits softly as you step outside, carrying the faint chill of autumn and the scent of roasted coffee the shop leaves behind you. Zayne holds the door open as he always does, and you thank him, brushing past close enough to feel the warmth of his arm through his sweater.

For some reason, the space between you feels different now. You’ve always thought Zayne was cute in that composed, too-serious way—but you never let it mean anything. Not really. The memory of his confession lingers. It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t affect you. Yet the image of his flushed face, the nervous tremor in his voice, won’t let go. You wonder if he looks that way in the heat of the moment, and if you’ll be able to lose that picture of him in your mind long enough until you get home.

He catches you spacing out. “You okay?”

You nod quickly. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

You shrug, forcing a teasing smile. “How you manage to be the busiest person alive.”

That earns a laugh from him, easing your thoughts. “It’s not like I mean to be.”

“Oh please,” you nudge. “You schedule yourself to the brink. All these classes to graduate early. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve forgotten how to relax.”

He exhales through his nose, gaze dropping to his shoes. His pace slows so you walk side by side. “Honestly? I think I have.”

“That’s tragic,” you say. “Someone should teach you.”

Zayne glances at you, amused but a little flustered. You realize then that there’s an unspoken double meaning to your words. Though it isn’t directly your intention, you don’t bother to correct it.

“And who exactly would volunteer for that?” he asks, tone lighter than his eyes.

“Maybe someone patient,” you smile, hoping your blush passes for the chill in the air.

He laughs shyly. “You’re assuming I’m a quick learner.”

“Med student,” you poke his arm. “You’ve got to be.”

The easy back-and-forth settles into something sweet. Conversation drifts, touching on nothing important. All trivial things that run under a quiet undercurrent neither of you names. Your shoulders brush once, and you feel it again. Zayne smells faintly of soap, coffee, and something cozy, like cedar, maybe. You catch yourself leaning closer than necessary as you both step off the curb, and your pulse skips at the awareness of how tall he is beside you.

You really need to get a grip. But it’s hard when silence takes over, filled only by the rhythm of your footsteps. The streetlights blink on overhead, painting his profile in a warm glow. He looks thoughtful with his eyes down, hands in his pockets. Something soft, and almost gentle enough to touch.

When his building appears, Zayne slows. You both stop near the steps, the air between you stretching thin with the kind of pause that begs to be filled.

He hesitates, then says casually, “You, uh… mentioned stress relief earlier.”

Your heartbeat quickens. “Yeah?”

“I heard music helps,” he gestures vaguely towards the door, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “I just got a few new vinyls, If you want to… listen?”

The offer lands somewhere between innocent and not. His tone is careful, but his eyes betray him. You could melt into a puddle on the pavement from how cute and sheepish he is in trying to hide it.  

“I’d like that.”

Relief visibly flickers across his face as he unlocks the door. As he holds it open for you again, your body brushes his briefly and the warmth of the touch follows you both inside.

Zayne’s apartment is exactly what you’d imagined it would be—clean, organized, yet lived in just enough to feel real. A clutter of notes rests on the coffee table next to some open books, an abandoned mug sits by the sink.

“This is so you,” you say, stepping further inside.

The soft click of the lock fills the space behind you, followed by his gentle voice. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You flash him a smile over your shoulder as he toes off his shoes. The movement is casual, but your eyes linger longer than you mean to. When you realize it, you turn quickly, pretending to take in the rest of the space.

“Alright,” you say, forcing a playful tone. “You’re supposed to be relaxing, right? Music is the plan?”

He gestures towards a small shelf near the window stacked with vinyl’s. “Go ahead. Pick something.”

You drop down onto the plush rug, cross-legged, and start flipping through his collection. The sleeves are worn at the corners, the kind of wear that says he actually listens to them. You trace your fingers along the spines, murmuring, “You’ve got good taste.”

Behind you, Zayne chuckles nervously. “I hope so. Not many people to compare notes with.”

You glance back, smirking. “Well, this part of your social circle approves,” you slide out a record with a familiar sultry cover, your grin widening. “Cigarettes After Sex?”

He goes pink instantly. “It’s good music,” he defends too quickly.

You laugh softly. “I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

You rise, careful as you place the record on the turntable and lower the needle. The first dreamy notes bloom into the air, hazy and low.

A frown graces your lips as you look around. “We have got to do something about this lighting.”

