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I reached up and pulled her down to me.
She came willingly for a second, her mouth crashing onto mine, her oily hand closing around my cock and giving it one hard, delicious stroke. I groaned into her mouth and fumbled at the hem of her scrubs, desperate to get my hands on her tits.
Then my phone rang.
It was on the chair with my clothes. That ringtone. The one I set for Helen years ago, a stupid little jingle from our honeymoon.
Claire froze. Her hand was still wrapped around my shaft. We both stared at the phone screen lighting up: HELEN, with a photo of the two of us in Lisbon.
“Don’t,” Claire said. “Don’t answer that.”
It kept ringing. It rang out. Then it started again.
“She’ll keep calling,” I said. “She always does.”
Claire let go of me. She stepped back, wiping her palm on her scrubs, and I watched the whole thing drain out of her face. The heat. The want. All of it replaced by something like horror.
“That’s my sister,” she said quietly. “Calling her husband. While I’ve got his dick in my hand.”
“Claire…”
“Answer it.” She handed me the phone. “Go on.”
I answered. Helen wanted to know if I could pick up milk. I said yes. My cock was still standing up, shiny with oil, while I talked to my wife about semi-skimmed.
When I hung up, Claire was gone. The session ended twenty minutes early.
Ending 5 of 16: The Phone Call. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.