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I asked. Very politely. With an amount of stammering I’m not proud of.
Tess’s eyebrows went up and then she smiled, slow and amused.
“Just my mouth,” she repeated. “Ben Hartley. You’ve gone bright red.”
“You can say no.”
“I’m not saying no.” She picked up the envelope, tucked it in her bag, and walked over. “Sit down.”
I sat on the sofa. She knelt between my knees on my living room rug and undid my belt, unhurried, watching my face the whole time with a little curl at the corner of her mouth. When my cock sprang free she wrapped her hand around it, considered it for a second, and said, “Well. That’s going to make the next barbecue interesting.”
Then she leaned forward and took me into her mouth.
She was very, very good at her job. She took her time. Slow and wet and warm, her tongue swirling round the head, her hand moving in rhythm, her other hand resting on my thigh. She hummed. She looked up at me. I gripped the sofa cushions and said her name several times, then several more times, then made a noise that wasn’t a name at all.
Afterwards she sat back on her heels, wiped her lips and smiled sweetly.
“Professional enough for you?”
I couldn’t speak.
At the barbecue that August she handed me a hot dog and winked, and I dropped it on the grass.
Ending 4 of 16: Just Her Mouth. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.