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I gripped the edges of the table until my knuckles went white. “Don’t stop. Please, Claire. Fucking please.”
“Shh.” But she didn’t stop. She found a rhythm, slow and tight, her oiled fist twisting over the head on every upstroke. The sound was obscene, wet and squelching, and she kept glancing at the door.
“Look at you,” she whispered. “Married man. Lying on my table with your cock in my hand. Begging.”
“Yes.”
“Helen’s husband.” She squeezed harder. “My big sister’s husband, leaking all over my fingers.”
That did it. Something about hearing her say it. My hips started bucking, fucking up into her fist, and she grabbed my balls with her other hand and rolled them in her palm.
“Come on,” she hissed. “Come for me. Quietly.”
I didn’t come quietly. I came with a strangled groan, shooting thick ropes up over my own stomach, my chest, one hitting my chin. She milked me through it, slow and firm, until I was twitching and oversensitive and gasping.
Then she let go, grabbed a towel, and dropped it on my chest.
“Clean yourself up,” she said, voice shaky. She washed her hands at the little sink for a very long time, back to me.
“Claire…”
“Don’t. Not now.” She turned around, flushed and wild-eyed. “That’s all you’re getting, Mark. That was already too much.”
She left. I lay there, spent and sticky and wanting so much more.
Ending 1 of 16: Hands Only. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.