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I couldn’t help it. “Claire,” I moaned, and pushed my hips back into her hand.
She gasped. Then she did it again: fingers stroking my balls from behind, slow and slick, then sliding forward along the underside of my shaft where it was pinned against the table. Just her fingertips. Just a little.
It was enough. More than enough.
I felt it coming up from somewhere deep and had no chance of stopping it. My whole body locked. I groaned into the face cradle and came, hard, grinding into the sheet, pumping a hot, sticky mess under myself without her even wrapping a hand around me.
Claire froze. “Did you just…”
I couldn’t answer. I was still twitching.
“Oh my God.” She pulled her hand back. Then she started laughing, helplessly, hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, Mark. I barely touched you.”
“Eleven years,” I mumbled into the cradle. “Eleven years of build-up.”
“That’s the most flattering thing that has ever happened to me.” She was crying with laughter now. “I have to change the sheets. I have to explain the sheets.”
She threw a towel at me. When I finally rolled over, sticky and red-faced, she was leaning against the counter, flushed and grinning and visibly aroused, nipples straining through her scrubs.
“Next time,” she said, “you’re lasting longer than two fingers.”
“There’s a next time?”
“Book it before I come to my senses.”
Ending 9 of 16: The Hair Trigger. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.