The morning light crept through the curtains, pale gold against the leopard print sheets tangled around their legs. Tina lay half-sprawled across Tyler's chest, her cheek pressed to the warm skin above his heart, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing slow and deepen. She'd been awake for ten minutes already, counting the seconds between his breaths, memorizing the way his arm curled around her waist even in sleep.

She slipped out of bed carefully, her bare feet meeting the cool hardwood floor. Tyler stirred, mumbled something in his sleep, then settled back into the pillows. Tina watched him for a moment — the scar through his eyebrow, the soft part of his lips, the way his chest rose and fell.

The shower ran hot, steam filling the bathroom as she stood under the spray. She let the water run over her shoulders, down her spine, washing away the last traces of sleep. Her mind drifted to the day ahead — his competition, the way he lit up when he talked about math, the nervous energy that vibrated off him before every round.

She turned off the water, stepped out, and wrapped a towel around herself. The bathroom door swung open, and the steam rolled out into the bedroom. Tyler was standing by her dresser, her pink lace thong dangling from his fingers, his face the color of a ripe tomato.

"I — I was just —" He dropped the thong like it had burned him. His hands flew behind his back. "I didn't mean to —"

Tina leaned against the doorframe, letting the towel hang loose. Water droplets still clung to her shoulders, her collarbones, the swell of her breasts. A slow smile spread across her face.

"Find anything interesting?"

His eyes darted to the dresser, then back to her, then to the floor. "You — you really don't have any bras."

"Nope." She stepped closer, the towel slipping an inch. "Never needed them."

Tyler swallowed hard. His fingers twitched at his sides. "I — I was just curious. About — about your clothes. All of them."

She stopped in front of him, close enough that the heat from her shower-warm skin reached his. "You want to pick out my outfit today?"

His eyes went wide. "R-really?"

"Really." She tilted her head, letting water drip from the ends of her hair. "For your competition. I want you to dress me."

His stutter caught in his throat. He nodded, a jerky motion, and she watched the blush spread from his cheeks down his neck. He was already reaching for her dresser drawers, pulling them open with a reverence that made her chest ache.

He laid out pieces on the bed — a white see-through crop top with delicate embroidery along the hem, the lowest-rise jeans she owned, a black lace thong. He held each piece up, examined it, placed it with care. Tina stood naked beside him, watching him work, feeling something warm and soft unfurl in her chest.

"This one," he said, holding up the crop top. "The — the white one. With — with your skin." He gestured vaguely at her, unable to finish the sentence.

"Yeah?"

He nodded, not meeting her eyes. "And — and these jeans. The ones that — that show your —" He cleared his throat. "Everything."

Tina laughed, soft and warm. "You've got taste, Volkov."

She dressed in front of him, slow and deliberate. The thong first, the jeans sliding up her thighs, the crop top settling over her bare breasts, the fabric sheer enough that her nipples pressed against it, dark and visible. She turned to face him, arms out.

"Well?"

His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "You're — you're beautiful."

She kissed him, quick and hard, then pulled away before he could deepen it. "Come on. You've got trophies to win."

The math convention center was a cavernous space of fluorescent lights and polished linoleum, the air thick with chalk dust and the low hum of fifty competing minds. Tina's heels clicked against the floor as she followed Tyler through the registration area, her hand warm in his.

His teammates spotted them first. Three boys in matching team hoodies, glasses, and varying states of adolescent awkwardness. They were huddled around a table covered in equations, but their focus shattered the moment they saw Tina.

One of them dropped his pencil. Another made a sound like a strangled cat. The third just stared, his mouth hanging open.

"Tyler," the pencil-dropper managed. "Who — who is —"

Tyler's chest puffed out slightly. "This — this is Tina. My — my girlfriend." The word came out rough, stuttered, but proud.

The teammates exchanged looks. The strangled-cat kid recovered first. "Your girlfriend." He said it like Tyler had announced he'd discovered a new planet. "She's — she's —"

"Tina," Tina said, extending her hand. She smiled, warm and genuine. "I've heard a lot about you guys. Tyler talks about his team all the time."

The pencil-dropper shook her hand, his palm sweaty. "He — he does?"

"He said you're the reason they qualified for nationals." She squeezed his hand, then let go. "That's a big deal."

The teammates looked at Tyler with new eyes. The staring one finally found his voice. "Dude. How?"

Tyler's face went red. He shrugged, a helpless gesture. "I — I don't —"

"He's modest," Tina said, looping her arm through his. "He's also incredible. You'll see."

The first round began. Tina found a spot against the wall, arms crossed, watching as Tyler settled into his seat. The transformation was subtle — his shoulders squared, his breathing steadied, his eyes sharpened. He was no longer the stuttering boy who blushed at her thongs. He was a competitor.

She watched him work through the problems, his pencil moving in quick, precise strokes. He finished each round faster than the others, his hand shooting up to signal completion. The judges nodded, impressed.

She cheered for him. Loud. Embarrassingly loud. "Go Tyler! That's my boyfriend!" The other competitors stared. Some of the parents frowned. Tina didn't care.

He won. Round after round, he won. By the final elimination, he was the last one standing, and the crowd erupted — teammates, coaches, strangers who'd been watching the kid with the stutter slowly demolish every problem in his path.

"And your national champion," the announcer said, "Tyler Volkov!"

