Only I love Milfs: Transmigrated to a World Where Milfs are Hated

Her fingers hovered just above his swollen tip, trembling slightly, hesitant yet driven by a fascination she didn't entirely understand. She let them lower by a breath—just enough to let her skin meet his. The moment contact sparked, a shiver ran down Eren's body. His spine arched subtly, hips giving a sudden, twitchy jerk, as if the smallest touch had sent a bolt of lightning through his core.

She pulled back, startled—but not frightened. Just curious. Almost… enthralled.

"Did that hurt?" she whispered, her voice low and tender, almost like she was speaking to a delicate creature.

Eren's response came with effort. "N-no… just surprised."

Her eyes flicked down again, studying the soft glistening top. It seemed to pulse with its own rhythm, faint but alive. Slowly, she reached out again. This time she touched with more intention. The moment her fingers grazed him, he twitched again—an involuntary, adorable jerk that made her smile widen, her thoughts slipping into something playful.

It moved.

On its own.

She blinked in wonder, staring as if she'd found some hidden mechanism in a toy she thought she already understood. She tried again—another light touch. And again, it escaped her, twitching sideways just enough to slip away.

"...It's like a rabbit," she murmured aloud, delighted. "A soft, warm little rabbit."

But unlike a rabbit, it couldn't run far. It was attached—tethered to Eren's heaving body, his stomach rising and falling in tight, controlled gasps. His eyes were still shut. His fists clenched at his sides. Yet he didn't say a word to stop her. That only encouraged her more.

She bent forward slightly, breath ghosting against his skin, and reached with both hands this time. One came to rest at the base—wrapping snugly, fingers curling gently around the thick root, keeping it still. The other danced back to the tip, where it resumed its soft, teasing exploration.

Eren jerked again—more violently this time. A low sound escaped him, almost like a muffled groan caught in his throat.

She paused. "What is it?" she whispered, looking up. His face was strained. Lips parted. Eyes shut tight like he was holding back something fierce.

He didn't answer. Or maybe he couldn't.

She looked back down at her hands. Her fingers, so much smaller in comparison, now gently stroked and explored the head again—tracing a delicate ring around the edge. Then, gently, she cupped her fingers over it. The entire top disappeared into the soft curve of her hand, and she pressed lightly, forming a cave around the tip—warm, damp, and surrounded.

It bounced again.

She gasped.

The tip flexed, sunk inward against her touch… and the moment she let go, it sprang back to shape with a stubborn defiance.

Her cheeks flushed—deep and hot. Her breath caught. Something about that motion—so alive, so responsive—sent a flutter down her chest and a pulse between her legs. A tiny heat had already begun to spread. Her thighs rubbed together, softly, slowly, without her realizing it.

It felt... too cute.

But not in a harmless way. In a way that twisted her insides and made her want to do more—see more.

She touched the top again with a single finger, pushing just enough to feel that subtle resistance, the way it yielded before bouncing back with resolve. Her chest heaved. Her skin warmed. Every time she pushed, it felt like it might explode—or like she might.

But she didn't stop.

Couldn't.

She stared at it. Watched it react. Her breath deepened. Her other hand held his base tightly now, applying just enough pressure to make it throb against her palm.

A strange thought wandered in, uninvited but too potent to ignore—It's firmer than my breasts... but just as soft. No, softer at the tip... tighter…

She glanced down at herself, suddenly remembering. Her chest rose gently above the waterline, the swell of her breasts barely touched by the cool air. She gave herself a light squeeze—just enough to compare. Her fingers pressed in, the skin yielding easily, then rebounding with a soft bounce. But it wasn't the same.

No, not at all.

He's tighter. Bolder. So... reactive.

That made her thighs clench again.

She hadn't noticed the slippery warmth between her legs until now. It had started as a dull heat, but now it bloomed into something impossible to ignore. Even though she was submerged, she could feel her own slickness coating her inner thighs, mixing into the bathwater like something secretive and forbidden.

She didn't look down.

Didn't need to.

Her legs pressed closer together, almost defensively, as if to hide what was happening to her. She didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to ruin the moment by making it about herself.

She wanted this.

This teasing, slow game of touch-and-response. The bounce. The twitch. The growing heat in his breath. Her fingers kept moving. Light, playful strokes circling the very top of his length while her other hand kept him pinned gently in place.

"Eren…" she whispered, barely audible.

He mumbled something. It was soft. Incoherent. "Aunt… a... Mira... please…"

She tilted her head but didn't respond. Her lips pressed together in silence, keeping her thoughts locked behind flushed cheeks. She stared at his shaft, mesmerized by the way it pulsed with every beat of his racing heart.

A light suddenly streamed through the small window, golden and quiet—morning.

Her heart sank slightly. Her time was up. She had wanted more. So much more.

But... there would be a next time. She could feel it. She would make sure of it.

Still, she couldn't walk away—not yet.

With her decision made, she leaned in, closer… closer… her lips hovering just above the tip, close enough that he could feel her breath—a soft, warm breeze wrapping around him like silk.

Her hand tugged him forward ever so slightly. Her lips parted.

If she goes any further… I'm done.

Eren opened his eyes just in time to see the impossible: her mouth, soft and glistening, descending toward him.

The world stopped.

Slowly—so slowly—her lips approached, parting just enough to touch him. They hovered right at the very tip, lingering hesitantly, almost shyly. Just a whisper of contact. Nothing more. Nothing rushed.

—A Kiss.

Her breath tickled his tip. Her lips grazed it—just a whisper of a kiss. Barely there. But enough to melt the last threads of his restraint.

Her soft lower lip brushed against him, tracing the smallest, faintest kiss imaginable, like a feather drifting down to settle softly. The sensation rippled gently down his spine, threatening to snap his tenuous hold on control.