“What’s wrong with the lighting?”

“It’s way too bright,” a giggle leaves your lips. “You really did forget how to chill.”

He shifts, blushing slightly, looking entirely unsure with what to do with his hands.

“Candles?” you ask.

He nods toward a shelf. You grab one, strike a match and light the wick. The tiny flame flutters to life just as he dims the overhead lights, plunging the room into a golden flicker from the candle accompanied by the glow of a lamp.

Suddenly, the apartment feels smaller. Closer. The music hums low, the shadows stretch gently, and everything feels welcomely intimate.

You sink down into the couch, locking your eyes on Zayne. “You’re not going to stand there all night, right? You did invite me over to relax.”

He exhales a small, shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Guess so.”

“Then sit,” your voice is soft as you pat his sofa, a silly gesture being you’re the guest in his home.

His steps are careful as he finally joins you, folding himself down. The distance between you is polite. For a while, neither of you speak. The room is filled with soft sounds of your environment mixed with the rhythmic pulse of your hearts.

“See?” you murmur. “Isn’t this nice?”

Zayne nods, glancing sideways. “Yeah. It is.”

Your head turns, resting against the cushions as you study him and the candlelight that softens his features. There’s something shy, yet brave in his gaze, like he’s trying to find words for something too big to say.

“I just…” he starts, then trails off, shaking his head with a half-smile.

“What?” you ask quietly.

“Nothing.”

You poke his arm playfully. “Not nothing.”

He hesitates, then blurts, “I can’t believe I told you I’m a virgin.”

Your smile comes easily. “I can’t believe you are a virgin.”

Zayne’s ears go crimson. “And why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because you’re…you. You’re smart, and funny…”

You trail off your sultry tone as you reach out and gently take his glasses from his face. He freezes, breath catching, and you hold his gaze as you fold and set them aside. “And attractive.”

A tiny sound slips from his lips. “You think so?”

“Mmhmm…” you let your gaze drift to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Is it safe to assume that’s... maybe the real reason you invited me over?”

Zayne doesn’t say anything with his mouth, but his eyes tell you everything.

So, you lean in.

The kiss is soft at first—tentative, tasting of nerves and longing. He stiffens, then melts, one hand rising hesitantly to your jaw, the other curling in the fabric of the couch. The kiss deepens only when you tilt you head and sigh into him, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years.

“I…” he whispers, breath brushing your mouth. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “Are you?”

The answer comes in another kiss, deeper this time. Your body instinctively moves closer, and his arm wraps around your waist. The hold is tentative at first, then more certain as your fingers slip into his hair. The music hums around you, dreamy and slow, and every heartbeat seems to echo between your lips.

Your tongue swipes experimentally over his bottom lip, and he groans softly before opening to you. His response is a mirrored hunger as you make out until you’re both breathless. When he pulls back for air, his cheeks are flushed, lips swollen and glossy from the kiss. You can’t resist tugging gently at his ear, feeling a shiver pass through him as he tries to steady himself.

“We should move to my bedroom,” he offers, a slight tremor in his voice.

You nod, your hand sliding into his as he guides you. His fingers are warm and slightly unsteady, so you trace your thumb across his knuckles in an attempt to soothe the nerves. As the bedroom door opens, a soft glow spills in.

Zayne’s hands are on you the moment he faces you, cradling your jaw as he captures your lips with confidence. You melt into the kiss, letting him set the pace while sparks shoot through your body.

“I’ve thought about this… about you,” he confesses against your lips before claiming them again with a hunger that makes your knees weak. You gasp softly, hands sliding down to tug at the hem of his shirt.

With a swift motion, he peels it off, tossing it aside, and your lips find each other again. Your fingers trace the sculpted lines of his chest. He lets out a soft hiss, a flutter of nerves mixing with excitement.

Your shirt joins the floor soon after, and as Zayne fumbles slightly with his belt, you slide out of your jeans. The two of you pause for a moment, standing nearly bare. Something tentative flickers in his eyes, and before it consumes him, you guide him gently onto the mattress, where he lands with a soft grunt.

Your lips met his again as you straddle him, the press of him against your heat a tantalizing promise. His hands tremble as they rest on your hips, and a wide, uncertain gaze meets yours.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits, voice husky with vulnerability.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper, leaving a trail of gentle kisses from his jaw to his neck. “Just let me take care of you.”

