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I sat down and pulled her into my side. She curled against me with her head on my chest and her bare legs across my lap, and I stroked her hair and let her talk. About Callum. About her mum. About how she’d never be the quiet, sensible girl people wanted. I told her she was the best thing in any room. Somewhere in there she stopped crying and started giggling.
“Tom,” she whispered, “you’ve got a massive hard-on and it’s digging into my arse.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. It’s not going anywhere.”
“Do you want me to move?”
“Not really.”
She snorted, buried her face in my T-shirt and said, “This is the worst idea we’ve ever had.” Then she yawned. Within ten minutes she was snoring softly, one hand tucked in my waistband, her soft breast squashed against my arm. I never made it upstairs.
At eight the key turned in the front door.
Hannah stood in the hall with her coat on, taking in the scene: me, wide awake and rigid under a blanket, her best friend asleep on top of me in her knickers, a cold cup of tea on the floor.
Her eyebrows rose slowly.
“Pancakes?” she said.
Later, after Jess had gone off to shower, burning pink, Hannah dragged me upstairs, stripped, pushed me on the bed and sank down onto my cock without a word. She rode me hard, fingers digging into my chest, until we both came. “Mine,” she said, panting. “I’m only saying.”
“Always,” I said, and meant it.
Ending 4 of 16: Pancakes. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.