It was Ben’s idea, but it was Rachel who couldn’t stop staring.
The night clerk at the downtown hotel was tall and easy-smiling, his name tag reading ANDRE, his voice doing something lovely to the words king suite, fourteenth floor. Rachel leaned on the marble counter and let him see her looking. Andre let her see him look back.
In the elevator, Ben squeezed her hand. “You want him.”
“I want him,” she admitted, laughing, a little embarrassed and a lot excited. They had talked about this for a year. Talked, and talked, and never once seen anyone who made it feel real.
“Then let’s ask him. Properly. Off the clock.”
So Ben went back down alone. Rachel paced the room in her sundress, heart racing, until her phone buzzed: He’s on break at 11. He said yes before I finished the sentence. He wants to hear it from you.
At 11:04 there was a knock.
Andre stood in the hallway in his white shirt, no name tag now, hands in his pockets. “Your husband says you might want company,” he said. “But I don’t do anything on someone else’s say-so. What do you want, Rachel?”
She took his wrist and drew him inside. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since you said ‘king suite.'”
His laugh was warm and surprised. “Then I’m all yours for about forty minutes.”
Ben settled into the armchair by the window, city lights behind him, face flushed with nerves and hunger. Rachel glanced at him and he nodded, smiling. Go.
Andre kissed her like he was memorizing her. Big, careful hands at her waist, sliding up her back to find the zipper of the sundress and drawing it down one slow tooth at a time. When the dress pooled at her feet, he stepped back just to look at her, and the way he looked made her feel like the only woman in the city.
“Beautiful,” he said, to her, then to Ben. “Your wife is beautiful.”
“I know,” Ben said hoarsely.
She pushed Andre down onto the edge of the bed and unbuttoned his shirt herself, pressing her lips to his chest, his stomach, feeling his breath catch. When she freed him from his slacks, she heard her own small gasp and Ben’s echo from across the room. Andre tipped her chin up with one finger.
“We go at your pace.”
“My pace,” Rachel said, climbing onto him, “is right now.”
She took him slowly anyway, because she had to, a little at a time, gasping, her nails pressed into his shoulders. He was patient and steady beneath her, murmuring encouragement, until she was settled fully and trembling with how good it felt. She looked over at Ben. His eyes were huge and dark and absolutely adoring.
“Tell him how it feels,” Ben whispered.
“Like nothing I’ve ever had,” she said, and meant it.
Then Andre rolled her onto her back and the talking stopped. He moved with a deep, unhurried rhythm that built and built, one hand laced with hers above her head, and Rachel heard herself making sounds she had never made in her own bed at home. Ben came to sit beside them, stroking her hair, kissing her temple, telling her how gorgeous she was. She came with one hand in her husband’s and the other gripping Andre’s back, wave after wave, and Andre followed with a groan he buried in her neck.
For a minute the only sound was the hum of the air conditioner and three people breathing.
Andre checked the clock and laughed softly. “I’ve got eleven minutes to look like a professional again.”
He dressed quickly, kissed Rachel once more, slow and sweet, and shook Ben’s hand at the door like they’d closed an excellent deal.
“Checkout’s at noon,” he said with a wink. “But for you two, I’ll see what I can do about late.”
When the door clicked shut, Ben crawled into bed beside his glowing, wrecked, grinning wife.
“Same time next trip?” she asked.
He was already reaching for his phone to book it.