A sharp inhale leaves him at the sensitive touch of your lips. His hands tighten around your hips, fingers digging gently into the skin. “I don’t… I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Shhh…” you coo, nuzzling against his neck. “Just do what feels natural.”

You rock against him once, slow enough to test the reaction. A choked gasps escapes him, and his eyes flutter closed for a moment. When they open, they’re dark with want, a nervous flicker replaced with trust and longing.

“I want you to show me what you like,” he murmurs, finger tracing lightly along your back, brushing your spine over the strap of your bra.

You kiss the plane of his chest. “I like this,” you admit softly. “I like teaching you. That your inexperienced… it’s kind of hot.”

He blushes, lips parting slightly. “You’re the one who’s hot,” he says, fumbling with your bra clasps. You nod, offering reassurance, rubbing soothing circles over his arms as he struggles. When the fastenings finally give, he releases a small, startled breath.

“You alright?”

Zayne nods feverishly. “Just.. nervous.”

“Don’t be,” you reply, pecking his lips as you let your bra slip off. Your breasts spill free as you lean back to let your body be seen.

His gaze drops to your chest before immediately snapping back to your face, ears flushing even darker. “You’re beautiful.”

A smirk graces your lips as you rub yourself over him again, and a low groan rumbles in his chest. His hands hover over you, expression needy as he asks to touch you.

“Yes…” you nod, feeling the damp heat between your thighs grow as the hard line of him presses insistently against you. “Touch me.”

His hands cup your breasts, thumbs grazing over your nipples until they pebble, sending a shiver rolling down your spine. A soft sound slips from your lips, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

“You’re… so soft,” he murmurs, awe coating every syllable.

You continue to move, rocking gently over him. The wetness that pools leaves a slick trace on the fabric of his boxers. His eyes widen at the sensation, hips lifting instinctively towards yours. “You’re so wet,” he breathes, his voice low and hoarse.

A whimper escapes in reply, your mind swimming in the delicate friction. You’re savoring the slow burn, teasing him as much as yourself—but a part of you is craving to take him inside you until he’s a whimpering mess beneath you.

His hands trail down from your chest to your hips, brushing circles on your hipbone with his thumbs. Zayne’s voice drops to a husky whisper. “Can I… see you properly?”

“You’re ready?”

His nod is quick, almost desperate. “More than ready,” his fingers ghost along the lace of your panties. “Just tell me if I do something wrong.”

You lift slightly, letting him pull them down, which he does slowly. The fabric peels down your legs as cool air gazes your slick warmth, pricking your skin in goosebumps. His breathing becomes uneven as he sees you fully exposed and ready for him.

“Can we take these off too?” you bat your lashes, reaching for him. When he nods, you pull the thin fabric of his boxers down, and his cock springs free. It smacks against his stomach, the tip glistening with a bead of precum.

“Zayne…” you sigh, letting your thumb glide over the slit, smearing the slickness over the head. “You’re so big.”

A soft moan escapes his lips as he buries his face in your neck. Your hand wraps around him fully, stroking in slow, measured motions. He tenses beneath your touch, hips twitching instinctively into your hand to match your pace.

“I want to make you feel good,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough with need.

You bite your lip as you smirk. “Mmm… you will.”

The slow strokes on his cock continue, drawing low groans from him while his eyes flutter shut, head leaning back against the pillows. When he covers your hand gently with his own, halting your motions, his voice cracks slightly. “W-Wait… I need a second.”

You hum, eyes fixed on his, hand still wrapped around him as he pulses in your grasp.

Cheeks blazing, he swallows hard.  “I don’t want to… finish to fast. Can I… taste you first?”

Your pussy flutters around nothing at the words. You bite your lip, fighting the soft sound threatening to escape. “You want to try?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation, flipping you so he hovers above you. The movement is so quick and gentle, it leaves you dizzy in desire. His lips trail a path of gentle kisses from your navel downward, and you shiver, heart hammering. “Tell me what to do,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours.

Zayne’s lips press a slow, lingering kiss to your inner thigh, before his dark gaze travels down to the aching, slick mess between your legs. He shudders, a low breath escaping as he admires every inch of you, and your skin burns under his intense scrutiny.

“Do you… know where the clit is?” you ask, curiosity threading your words.

