"May I dance with your wife, sir?" The young man asked.
"Sure."
"Thank you, sir," he said, turning to my wife.
She accepted his hand, and he led her to the dance floor. I liked to watch her dance, sensually move to the music, but that also meant I had to let her dance with other men. Truthfully, I did not mind that as long as they were respectful. When they were not, she managed to keep them at bay, and I had never had to step in to rescue her.
She danced a few dances with the young man, and when a slow song came on, he escorted her back to our table, thanking her for the dance and me for allowing my wife to dance with him. After some time, he returned, asking if he could dance with her again, saying she was a fabulous dancer. Initially, they danced to the fast-paced music, but when the sounds of a slow song began to fill the room, instead of returning to our table, she rested her hands on his chest, and as they began to sway, they moved closer to each other. Nonetheless, there was no body contact. Occasionally, he leant to her ear, making her laugh, and at the end of the song, he returned her to our table.
I was about to suggest we retire to our room when the young man reappeared. Before I could say anything, my wife was on her feet, accepting his hand. They began to dance to the slow song as her arms draped around his neck and their bodies gently touched. After the third song, he took her hand, and they walked to the bar. I thought of breaking up whatever they were doing, but curiosity overtook me, wondering what she was up to. I noticed my wife's hand on his arm while they chatted, standing close to each other. The bartender put two shots next to them on the bar when she leant forward and softly kissed him on the lips. They downed the shots, and she kissed him again, a bit longer with more passion, and this time, he returned her kiss.
I was shocked and thought of hurting him, but then it hit me. It was my wife's doing. While my mind processed the situation, he took her hand, leading her out of the bar. I jumped up and followed them as quickly as I could but only saw the lift door closing. Seeing it stopped at our floor, I rushed into the next available elevator.
Swiping my key card, I took a deep breath and entered the room with my fist clenched. My wife was lying on the bed in the dimly lit room, only wearing her stockings and heels, while her dress was on the floor beside her knickers.
"Where is he?"
