← Back
“Everything,” I said. “Tell me everything.”
She lay down next to me, propped on one elbow, and started talking.
How he’d been so nervous he’d knocked his wine over. How she’d climbed onto his lap to calm him down and felt him get hard under her in about two seconds. How he’d kissed her like he’d been waiting nineteen years to do it.
While she talked, her hand slid down my stomach and wrapped round my cock.
“Then he took my dress off,” she said, stroking me slowly. “And he just stared. He said, ‘Fuck, Fi.’ Just that. And then he put his mouth on me.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.” Her hand tightened. “My tits. My stomach. Then he went down on me on our sofa, Cal. On the sofa we bought from John Lewis.”
I groaned. She laughed softly and kept stroking.
“I came on his tongue,” she whispered. “Twice. And then I made him stop.”
“Stop?”
“I wanted you to see the rest.” She stopped stroking, holding my cock still in her fist. “He’s still awake. He texted. He’s sitting in his car at the end of the road. He says he can come back if you want to watch.”
My heart slammed.
“Or,” she said, kissing my shoulder, “we just keep this for ourselves. Tonight was enough. And we decide about next time later.”