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"Fucking hell, Tea." I finally allowed myself to open the floodgates fully, allowed my desire to rampage through me, free of the leash of my self-control.

Her tits were a big handful each, taut, firm, soft, and warm. For the first moment or two, I simply indulged the tactile wonder of having my hands on Tea's tits, a privilege I’d barely allowed myself to even daydream about.

And then, I began to explore. I squeezed gently, and Tea sucked a breath in through her teeth. I let them go, and they swayed gently in the cool air.

"Fucking gorgeous," I whispered, soaking up the intoxicating glory of a topless Tea. "So fucking hot, Tea. Jesus."

Her chin dipped, and a tiny smile curved her lips. "Thank you, Jax."

For a moment or two or three or four, I just stared at her, engraving the sight of her, sitting topless on my lap, into my brain. Desire, however, was a hungry flame inside me, demanding more.

Her breasts were high and round and tight, naturally almost perfectly globular, and her small, delicate pink nipples were surrounded by wide areolae a few shades darker pink than her nipples.

I truly, genuinely am not concerned with size. But hers were…fuck—perfect. I cupped one, caressed it, flicked her nipple with my thumb, eliciting a soft gasp from her, and that sound, the gasp, was the key turned in the ignition of my arousal.

"Jax?" she breathed.

"I'm speechless," I answered, now framing both tits in my hands.

"Oh." She tossed her hair, arching her back as I greedily, eagerly filled my hands with the taut firmness of her tits, my zipper tightening painfully.

"They're not too small?"

I rocked my hips in a vain, helpless attempt to alleviate the ache behind my zipper, and then grasped her hands and guided them down to my groin. She whimpered as I placed her hands on my zipper, biting her lower lip when she felt my hardness under her hands. "Does it feel like I think they're too small?"

She shook her head. "No."

"What does it feel like to you?"

"Like you're turned on."

"Because I am."

Her hands cupped my zipper, squeezing the bulge beneath, and Tea exhaled a slow, shaky breath through pursed lips. "I have a confession to make."

"I was there when you walked in on me, so I know what you saw," I said.

She smirked. "No, I know. Not that." The smirk vanished. "Um. When I fell asleep on you, I woke up the next morning, and you were, um… we were sort of cuddling, I guess? And you were…hard. And I had my hand on you—on your, um…package."

“Oh, I see,” I murmured. “And?"

Her cheeks flamed red. "And having seen you in your…um… at-rest state, I've been trying not to think about how…ahh….big it must be when it's…um. Like this?"

"You have my permission to think about my cock as much as you want.” I sounded more confident than I felt.

Inside, I was a disaster of nerves and insecurities.

I’d told her the truth: I’ve had a few girlfriends. But Rejection-Sensitive Dysphoria is real, and illogical. Just because other girls had found me…satisfactory…didn’t mean Sunni’s continual rejection didn't hurt worse than I could put into words.

"Just…think about?" she murmured, snapping my thoughts out of that particular rabbit hole, thankfully.

"No," I answered. “You can do anything. You have all of me, Tea.”

She bit her lower lip again, a hint of a smile curving up the corners; she arched her spine, pushing her breasts into my hands as I cupped them again, just to have them in my hands, to feel their fullness, their taut, silky warmth. But I needed more. More, more, more. And so far, she'd been on board with everything I was doing, so it felt safe to push things a little further.

"I want to kiss you," I whispered.

"Okay?" She sounded puzzled, as if silently wondering why I would ask permission when we’d already kissed.