“Uh-huh,” Evan answered, excited by her words and how she said them.

“This morning...I washed my thong in the ice bucket,” Jeanette confessed as she scooped ice from the bucket into a tumbler.  “So if the J&B has an extra bite tonight...” She doused the cubes with Scotch.  “You’ll know why.”

Evan just stood there, thinking: if she were any more sensual she’d be a dolphin.  All he could say was: “What’s your name?”

The taste of Jeanette was on Evan’s tongue as he walked down the hallway, past “PRIVACY PLEASE” signs and breakfast orders hanging on door knobs, feeling too good to feel bad about having gone down on a woman who wasn’t his wife.  He entered his room at four-in-the-morning, smiling.  He didn’t think about boundaries, or guilt, or repercussions.

***

What they did was sexual.  Extremely sexual.  But it did not constitute an affair.  True, Evan made Jeanette come three times.  But, he did not come.  And why didn’t he?  Because the only woman he’ll give that much of himself to is his wife.  “I want you inside me,” Jeanette said, moaning on the sofa like she didn’t care if she woke every guest in the hotel.  “I am inside you,” Evan said.  “Fingers and tongue don’t count,” Jeanette said, laughing and climaxing simultaneously.  Evan had denied himself the pleasure of penetrating a woman who was nothing short of scrumptious, for chrissake... and by denying himself, he had remained loyal to his marriage––hadn’t he?