His brow furrows in thought, the medical student in him surfacing instantly. “Anatomically, yes,” he says, voice quiet, eyes flicking back to yours with a sudden, beautiful shyness. “But… practically?”

You smile, shifting slightly to open yourself further. “Just… you’ll want to lick and suck there. Use your fingers first—I’ll tell you when you find it.”

Zayne swallows, settling between your thighs. He suppresses a groan, just from seeing at how wet you are, how you’re aching but taking it slow just for him. He wants to make this a rewarding experience.

His fingertips trace a featherlight path along your thigh, sliding into your folds. A gasp escapes you, heat rushing through your veins as his eyes drink in your reactions. He swirls, teasing until he lands on the bundle of sensitive nerves, and your back arches in response.

“Y-Yeah… there,” you breathe.

A low hum of satisfaction vibrates from him as he parts you gently, fingers spreading you for better access. Your puffy, swollen pussy greets him as he presses against your clit, gently circling. He glances at you once more before dipping his head, placing a hot, careful kiss on your core.

His tongue darts out to replace the pressure of his fingers, licking a deep stripe of your arousal. He groans against you at the taste, beginning to swirl experimentally. His tongue finds a demanding, insistent rhythm that makes you shiver and moan.

Your hands find his dark hair, playing with it gently as he teases, flicks, and gently sucks, eyes meeting yours—and lighting up when you moan harder and rock your hips against his face.

“You’re… doing so good,” you moan, voice trembling.

A soft groan vibrates against your core, and he rewards your praise, tongue tracing deliberate circles over your clit. He keeps your pussy spread open for him, the other hand digging into the plush skin on your thigh, pushing it down toward the mattress every time you twitch.

“Yeah… oh—god—”

Zayne pulls back slightly, lips and chin glistening with your juices. “You’re so responsive,” he whispers, voice thick with desire and fascination. “I want to make you come.”

Before you can answer, his head dips back down, mouth devouring you. You squirm against the sheets, a familiar, delicious pressure building low in your stomach.

“Just like that…” you breathe. “Don’t stop, and you’ll make me come.”

His rhythm becomes confident, tongue pressing firmly while his finger traces your entrance, sliding in just the tip. You gasp, tugging at his hair.

“Fuck…”

Zayne groans, fully pressing his finger inside you, then another, moving it in and out to coax you open gently. He watches your face as you start to unravel, hips shifting restlessly against the mattress beneath him.

You watch, lips parted, as Zayne—your shy, hesitant student—devotes himself fully to your pleasure while shamelessly fucking himself against the mattress for a sense of relief.

“God… Zayne,” you choke out.

His pace falters for a heartbeat as he realizes you’re watching him, cheeks coloring with a sudden embarrassment from being caught.

“N-No… it’s okay,” you assure sweetly, stroking his hair. “Keep going.”

The pleasure resumes, ragged breathing filling the room accompanied by the slick sounds of his tongue against you. His hips stutter lightly as he groans, utterly lost in the moment.

“Oh fuck—” you mewl. “You’re gonna make m-me come!”

He shudders violently, working you right over the edge. Your clutch his hair as your walls pulse around his fingers, waves of blinding euphoria ripping through your skin. You pant, trying to catch your breath as Zayne looks up at you, dazed and completely enchanted by his success.

He pulls back slowly, and when you glance down, you see a dark, wet stain blooming on the sheets where his release hit the fabric.

“Did you come?” you ask, a mixture of awe and desire swimming in your voice.

Poor Zayne looks away, completely mortified as he gives a quick, jerky nod. “Against the sheets. I… I couldn’t help it.”

You chuckle softly. “Fuck Zayne… it turned you on that much? That I was coming?”

When he doesn’t answer, looking like he wants the ground to swallow him whole, you pull him up by his wrists, kissing him deep enough to taste yourself on his lips. He gasps as you flip him onto his back, straddling him once more. His hands settle on your waist instinctively, cock twitching against your stomach, still hard and leaking from his unexpected orgasm.

“I’m sorry,” he sputters. “That was so embarrassing.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you purr. “I think it was hot.”

The soft sound that escapes him is almost a whimper, a blush permanently dusting his face. You swipe at a bead of cum from his cock with your thumb, watching the flush deepen.

“Can you take more?” you ask, teasing.

“Yes,” he answers instantly.

“Condoms?”

“Top drawer.”

