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I didn’t think. I lunged.
I’d like to say it was a clever tactical decision. It was more like a man who had been told to be patient for far too long. I grabbed her wrist, spun her round and shoved her gently backwards onto the sofa, and she let out a shriek that was half outrage, half joy.
“Mark! You absolute”
Unfortunately my foot caught the coffee table.
The bottle of red went over in a long, slow, beautiful arc and emptied itself onto the cream rug. We both froze. Elena stared at the stain spreading through the weave. Then she looked up at me with her mouth open, her hoody half off, and I watched her decide between fury and hysterics.
She chose hysterics. She laughed so hard she cried. I laughed too, until I was clutching my stomach on the floor.
“Salt,” she gasped. “Get the salt. Naked, if you please. I like the view.”
I scrubbed a rug at midnight in my boxers while a woman in my hoody supervised from the sofa with her feet in my lap. She directed me with a wooden spoon. She tapped my arse with it when I missed a spot, and I felt myself harden through the whole ridiculous thing.
Afterwards she took pity. Under a tea towel, on the sofa, with enormous patience, she gave me a slow handjob while telling me exactly what she planned to do to me next week.
“The ten minutes are void,” she said. “You broke the rug.”
It was worth it.
Ending 12 of 16: Ambush. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.