Yes, no interruptions from Dylan

The five minutes stretched.

Katie kept moving in Brian’s lap—slow at first, then finding a steadier rhythm as his hands guided her hips. Soft, wet sounds accompanied every lift and settle. Her moans grew more frequent, less restrained, spilling out in short, shaky bursts whenever Brian met her from below. She no longer kept her forehead pressed to his chest the entire time. Every so often she lifted her head, eyes half-closed, lips parted, clearly lost in the sensation of whatever their bodies were doing.

From your angle the truth remained just out of reach. The way she rose and sank, the flex of her bare thighs, the way Brian’s hands held her and pulled her down against him—it all looked like she was taking him inside her. Yet the couch and their position still hid the exact point of contact. You couldn’t be certain. The doubt sat in your gut alongside everything else.

No one spoke. The room watched. Chloe’s phone sat on her knee, the timer ticking down in silence.

Brian used every second. He kept the pace controlled, sometimes slowing Katie when she started to move faster, sometimes lifting his hips to meet her more firmly. Each change pulled a clearer sound from her throat. At one point her hands slid from his shoulders to the back of the couch for better leverage, and the shift made her next moan longer, more open. A faint tremor ran through her thighs. She bit her lower lip, then let it go as another soft cry escaped.

You stayed silent as ordered, fists clenched at your sides, forced to watch your wife move on him while the rest of the group sipped their cocktails and waited for the timer to end.

When Chloe finally said, “Time,” Brian didn’t stop immediately. He guided Katie through one last slow, deep grind before settling her against him again. Her breathing was ragged. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her back under the living-room lights. She stayed where she was, still naked, still in his lap, still making small, residual movements as if her body hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that the five minutes were over.

Brian looked over her shoulder at you, smirk firmly in place.

“Round’s done,” he said. “But she doesn’t seem to want to get up yet.”

Katie’s eyes flicked toward you for a brief second—flushed, glassy, almost dazed—before she turned her face back into his chest and let out one more quiet, shaky breath.

The last round had officially ended.

Nothing about the situation felt finished.