You lean over to open the nightstand, pulling out an unopened box. Tearing the seal, you break off a foil packet and hand it to him.  

“Do you know how to put it on?”

Zayne flushes, fingers trembling as he tears the packet and rolls the slippery latex over his length. You watch with a hunger that has your pulse throbbing in your pussy, every slow movement flooding you with anticipation. When his eyes meet yours, they are dark and wanting.

“Can I ride you now?” you mumble in a seductive tone, running your hands over the sculpted lines of his chest. His hands find their way back around your waist as he nods.

“Please,” the words are gentle and deep—so eager to be ruined. “Show me how.”

His hands guide you as you hover over him, tip teasing your slick entrance. Once glance at him, fully immersed in the scene, and you sink down. Your gummy walls press around just the head and a choked gasp escapes him.

You begin a slow, teasing rhythm, sliding just the tip of his cock in and out of your pussy. His entire body tenses, hands roaming from your hips to cup your breasts, thumbs pressing into your nipples.

“It feels—fuck—it feels so good,” he groans. His hips twitch upward, trying to push deeper into you. “More. Please.”

You obey, lowering down on him further. The pressure has your lips falling open in a soft moan. “Fuuuck, Zayne… you’re stretching me open…”

A strangled moan catches in Zayne’s throat, and his hands slam onto your hips, driving you fully down. The sudden action steals your breath as he fills you completely.

“You’re so tight,” he hisses, eyes squeezed shut as he adjusts to your warmth.

You lean forward, peppering kisses along his jaw. “Look at you,” you murmur. “Not a virgin anymore.”

His eyes flutter open, hazy with pleasure. “No,” he rasps. “I’m not.”

You lift, his length slipping out before you shove it back in softly. Again, and again you gently bounce on him, earning thick groans and curses from Zayne’s lips. He already looks fucked out—hair sticking to his forehead as his lips part to beg for more.

“Please,” he chokes out, hips bucking up to meet your slow thrusts, fingers digging into your skin, guiding you to move. “Faster.”

The pace quickens instantly, your slick walls glide up and down his length as the headboard taps softly against the wall with each connected motion.  

“Zayne—haah!”

A symphony of ragged moans fill the room as he matches your pace, rutting into you like he can’t get enough. His hands explore possessively, mapping your body before resting on your back.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You whimper at the compliment, praises falling from your lips. “You’re doing so good… look at you.”

His pupils are blown wide in pleasure as he thrusts upwards, cock hitting your cervix while a deep groan rumbles in his chest. “Fuck. You’re ruining me.”

You arch back slightly, bouncing as the new angle brushes your g-spot. Your breasts rise with every movement, and Zayne looks on the edge of finishing just from the sight.

“Yeah?” you whimper.

“Y-Yeah,” he stutters, eyes locked on your body. He cradles your back, supporting you as you ride him. “Completely.”

The room fills with the sounds of your shared moans and the sopping sounds of sex, the vinyl long finished. You maintain your pace, even as his falters—overwhelmed by the sensation of your walls squeezing him tight as the delicious pressure builds.

When you look down to watch him disappear inside you, your control slips entirely.

“Shit—” you gasp, bouncing harder. It’s a filthy sight, your juices coating his cock which swells against the latex.

Zayne follows your gaze, sweat beading on his forehead. “Fuck. I’m so close.”

Your nails dig crescents into his shoulder as convulsing waves overtake you. “Yeah? Fuck—mmgh—m’coming…”

The prettiest sound escapes from Zayne’s lips as your pussy milks him. His orgasm hits him hard—hips stuttering into your heat as he floods the condom in his release.   

He collapses back onto the pillow, tugging you down with him. Shaking, he nuzzles into your neck, warm and completely spent.

“Holy shit…” you murmur, a soft chuckle escaping. His hands stroke gently on your back to soothe your body from the aftershocks.

“That was…” he pants, voice low and satisfied. “Incredible.”

You lift your head slightly, a playful smile on your lips. “Great sex. Are you sure you were a virgin?”

Zayne glance away, somehow still bashful. “I’m sure.”

You run a hand along his chest, tracing the rise and fall before setting it against his heartbeat. “Well,” you begin, resting your head, “I think you’re a natural.”

He lets out a small laugh that warms the room in a different way, turning to press a kiss to your temple. You sigh into it, curling against him. The room falls into a peaceful serenity.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your hair.