Ch. 3 – Room 708

Nora hugged me in the elevator and gave me a kiss. "We don’t have to do this," she said softly.

"No, we don’t," I agreed.

"But you want to?" she asked. I was fully aware that I wasn’t being entirely clear or helpful in communicating with her.

"I can’t tell you if this is a good idea or a bad one until tomorrow morning," I replied honestly. "We’ll either find out tonight—or maybe never."

This time, her kiss was particularly tender, almost loving, and with it, my conviction that I’d made the right decision grew. It wasn’t until the elevator stopped at the 7th floor and the doors began to close again that we finally pulled away from each other. Nora stretched out her arm to hold the door open.

When we reached room 708, some of my conviction had already begun to waver. But this time, there was no chance to rethink my decision. Without hesitation, Nora knocked on the door.

Marcus opened it almost immediately. "Come in. I knew you’d come up."

"We were already outside the hotel and had ordered an Uber," Nora clarified.

"Then I’m glad you changed your minds," Marcus said. As I passed him, he put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a satisfied, almost grateful look.

I had expected an ordinary hotel room behind the number 708, but Marcus was staying in an impressively spacious suite. Considering his two-hundred-thousand-dollar car, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that he also indulged in high-end accommodations while waiting for his new home to be finished.

"Have a seat," Marcus said, gesturing to a sofa. He crouched down in front of a cupboard that turned out to be a generously stocked minibar. "Let’s see what else I’ve got here …" He rummaged through the bottles, picking some up and sliding others aside. Finally, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey, hesitated briefly, then placed it back. "You know what? This moment calls for something special."

When Marcus straightened up, he was holding a bottle of champagne. With practiced ease, he popped the cork, and shortly after, three full glasses were ready.

"Cheers," he said, clinking his glass first against Nora’s, then mine.

"Skål," Nora added.

I rounded out the trio with a German "Prost."

After taking a first sip, Marcus turned on some soft music. For now, we simply sat there: Nora and I side by side on the sofa, while Marcus settled into an armchair. I had no idea how we were supposed to move to the next step from here—and I had no intention of taking the lead. That was for the two main beneficiaries of this evening to figure out between themselves.

By then, the champagne brought another pressing matter back to the forefront: my bladder was making itself increasingly known.

I stood up, asked Marcus which door led to the bathroom, and disappeared inside. This time, no unwanted erection interfered with my plans.

To shake off the **** a little and keep my energy up, I splashed a few handfuls of cold water on my face. When I returned to the living area of the suite, it became clear that my absence had not gone to waste: Marcus and Nora were dancing together. Nora was nestled deep in his arms as he slowly swayed her back and forth to soft pop music. It was little more than dancing in place.

Unsure what to do with myself, I sank back onto the sofa.

My wife acknowledged my return with a brief glance but then rested her head back against Marcus’s chest. She stood on tiptoe to whisper something to him. Marcus responded with a nod. Finally, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, and they parted. Without a word, Marcus walked away and disappeared through a door.

Nora, however, came straight toward me on the sofa—or more precisely, onto me. She straddled my lap. My hands instinctively found their way to her bottom and pulled her closer to me.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but my cock was hard again. Nora seemed to notice immediately; her eyes drifted down between our bodies, where the bulge in my pants was clearly visible. Slowly, she began to grind against it, driving me closer to the edge of madness. Her mischievous smile didn’t help matters.

"I love you," she finally said, her voice soft but deliberate.

"I love you too," I replied automatically, almost reflexively.

We kissed, and Nora pressed herself tighter against me. I could feel her hard nipples through the fabric of her dress—a further testament to how much she wanted what was about to happen tonight. Honestly, there had been little doubt about that from the start.

The bigger uncertainty had been me. After all, I was hardly the one benefiting most from this arrangement. I could only hope that—just as we’d briefly discussed—my big night would come another time.

"We’re really doing this, aren’t we?" I finally asked—me, of all people, instead of leaving this question to Nora. I suspected it was my arousal driving me to seek confirmation.

"We really are," Nora said with a smile and a soft kiss on my lips. Maybe she was relieved that I wasn’t putting any more obstacles in her way. "Will you give Marcus and me a few minutes’ head start?"

"Hm?" I mumbled, unsure of her meaning.

"Otherwise, there’ll be too many eyes on us at first. I’m already nervous enough as it is. Just a few minutes to settle in, and then you can join. You won’t miss anything important."

I wanted to reply, but my voice failed me. Instead, I gave a hesitant nod.

"Thank you," Nora said, wrapping her arms around my neck, pulling me close, and whispering, "I love you." Before I could return her second declaration of love, she was already on her feet. "See you in a few minutes. Just a few …"

I watched her as she walked to the door Marcus had disappeared through moments earlier. At the threshold, she hesitated, gave me one last look, and smiled warmly. Then she shaped her lips into a silent kiss before opening the door and stepping through. She pulled the door mostly closed behind her. For a moment, I thought she was going to shut it completely, but even from the sofa, I could see it remained ajar by about a hand’s width.

I stayed seated, closed my eyes, and tried to focus on listening. At first, there wasn’t much to hear—maybe a faint rustling, a quiet murmur. Or perhaps it was just my imagination.

Now only one question remained: How many minutes is a few, anyway?