Mira stepped forward, closing the small gap between them until she stood directly before him.
"Gladly," she said with a calm certainty. But then her eyes lowered—and stopped. Her gaze fixed on his shaft, upright and twitching, the subtle pulses betraying his restraint. Her lips parted slightly before she voiced her hesitation. "But… how? I don't think I've studied the right herbs or medicines for this."
Eren met her eyes with a knowing, almost reassuring smile. "You don't need to study anything." He paused deliberately, letting the moment stretch, before the corners of his lips curved into a smirk. "You just need experience."
Mira blinked, clearly puzzled. "Experience? But how?" The uncertainty in her voice lingered, but she leaned forward slightly as if drawn in by his tone.
"You'll understand soon enough."
His hand rose, resting firmly on her shoulder.
"Kneel," he said simply.
For a moment, Mira hesitated, searching his expression for meaning. Then, realization dawning, she lowered herself in front of him. As she moved, her breasts swayed with each shift of her weight, the soft motion making his shaft throb harder. The moment her knees touched the floor, the swell of her chest bounced lightly again, sending another pulse of arousal through him.
Eren kept himself in check, though every beat of his heart seemed to pound through his groin. He studied her, her eyes now locked directly on his shaft, the focus in her gaze almost sharp enough to pierce him.
She extended her hand, fingers parting slightly as she reached toward him. But before her skin could make contact, he stopped her with a low, firm command. "Wait. This won't do."
Without explaining, he stepped out of the bathroom, leading her into the bedroom.
He sat down on the futon, leaning back slightly. "Come here," he gestured.
Mira followed, her steps quiet across the floor. She settled beside him, unsure what to expect.
"Sit across my knees," he instructed.
She moved to kneel again, her breasts momentarily blocking his view of her torso before she lowered herself onto his thighs. She didn't seem certain she was doing it right, but his steady, encouraging gaze kept her in place.
"Now," he murmured, lifting his hand toward her, "bring your fingers to my shaft—curl them around it."
Her hand rose tentatively, the tips of her fingers hovering for a heartbeat before closing around him. She curled them in, wrapping his length in a warm, hesitant grip.
The contact made his body jolt in reflex. Her eyes widened at the reaction, and she began to pull her hand back, but his fingers closed gently around her wrist.
"It's fine," he assured her, voice steady. "It'll twitch whenever you touch it. That's normal."
Her expression softened, though concern still lingered in her eyes.
"Now," he continued, exhaling slowly, "move your hand. Up and down. Slowly. Keep it steady—like this."
She followed his instruction, her palm gliding upward before sliding back down in a measured rhythm. The slick heat of her hand on his sensitive skin made him tense instantly, but he kept breathing evenly, watching her strokes.
After a few passes, a sharper wave of sensation hit him, and he let out a low, involuntary, "Ouch."
She stopped at once. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," he replied between breaths. "But… we'll need some lubrication."
She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on a folded pile of clothes and a few scattered essentials. "I'm sorry, Eren. There isn't any here. I could go to the market—"
He shook his head, cutting her off. "No. If it's just lubrication, your saliva will do."
"Saliva…? On you?" she asked, brows knitting.
"It's fine—as long as it's you, Aunt Mira." His tone was teasing, deliberately laced with flattery.
The faintest red hue touched her cheeks. She looked aside for a moment, then back at him, determination replacing hesitation.
She brought her palm to her mouth, gathering warm saliva into it before lowering her hand to him. Her fingers smoothed it along his shaft, coating him from base to tip.
"Would this do?" she asked quietly.
The cooling slickness sent a rush through him, making it almost impossible to hold back. But he steadied himself and nodded. "Perfect. Now… try stroking again."
Her hand wrapped around him once more, sliding easily now, the slick friction sending sharp jolts of pleasure through his body. He clenched his jaw, holding back as her measured, steady strokes built an unbearable tension in his gut.
It was too much.
"Mira—cover the tip," he gasped.
She obeyed without question, her palm pressing over his crown just as his body jerked in release. The first burst struck her skin, followed by thick ropes spilling over her fingers. Some clung to her palm, while others streaked across her hand and dripped to the side.
Mira stared at the result, curiosity flickering in her eyes. The scent was heavy in the air, warm and musky, and it stirred something low in her belly. She kept her composure, leaning closer to check on him.
He had fallen back onto the futon, eyes half-closed, chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.
"Are you alright, Eren?" she asked, sitting by his side.
He lifted a hand weakly. "Yeah… I am. I am." His tone was relaxed, almost languid.
For a few quiet seconds, nothing passed between them but the sound of their breathing. Then a thought crossed his mind, and he turned his head toward her. "Mira… why don't you taste what's on your hand?"
She looked down at her palm, coated in white. "Is it fine?" she asked cautiously.
"It's fine. Just try it."
Her gaze lingered on the substance, the scent already curling through her senses. She hesitated for a moment, then lifted her hand toward her lips. The first whiff was intoxicating—rich, warm, almost dizzying.
She drew in a slow breath, the heat inside her rising with every heartbeat. Her lips parted, and with only a flicker of doubt left in her eyes, she let her tongue touch it.
The moment the taste hit her, her body trembled. A flush of warmth spread through her as she swallowed, her breath catching. She licked her palm again, slower this time, savoring it.
Her gaze returned to Eren. He was still sprawled on the futon, eyes turned toward the window, the afterglow still etched into his features. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but the sight of him like this made the heat inside her hard to ignore.