Chapter Thirteen #2
I sit back. “That’s not fair. Where will you sleep?”
“In my bed. If you’re okay with that.” His fingertips trace my cheek. “I promise I won’t pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do. Unless you’re uncomfortable with that?”
The back of my neck prickles — not with fear, but with something warm and unfamiliar. Being wanted without being asked for anything in return.
“No. I’m comfortable with that.” And it’s true. I trust him not to take anything I don’t want to give.
Which, now that I think about it, leaves a lot on the table. I like touching Tristan. I like snuggling him.
Plus, I’m a curious person by nature.
“So…” I look up at him, pulse skittering. “This might be a weird question.”
His brows lift, amused and patient. “Min, everything you say is my favorite thing. Hit me.”
God help me.
“I’ve been wondering what your penis tastes like.”
Tristan chokes on absolutely nothing. “I’m—sorry? What?”
Heat floods my face, but I barrel on. “Scientifically speaking, taste varies by diet, hydration, hygiene, pH balance—there are entire biological factors that influence genital flavor profiles. It’s not strange to be curious.”
He stares at me like he’s trying very hard not to pass out. “Profiles.”
“Yes.” I nod, fully committed. “I’ve read that sodium levels can affect it. And overall sweetness. And viscosity.” I pause. “Do penises have viscosity? I mean the—output does, obviously, but the organ itself—”
“Minerva.” His voice drops an octave. “Sweetheart. I need a second.”
“Oh! Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
He lets out a strangled laugh. “Uncomfortable isn’t the word I’d use. More like… seconds away from spontaneously combusting.”
I blink. “Is that good?”
“It’s—” He drags a hand over his mouth. “It’s very good. And very hot. And also the most Minerva thing you’ve ever said.”
I fidget with the hem of my shirt. “So… do you happen to know? About the taste variables?”
He laughs again, softer this time, stepping closer until his forehead rests lightly against mine. “Min, if you want to find out someday, you can just check. You don’t have to run a peer-reviewed study.”
“I’d still like to run one,” I murmur.
“Of course you would.”
Tristan doesn’t even blink when I tell him what I want.
Just tilts his head like he’s making room for it in his brain, like I’ve handed him a slightly strange ingredient to figure into a new recipe.
But not a rejection. Not even surprise. Just..
. quiet acceptance. That’s the thing about Tristan.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t try to fix it. He just sees me.
* * *
I sit cross-legged at the foot of his bed, knees bouncing, fingers twisted in the hem of my hoodie. I’m practically vibrating.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I blurt, already regretting it.
“I know.” His voice is low. Patient. A promise. “That’s why we take our time.”
He’s leaning against the headboard, shirtless, legs spread in those worn gray sweatpants that drive me insane. He’s hard already, not in a showy, aggressive way—but in that quiet, thick press of heat against fabric that makes my mouth go dry.
“I want to learn,” I say. “Not because I think I’m supposed to. Because I want to know you. That part of you. What you like. How you… work.”
His breath hitches. “Min.”
“I read a thing once. About how oral sex can help lower cortisol and build oxytocin bonds.”
That gets an easy laugh. “You trying to hack our chemistry?”
“No,” I say honestly. “I just want to be good to you.”
He reaches out his hand and waits.
I crawl forward, settling between his knees, and place my hand in his. It grounds me. His thumb strokes slowly over the back of mine.
“Then let me show you what feels good,” he promises. “We don’t rush. You stop if anything doesn’t feel right. Okay?”
I nod, catching my next inhale.
He guides my hand to his waistband. “Start here.”
I tug gently, and he lifts his hips to help me, never breaking eye contact. When his cock springs free, I go still.
Oh.
It’s... beautiful. Thick and flushed and already beading at the tip.
Up this close, it’s bigger than I expected, heavy in my hand, the skin hot and satin-smooth over steel.
A thick vein runs along the underside, and I trace it with one finger, fascinated, then watch another bead of precum well up and spill over the head.
“God, Min,” he rasps, hips twitching. “You’re staring at my cock like it’s a lab specimen, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
My breath stalls. My brain floods with questions, fascination, instinct. I want to taste him. Want to please him. But also, I want to study the way his body reacts. I want to learn everything.
“I didn’t expect it to… curve.” I brush my fingertips down the shaft.
He groans, head tipping back. “Jesus.”
“I’m sorry! Too much?”
He laughs softly. “You’re fine. You just say things with your scientist voice, and it’s wrecking me.”
I glance up, cheeks hot. “Is that a good thing?”
“Goddess Minerva,” he growls. “It’s a very good thing.”
I lean in, tentative. He watches every move, his breath catching when I swipe my tongue over the tip. Salt. Heat. His whole body tenses.
