Chapter 6:First touch

Mabel

The room had gone so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. A low, frantic drum. The spotlight was soft but hot on my face, and every woman in the circle had melted into shadow. There was only Adrian, standing just behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off his chest.

He didn’t rush. He never rushed.

“Still okay?” he asked, voice pitched low, only for me. The little microphone clipped to his collar caught it anyway, and a couple of women let out soft, understanding breaths.

I nodded, throat too tight for words.

Adrian spoke to the room, calm and steady. “Mabel has agreed to help tonight. We’re keeping everything clothed (skirt stays down, panties stay on). This is about teaching her body what rhythm feels like when someone else sets it. Consent can be revoked any second. Say stop and we stop. Mabel, color?”

“Green,” I managed. It came out shaky but sure.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good girl.”

Two words and my knees almost buckled.

He guided me until the backs of my thighs brushed the velvet bench. “Sit for me, sweetheart.”

I sat. The velvet was cool through my skirt. My hands landed in my lap like scared birds.

Adrian took my right hand, turned it palm-up, and traced one slow circle in the center with his thumb. Goosebumps raced up my arm.

“First thing,” he said to the circle, but his eyes never left mine, “is that arousal isn’t a performance. It’s a conversation. Mabel’s body has been shouted at for years. Tonight we’re going to whisper.”

He lifted my hand (my own hand) and guided it under the hem of my skirt. I sucked in air so fast it hurt. His fingers rested lightly over mine, not pushing, just waiting.

“Breathe, Mabel.”

I hadn’t realized I’d stopped. I let the air out on a tremble.

He moved us together, slow as honey, pressing my fingers over the cotton between my legs. I was already soaked; I could feel it the second the fabric touched me. Heat flooded my face.

Adrian didn’t blink. “That’s normal,” he said, loud enough for everyone. “That’s her body saying yes before her mind catches up. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

His hand set the pace: wide, lazy circles that barely skimmed my clit at first. Light, maddening. My hips tried to chase more pressure; he used his free hand on my hip to still me.

“Uh-uh. Let it build. No rushing.”

I whimpered. I couldn’t help it.

The room was so quiet I swear they heard that, too.

He kept the rhythm steady, patient, like he had all night. Every few circles he’d let my fingers drag a little heavier, then lighten again. Teasing. Teaching. My thighs started shaking.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

I dragged my eyes up. His pupils were huge, hazel swallowed by black.

“You feel that?” His voice dropped even lower. “That heaviness in your stomach? That’s your body catching up. Don’t fight it.”

I couldn’t have fought if I wanted to. The feeling was different from anything I’d ever managed alone (slower, deeper, like something huge uncoiling low in my spine). My head fell back against his shoulder without permission.

“That’s it,” he whispered against my hair. “Let them see what it looks like when a woman finally gets listened to.”

The first spasm hit me like a wave I didn’t see coming. I gasped his name (actually gasped “Adrian”) and my hips jerked hard against our hands. He didn’t stop, just tightened his grip over mine, guiding me through it while pleasure rolled and rolled and rolled. Quiet, shaking, tears slipping hot down my temples into my hair. I came in front of strangers, and it felt like being reborn.

When it finally ebbed, my legs were useless. Adrian eased my hand away, brought my trembling fingers to his lips, and kissed them softly, tasting me without making a show of it. Then he grabbed the soft blanket from the end of the bench and wrapped it around my shoulders, pulling me back against his chest like I weighed nothing.

The room let out a collective breath. Someone started clapping (small, gentle, like they were afraid to break the spell). Then everyone was clapping, some crying, some smiling like they’d just watched a miracle.

Adrian’s voice was rough when he spoke. “That’s enough for tonight. Go home, be kind to yourselves. Mabel stays with me.”

They filed out slowly, touching my shoulder as they passed, whispering thank you like I’d given them something instead of the other way around. The door clicked shut. Silence rushed in.

I was still shaking. Adrian turned me in his arms and I buried my face in his shirt (cedar and warm skin and safety) and started crying for real. Not pretty crying. Ugly, hiccupping sobs that came from somewhere deeper than Ethan had ever reached.

He held me tight, one hand stroking my hair. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you. You were perfect. So fucking perfect.”

I laughed wetly into his chest. “I can’t believe I just—”

“I can.” He pulled back enough to cup my face, thumbs wiping tears. “I’ve been thinking about how you’d sound when you let go since the second you walked into my office yesterday.”

My breath caught. The spotlight was still on us, turning everything gold and unreal.

He brushed a thumb across my lower lip, eyes searching mine. “Mabel… I need to ask you something, and I need the truth.”

Here it came. The last name. The coincidence that wasn’t. My stomach dropped straight through the floor.

I swallowed. “Okay.”

He took a slow breath, steadying himself. “Why does the woman who just came apart so beautifully on my fingers have my mother’s maiden name… and my brother’s eyes?”

The world tilted sideways.

He knew.

I opened my mouth and it all spilled out in a whisper. “Because you’re my step-uncle. My mom married your brother when I was four. You were already away at med school. We’ve met maybe six times at holidays. You probably don’t even—”

He swore under his breath, low and ragged. His hands tightened on my waist like he was keeping himself from either crushing me closer or letting go entirely.

“Jesus Christ.” He rested his forehead against mine. “That’s why you looked so familiar. I thought I was losing my mind.”

I tried to step back (panic clawing up my throat), but his arms locked me in place.

“Hey. Look at me.” His voice was rough but certain. “We’re not blood. We barely know each other. And Mabel—” His thumb traced my cheekbone, trembling just slightly. “You just came on my fingers in front of twelve strangers. I’m not walking away from that. From you.”

My heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest. “This is insane.”

“Yeah,” he said, huffing a laugh that sounded half-crazed. “It really fucking is.”

He leaned in until our mouths were a breath apart. “Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you don’t want this.”

Every sane part of me screamed to say stop, to run, to pretend this never happened.

Instead I whispered, “Don’t stop.”

The blanket slipped to the floor.