Yes, and they take their time

The second long truth finally crawled to an end. Someone else on the men’s side was already being prompted for their turn. Another truth. Another story that stretched past the ten-minute mark on purpose.

Brian never stopped.

He kept Katie exactly where she was—naked, straddling him, forehead resting against his chest. Every so often his hips rolled in a slow, controlled circle beneath her. Each movement pulled a soft, shaky sound from her throat. Her hands stayed on his shoulders, fingers occasionally tightening when he pushed up against her. She no longer tried to climb off. Whether it was exhaustion, the weight of the room’s attention, or something else entirely, she stayed seated in his lap while the stories dragged on.

You remained standing near the beer cases, arms crossed so tightly your shoulders ached. From where you stood you could only see her bare back, the way her spine arched slightly, the faint tremor that ran through her thighs. You couldn’t see exactly what was happening between their bodies—only the steady roll of Brian’s hips and the way Katie’s body reacted to it. Every time he moved, a quiet sound slipped out of her. You couldn’t tell if he was inside her or simply grinding hard against her.

Chloe glanced your way once, as if checking that you were still complying, then turned her attention back to the current storyteller. The guy was describing some road-trip disaster in exhaustive detail. No one interrupted him. No one hurried him. Brian used every extra minute.

At one point he shifted his grip, both hands settling on Katie’s hips. He guided her into a slightly deeper roll, lifting her just enough that you could hear a soft, wet sound before settling her back down. Katie’s breath left her in a broken little moan she tried—and failed—to muffle against his chest. A few people chuckled. Someone muttered, “Jesus, look at her.”

You stepped forward. “That’s enough. The round’s gone on long enough.”

Brian’s eyes met yours over Katie’s shoulder. He didn’t stop the slow movement of his hips. “Round’s not over, dorky Dylan. You agreed. One last round. We’re still in it.”

Chloe nodded without looking at you. “He’s right. Sit tight.”

Another truth started. Another drawn-out story. Brian’s hands stayed firm on Katie’s hips, keeping her seated fully against him while he rolled and pushed in small, deliberate increments. Her breathing grew more uneven. Soft sounds kept slipping out of her—quiet, involuntary, each one making your stomach twist tighter.

You still couldn’t tell. The angle hid everything. All you could see was the way her body moved with his, the way her toes curled against the floor, the sheen of sweat on her back under the living-room lights. You tried to look again but just couldn’t see whether he was inside her or just grinding against her pussy with every slow thrust of his hips.

The latest storyteller was still talking when Brian leaned in and murmured something against Katie’s ear. Whatever he said made her shiver. His hands guided her hips into a longer, slower grind. This time the moan that left her was louder, longer, and she didn’t try to hide it.

Mark grinned from across the circle. “Looks like she’s starting to enjoy her last dare after all.”

You clenched your fists until your nails bit into your palms. The room kept watching. The stories kept stretching. And Brian kept moving beneath your wife, slow and steady, while you stood there unable to tell exactly how far it had already gone.