Miss Claire's hands continued their work with care.
The one at his base had shifted fully to his balls now, rolling them gently, fingertips tracing the thin seam between them before returning to a slow, rhythmic squeeze that matched the pace of the hand on his cock.
Water continued to drip from her wrists and the undersides of her forearms, the droplets catching the low light as they fell back into the tub.
Each downward stroke of her upper hand brought a fresh wave of sensation that traveled straight up his spine; each upward stroke left a faint sheen of residual water and the natural slickness of his own arousal coating her fingers.
The head of his cock had darkened further, the slit already beading with clear fluid that she occasionally caught with the pad of her thumb and smoothed back down the length.
Don's breathing had deepened without him fully realizing it.
The soft sounds of water shifting around her movements filled the quiet spaces between their breathing.
