His fingers move in a consistent rhythm; he's very gentle but hardly unsure. Just as she did just a few minutes ago, he's exploring while obviously enjoying himself. Emilia is starting to feel the familiar building up tension in her throbbing core. He's placing a series of light kisses on her jaw, closer to her ear; and his breath caresses her neck. She's described it many times, but there's a reason why she decided to contact Mistress Eva all those weeks ago. Cheers to the real-life, first-hand experience!

Speaking of hands. Oates adds soft circular strokes of his thumb over her clit, and Emilia's ears are starting to ring.

"Em... What do you want? Should I stop, and―"

"Don't!" she yelps and grabs his wrist.

She's got him where she wants him; and she shifts her hips, adjusting the angle. So close!

He's pressing harder and deeper now, but his fingers' cadence doesn't stutter even a bit.

"Here, love, have at it," he murmurs, and then he catches her earlobe between his lips.

She cums, arching on the bed - as much as a normal, hardly fit woman could arch on the bed. Her eyes are closed, and fictitious purple and yellow streamers and festoons bloom behind her eyelids.

"Bloody Nora... Christ on a bike..."

"You feel nice," he murmurs and pulls his hand back, mindful of how sensitive she is right now.

He quickly wipes his fingers on her sheets and gathers her into a cuddly hug. Emilia, only half-conscious, holds her breath - and he starts 'squishing' her, just as she hoped. With a happy 'mhm,' she stretches to him, reciprocating.

What she doesn't expect is him catching her mouth - and then deepening the kiss.

"Um, Daniel..."

"You make me feel wacky."

He nuzzles her shoulder; and suddenly, he twists his torso and catches her nipple in his mouth. Emilia gasps, while he asks - no one in particular, it seems, "What the hell?"

His massive, scorching palm cups her tit.

"I can't even get it up yet," he growls, between kisses, licks, and sucks. His hands are roaming, gathering generous scoops of Emilia. "And I still can't― stop... Not enough..."

She might still have little 'aftershocks' of the previous orgasm dancing under her navel - and he's revving it up for her again! And then he slides down and covers her fanny with his half-open mouth.

Emilia squeals; even the smallest of touches is sending a wave of acute, almost unbearable ripples through her body.

"Please," he rasps. "Please let me..."

Emilia gathers just enough brain power to open her knees; he smoothly slides two fingers into her; and she's loudly sobbing through her second orgasm. It's mad - and there might be tears and snot.

"Em..." He sounds worried. "Em, are you... good?"

Emilia haven't got anything but a 'mhm' to offer him in response. Oates withdraws, picks up a tissue for himself, and offers one to her.

"Oh gosh, what even is... this?" Emilia asks and chuckles awkwardly.

He stretches on the bed next to her and pulls her duvet over them. It takes quite a few seconds for Emilia to self-orientate - and she realises that her bra is still around her arm; that's the only piece of clothing left on her; and there's a fit, conventionally attractive male in her bed, solely dressed in boxer briefs.

Said male is back to fondling her, nuzzling her neck, this time much more platonically.

"I properly like you," he murmurs, his tone chuffed.

Silence hangs in Emilia's bedroom. Even Kate is lost for words.

Emilia's mind gallops forward. First thought is 'no, you don't.' The second one is pure astonishment. Then comes doubt; and then the suspicion that she has developed exploding head syndrome due to a previously undiscovered temporal lobe epilepsy; and that was just a spot of auditory hallucination.

And then she slowly turns her head and stares at Oates. She's just imagined a hundred different scenarios to explain that line of his - but she did not, under any circumstances, expect him to look so miserable. Promptly, his inexpressive mask is back; but in those few seconds, Emilia has miraculously levelled up her skill as an 'oatesphile.'

Behold Emilia's realisation. He's just had a slip - because they shagged; and it's warm and cosy under her duvet; and, as he mentioned, she makes him feel 'wacky' - and now he's mortified.

Emilia reaches for him, hugs him around his neck, and whispers, "I like you too. A lot. Like, a lo-o-ot."

She feels him relax under her, and he exhales and confirms, "A lo-o-ot?"

Emilia kisses his cheek. "Yeah."

"That's good," he states and chuckles.

After a few seconds of some manipulations under her duvet, he fishes out her bra and tosses it aside.

"I need to ring up Cody," he mutters, settling back. "He's got a few clean shirts for me, in the car."