The medal went around his neck, gold and gleaming against his team hoodie. He looked dazed, like he couldn't quite believe it was real. And then his eyes found her across the room, and he smiled — a real smile, wide and unguarded, and Tina's heart stopped.

He walked over to her, the medal bouncing against his chest. "They — they want a photo." He shifted on his feet. "With — with me. And —" He gestured at her, shy again. "Will you — will you be in it? With me?"

"Of course."

They posed at the photo station, a backdrop of the competition logo behind them. Tyler's arm wrapped around her waist, his hand settling on the curve of her hip. Tina leaned into him, her fingers finding his chest, her smile bright enough to rival the fluorescent lights.

The photographer clicked, adjusted, clicked again. "One more," she said. "Closer."

Tyler pulled Tina in, and she felt his breath on her ear, felt the way his hand tightened on her hip. The camera flashed. The image froze.

When they stepped away, his teammates swarmed them. "Is she really your girlfriend?" The pencil-dropper again, still in disbelief. "Like — actually?"

Tyler's blush returned, but his voice was steady. "Yeah. Actually."

Tina squeezed his hand. "Told you. He's incredible."

They walked hand in hand through the convention center afterward, past the emptying halls and the staff packing up equipment. The medal still hung around Tyler's neck, and he kept touching it, like he couldn't believe it was real.

"I'm so proud of you," Tina said. She stopped walking, turned to face him. "I mean it. You were amazing."

He ducked his head, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I — I couldn't — couldn't have done it without — without you."

"Bullshit." She poked his chest. "You did that. All you. I just cheered."

He caught her hand, held it against his heart. "You — you believed in me. Before — before I believed in myself."

The words landed somewhere deep in her chest, warm and aching. She leaned up and kissed him, soft and slow, right there in the middle of the empty convention hall. When she pulled back, his eyes were dark, his breath uneven.

"Take me home," she said.

He nodded, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. "Yeah. Yeah, let's — let's go home."

Her bedroom was exactly as they'd left it — leopard print sheets mussed, pillows dented, the faint scent of them still in the air. Tina kicked off her heels by the door and turned to face him, her heart already racing.

Tyler stood in the doorway, the medal still around his neck, his eyes fixed on her. He was nervous. She could see it in the way his fingers fidgeted, the way he kept swallowing.

"I want —" He stopped, took a breath. "I want to try something. If — if that's okay."

Heat bloomed in her chest, spread down her spine. "Anything."

She ripped off her crop top, the fabric tearing at the seam. She didn't care. She shimmied out of her jeans, the black lace thong following, until she stood naked in front of him, her skin flushed, her nipples hard.

But Tyler didn't move to undress. He stayed fully clothed, his eyes traveling down her body with a reverence that made her breath catch. He stepped forward, slowly, and took her hand.

"Lay — lay down," he said. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. "On your back."

She obeyed, her heart hammering as she settled onto the leopard print sheets. The fabric was cool against her heated skin. He guided her gently until she was stretched out beneath him, her thighs pressed together, her hands at her sides.

"Relax," he said, and the word was a command and a plea all at once.

He knelt at the foot of the bed. His hands found her ankles, then slid up her calves, her knees, her thighs. He spread them, slowly, firmly, and she gasped at the exposure, at the cool air against her wet heat.

"What — what are you —"

He didn't answer. Instead, he lowered his head, and his mouth found her center.

The first touch of his tongue sent a shockwave through her body. She arched off the bed, a cry tearing from her throat. His hands pressed her thighs down, held her open, and he continued, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles that unraveled every thread of her composure.

"Tyler —"

He hummed against her, and the vibration made her toes curl. He was learning her, mapping her, finding the places that made her gasp and the places that made her moan. He lingered at her clit, circled it, sucked it gently, and she saw stars.

Her hands found his hair, tangled in it, pulled him closer. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop —"

He didn't. He worked her higher, faster, his tongue steady and relentless. She felt the tension coiling in her belly, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. The orgasm crashed over her like a wave, and she cried out his name, her body shuddering through the release.

He didn't pull away. He lapped at her through the aftershocks, gentle now, soothing, until she was oversensitive and twitching. Then he lifted his head, his chin glistening, his eyes dark with want.

"I — I've always wanted to try that," he said, his voice rough. "To — to taste you."

She pulled him up, kissed him hard, tasted herself on his lips. "Your turn."

She flipped their positions, her hands finding the hem of his shirt. She ripped it off, then his jeans, his boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, and she wrapped her hand around it, watched his eyes roll back.

She lowered her head, took him in her mouth, and felt his hands fist in her hair. She worked him deep, her tongue tracing the length of him, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. His breaths came in stuttered gasps, his hips bucking against her rhythm.

"Tina — I'm — I'm gonna —"

She didn't stop. She took him deeper, her hand working the base, and she felt him pulse against her tongue. He came with a cry, hot and thick, spilling across her tongue and her lips and her naked breasts. She swallowed, then lifted her head, letting the rest of him coat her skin.

He stared at her, breathless and wrecked. "I — I love you."

The words hung in the air between them, raw and unguarded. Tina felt her heart crack open, felt something warm and terrifying flood through her.

She crawled up his body, laid her head on his chest, and felt his arm wrap around her. His seed cooled on her breasts, and she didn't care.

"I love you too."

His hand tightened on her shoulder, and she felt his lips press to the top of her head. The medal dug into her cheek, cold metal against warm skin, and she smiled.