← Back
I lay back and let her.
Her fingers slid under the waistband and wrapped around my cock, warm and confident. She stroked me slowly, root to tip, learning me. I let out a long breath.
“Good?” she whispered.
“Very.”
She shifted closer, her chest against my arm, her mouth by my ear. She was in no hurry. She stroked me lazily, then faster, then slow again, twisting her palm over the head, spreading the wetness that was leaking out of me. Every time I got close, she eased off and laughed softly into my neck.
“You’re very good at this,” I managed.
“I’m very good at lots of things. You don’t get to find out tonight.”
She pulled my boxers down properly and went faster, her grip firm, her breath warm on my ear. I gripped the sheet. Her thumb rolled over the head of my cock one last time and I came hard, all over my stomach and her hand, groaning into the dark.
She kissed my cheek, wiped her hand on my thigh and rolled back onto her side.
“Night, Liam,” she said, already sleepy.
I lay there waiting for round two. I waited a long time.
In the morning she was cheerful and friendly and completely unbothered, and she shook my hand at the lift like we’d met at a conference.
Which, technically, I suppose we had.
Ending 7 of 16: Just Her Hand. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.