Emilia asks herself if it means that he's planning to leave right away.

"We can throw it in a machine instead," she offers nonchalantly.

"I don't launder my shirts. They go to a shop." He rubs his nose to Emilia's naked shoulder again. "Em?"

"Yes?"

"Are you alright? You're very... still." He points at her hands clutching the edge of the duvet. "Would you like me to leave?"

"What? No! It's the other way around!" she blurts out and then huffs air out, rounding her cheeks. "I do not want you to leave. But you mentioned calling your driver— And I misunderstood the last time, with our dinner not actually being a date. And we never properly defined... well, us. And you mentioned that you needed clarity, right? You said you didn't do well with 'unstructured sex.' And we aren't playing right now, but also it's not a date. At least, it didn't start as a date."

He's lying on his side, his bent arm under his cheek, listening to her attentively. Emilia clutches the cover more tightly.

"And I've never been in a situation like this one," she continues. "Or in a relationship in general. I thought I was, but then it turned out— Actually, it doesn't matter. But you see, I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing, what the rules are. And I don't want to make you uncomfortable by forcing you to take control and to educate me on this."

He frowns ever so slightly, pondering her words.

"Last time I dated was in Year 12," he says in a low voice. "I grew up in the countryside, in a small village. My Dad owned a hardware shop in the country town. Everyone knew everyone. There weren't that many young people. Not much choice. And my parents were well-known in the community."

He pauses; and something pushes Emilia to stroke his upper arm comfortingly. It's clear that he's not used to sharing something that personal; but she's also quite certain that those aren't happy memories that the topic has brought back to him.

"When I left and started my business, I had no time for relationships," he goes on. "And I figured out my kink pretty quickly too. Once I found my scene, I didn't need to bother."

'Bother.' Emilia doesn't even require Kate to point out his preferred terminology.

"So, I don't know the rules either." He sighs, and Emilia is instantly worried. He's obviously struggling with the conversation. "But maybe..." he murmurs, and his hand hesitantly snakes around her waist. He pulls her closer. His heavy hairy leg bumps into hers. "Maybe, it's not such a bad thing," he half-asks.

There's tentative hopefulness in his tone; and suddenly, Emilia feels rather optimistic as well.

"If neither of us knows the right way, then technically we can't arse it up," she half-states.

"Exactly," he says with a nod, and a small lopsided smile teases a corner of his mouth. "As long as we enjoy ourselves, and—"

"And communicate, and discuss the limits, and—" Emilia chimes in.

"And confirm consent."

"And try new things."

"And being open."

"And have fun."

They are kissing on the bed, unintentionally mirroring each other's moves: palms run over chests; sides are stroked; there is a fair share of groping going on; and soon hands are wandering very much below waists.

"Are we playing?" Emilia pants out, trying to focus long enough to listen to his answer - as opposed to busily dragging his pants off.

"Don't think so," Oates mutters distractedly, while helping her.

"I've got Durex in your size now," Emilia announces.

She's quite proud of her foresight.

"Clever, clever lovie," he purrs and rolls her under him.

His hand - his palm as if burning against Emilia's hip bone - is fanned; and he rubs his thumb to her skin. His unconscious stroking reminds Emilia of a cat kneading a pillow in anticipation of a pleasurable 'dive-in.' She can't wait!

"Let me get—" Emilia starts saying, flipping over onto her stomach and stretching towards the drawer.

She's interrupted by Oates' exhaled 'oh' and immediately excited rumbling. Like a medium size lawnmower. He grabs her arse with both hands; and she feels, first, his bearded cheek, and then his mouth on her backside.

"Oh I missed it," he murmurs.

He's being purposefully silly and playful, squashing, kissing, gently biting; and Emilia snickers.

"Do you want some uninterrupted time with your favourite?" she asks, giving him a cheeky glance over her shoulder.

"Mmm, maybe." He scrapes his chin side to side against her left buttock. "You mentioned a beard burn last time. I think you need a couple." Counter to what he says, he places a light kiss on her derriere. "Here." Another tender peck follows. "And here. But don't let me get carried away," he adds - and Emilia jumps up when the tips of his fingers brush between her legs. He chortles and says, "It's so delicious, I won't be able to wait and—"

One of his fingers dips into her; and Emilia jerks and scampers away from him.

"Cock!" she yells.

"If you insist," he quips and bursts into loud gleeful guffaws.