First

The moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains of Michael’s bedroom, casting long, silver streaks across the silk sheets. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the city far below and the frantic thrumming of Mimi’s heart. She sat on the edge of the bed, her petite frame looking almost childlike against the vast expanse of the mattress. Her long, straight black hair fell like a curtain of ink down her back, shimmering under the dim light.

Michael stood before her, his presence commanding yet uncharacteristically gentle. He was tall, his athletic build honed by years on the pitch, and to Mimi, he felt like a giant made of warm skin and steady strength. She looked up at him, her small mouth parted slightly as she took a shaky breath.

"You’re shaking," Michael whispered, his voice a low, melodic rumble that vibrated in the small space between them. He reached out, his large hand cupping her cheek with a tenderness that made her eyes flutter shut.

"I’m just... I’ve never done this before," Mimi confessed, her voice barely a thread of sound. "I don't want to disappoint you, Michael. I know I’m small, and you’re..."

"You’re perfect," he interrupted, tilting her chin up so she had to meet his dark, focused gaze. "And we’re going to go exactly at your pace. If you want to stop, we stop. If you want me to slow down, I’ll move like a snail. Do you understand?"

Mimi nodded, a small measure of the tension leaving her shoulders. Michael leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead before moving to her lips. His kiss was cautious, a silent promise of protection. He tasted like mint and heat, and as he deepened the kiss, Mimi felt a wave of liquid warmth settle in her lower belly.

He moved with a grace that belied his size, slowly shedding his clothes before helping Mimi out of hers. When she stood before him, bare and fragile, she felt a momentary flash of insecurity. She was so slight, her bones delicate, while he was a force of nature. But the way he looked at her—with a mixture of reverence and hunger—made her feel like the most precious thing in the world.

Michael laid her back against the pillows, his body hovering over hers. He took his time, his hands exploring every curve of her pale skin, his thumbs tracing the line of her ribs and the dip of her waist. He was being careful, acutely aware of the size difference between them. He knew he had to be patient; he didn't want to hurt her.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he murmured against the crook of her neck.

As his hands moved lower, Mimi’s breath hitched. She was already sensitive, her body reacting to his touch with an intensity that frightened and thrilled her. When he finally positioned himself between her thighs, she felt the sheer scale of him. He was thick and heavy, and for a moment, she gripped his shoulders, her knuckles turning white.

"Easy, Mimi. Just breathe with me," Michael coached, his own breath hitching as he felt her heat.

He began to push inside, moving with agonizing slowness. He was trying to be a gentleman, trying to let her body adjust to the invasion, but the friction was electric. Mimi’s head tossed back against the pillow, her black hair splaying out like a halo. A low moan escaped her small mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock.

"Michael," she gasped, her legs trembling.

"I know, baby. I'm going slow," he groaned, his jaw clenched as he fought his own mounting desperation.

But Mimi wasn't just reacting to the pressure; she was reacting to the pleasure. Every millimeter he gained felt like a spark igniting a fuse. Her internal muscles clamped around him, slick and tight, and the sensation was so overwhelming that she felt her vision blur.

"Oh god, it feels... it's too much," she cried out, her voice rising in pitch.

The sound of her moans, so high and sweet, was like a physical blow to Michael’s self-control. He felt his pulse thundering in his ears. He tried to hold back, to keep the pace steady, but Mimi was already peaking. The friction of his slow, deliberate entry combined with her sheer lack of experience sent her over the edge in seconds.

She buckled beneath him, her back arching as a violent shudder racked her tiny frame. She came hard and fast, her body drenching him in a sudden, hot flood of release. The sheer amount of moisture she produced made the friction vanish, replaced by a slick, effortless glide.

Michael let out a choked sound, unable to hold back any longer as the resistance vanished. He slid home, burying himself deep within her as she sobbed out her pleasure. He stayed still for a moment, letting her tremors subside, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he struggled to catch his breath.

"You're so sensitive," he rasped, his voice thick with wonder. "You didn't even wait for me."

Mimi let out a shaky laugh, her eyes wet with tears of relief and joy. "I couldn't help it. You feel... incredible."

After a few minutes of quiet recovery, Michael pulled back just enough to look at her. The air in the room was heavy with the scent of sex and intimacy. He wasn't finished, and the sight of her flushed face and swollen lips made him want to show her everything he knew.

"I want to teach you something else," he said softly, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. "Only if you want to."

Mimi nodded eagerly, her trust in him absolute. "Show me."

Michael sat back against the headboard, pulling her up so she was kneeling between his legs. He guided her, showing her how to use her hands and her small mouth. He was patient, explaining the rhythm, telling her what felt good and how to breathe.

"Use your tongue, Mimi. Like that... yeah, just like that," he encouraged, his hands tangling in her long hair to guide her movements.

She was a quick study, driven by a desire to please him as much as he had pleased her. The sight of her, so small and focused, working on him with such earnestness, was more erotic than anything he had ever experienced. He felt the tension building in his core, a pressure that demanded release.

As he neared his limit, his breath became ragged. "Mimi, look at me."

She looked up, her eyes wide and dark, her lips glistening. The sight broke him. He reached down, his grip firm but careful as he guided her through the final moments.

"Don't stop," he groaned, his body tensing.

When he finally came, it was explosive. He let out a low, guttural growl, his release coating her mouth and splashing across her cheeks and chin. Mimi didn't flinch; she leaned into it, her eyes closing as she swallowed, her throat working as she took him in.

She let out a soft cry, a sound of pure, overwhelmed pleasure that was half-sob and half-sigh. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes—not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of the sensation and the emotional weight of the moment.

Michael immediately pulled her up into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. He felt her heart racing against his chest, her small body still vibrating with the aftershocks of the night.

"You okay?" he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"I'm more than okay," she murmured, her voice muffled against his skin. "I didn't know it could be like that."

Michael squeezed her tighter, looking out at the moonlight and feeling a profound sense of protectiveness. He knew this was just the beginning for them, and as he felt her fall asleep in his arms, he knew he would spend a lifetime being as slow and careful as she needed him to be.