I do it again, slower, dragging my tongue up the full length until I can close my lips around the tip and suck gently. The taste bursts across my tongue, salty-bitter and all him, and I moan without meaning to. The vibration makes him jerk.
“Fuck, baby, do that again,” he groans. “Your little mouth feels unreal.”
“Like that?” I ask.
His voice is ragged. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
I smile.
Then I do it again.
I flatten my tongue more this time, pressing more of it along the underside of his cock as I drag slowly upward. It twitches in response, and I swear he whimpers. That small, broken sound shoots through me like lightning—because it’s real. I’m doing that. Me.
“I—was that… okay?”
Tristan huffs a breath, tight and strangled. His head knocks back against the headboard. “Min, if I die right now, just know it was the best possible way to go.”
My lips curve, emboldened. I lick again, experimenting with pressure, texture, speed. I’m so focused on his body that I nearly forget to breathe. Every shift in his thighs, every flex of his abs, every stuttered inhale—it’s data. Feedback. And I want to master this.
My fingers brush the base of him, wrapping slowly, and I glance up to see his eyes slam shut.
“Too much?” I ask again, worried.
“No,” he rasps. “Not even close. Just trying to keep it together.”
I want him to come apart.
Not because I need to prove anything—but because he’s always holding so much in. His control. His weight. His everything. And I want to be the one place where he gets to let go.
I swirl my tongue around the head, flicking at that sensitive spot just underneath until his thighs start shaking.
Then I take him deeper, as deep as I can without gagging, lips stretched wide around his thickness.
My jaw aches already, but I love it, love the way he fills my mouth, love the broken sounds he’s making above me.
“Look at you, Min,” he forces out a tortured laugh. “Stuffed full of my cock. Taking me so fucking perfect. Of course, you’re a natural.”
“I’m not.” I pull back slightly. “I’m just… paying attention.”
That gets a groan. “That’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
It’s messy, learning. A little awkward. My jaw aches in places I didn’t expect. I don’t take him deep—I’m not ready for that—but I wrap my lips around the head and suck softly, letting my hand stroke the rest in time.
Saliva slicks my chin, drips onto my hoodie. I don’t care. I’m too busy watching his abs clench every time I hollow my cheeks, too busy learning that when I twist my fist just right on the upstroke, he curses in French.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he pants. “Stroke me while you suck, just like that. My little scientist figuring me out.”
Then his hand lands on my shoulder. “Look at me,” he says hoarsely.
I do. And what I see there makes my whole body flush.
It’s not just lust. It’s reverence. Like I’m something sacred.
“I can’t believe this is real,” he whispers.
“I’ve never done this before,” I admit, pulling back, wiping my mouth. “Not like this. Not where I actually wanted to.”
Tristan’s heartbeat slows beneath my cheek. His skin is warm, and his hand is gently stroking down my back in lazy, reverent lines that make me feel more than safe—I feel wanted. Not just for what I gave him, but for me.
And that changes everything.
He cups my jaw, thumb sweeping across my swollen bottom lip, smearing the mess there.
“You don’t have to finish.”
I shake my head. “I want to know what you taste like when you come.”
His eyes go black. “Minerva.”
“I want it in my mouth.” Despite my burning cheeks, my voice stays steady. “Please.”
The word please undoes him.
He sits up straighter against the headboard, hand sliding into my hair, not pushing, just anchoring.
“Then take what you need, baby. I’m yours.”
I dive back down with new purpose, lips sealing tight, hand pumping in time with my mouth. I take him deeper than before, letting him hit the back of my throat once, twice, tears pricking my eyes from the stretch, but I don’t stop. I want it too much.
He’s chanting my name now, low and desperate.
“Fuck, Min, your mouth, so hot, so tight, gonna come, baby, gonna—”
His hips stutter. I pull up just enough to keep the head between my lips and suck hard, tongue working the underside.
He comes with a guttural groan, pulsing hot and thick across my tongue. I swallow on instinct, again and again, until he’s spent, until the last shudder leaves his body and his hand in my hair goes limp and trembling.
I pull off slowly, licking him clean because I can’t help it, then crawl up his body. He hauls me into his chest, arms banding around me, face buried in my neck.
“Holy fuck,” he breathes against my skin, voice hoarse. “You just wrecked me good.”
I hide my smile against his throat, tasting him still. “Data collected. Hypothesis confirmed: you taste even better than I calculated.”
He laughs, shaky and stunned, and kisses me deep and filthy, not caring that he’s still on my tongue. “Stay right here. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
I curl into him, warm and triumphant and utterly, perfectly his.
Kepler can sleep in his crate tonight.