The warmth of the presidential suite wrapped around me as you shut the door, muffling the sound of your wife’s soft whimpers outside. The faint patter of snow against the balcony rail barely reached us now, but I could still feel the sharp sting of winter lingering on my skin from when l'd been out there-just long enough to see the panic in her body as he tied her wrists to the icy metal.

"She's beautiful like that," I murmured, glancing toward the glass door. Through it, her bare form was a shadow against the snow, trembling under the hood you had slipped over her head.

Her breaths had fogged the glass earlier when you led her out, but now, nothing. Stillness, except for the faint hitch of her shoulders as she struggled to stay silent, no doubt listening to us.

You smiled at me, that wicked, knowing smile that sent a thrill down my spine. "She's even better when she suffers." Your voice was steady, deliberate. You didn't rush-you never rushed-but there was an unmistakable hunger in your eyes as you stepped closer towards me.

I leaned back against the plush bed, the silk sheets cool against my thighs. You had been so careful in planning this moment, every detail designed to remind her where she belonged.

The suite, the candles, the expensive bottle of wine—all of it for me. My Chanel pumps sat by the hotel door next to her practical winter boots. Spelling out the contrast between us. She was nothing more than a footnote in this story tonight, a witness to your pleasure, a toy for your games.

"You think she's listening?" I asked, tilting my head toward the balcony door. My voice was soft, playful, but I knew the answer.

You reached for the wine, pouring me a glass before answering. "Of course she is." You handed it to me, your fingers brushing mine just enough to send a shiver down my arm. "She's waiting for a sound, a clue. Something to tell her how I'm touching you right now." His eyes darkened. "Let's give her something worth suffering for."

I smiled, leaning forward to let my robe fall open, the fabric pooling at my waist. The smell of French perfume wafting off my skin. "Let's.”

You were on me in an instant, your hands strong and commanding as they pulled me closer. The first press of your lips against my collarbone sent a gasp from my throat. It was loud, deliberate. I wanted her to hear it, wanted her to know exactly what she was missing as she stood outside in the cold, her skin prickling against the snow and wind.

Your mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of heat along my skin as you pushed me back onto the bed. Every touch, every sound was louder than it needed to be, filling the room and, I knew, seeping through the glass to where she stood bound and blindfolded.

"She's probably crying by now," you murmured against my neck, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "Jealous. Angry. Wishing she could be where you are."

"Not if she’s smart," I replied, smirking as my fingers tangled in his hair. “She looks cold enough as it is."

Your smirk at my wit turns to a growl, your teeth grazing my skin just enough to make me arch beneath you. I moaned louder this time, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. I imagined her flinching at the sound, the heat of her tears mingling with the icy sting of the wind.

Your hands roamed lower, your grip firm and unrelenting as you claimed every inch of me with a deliberate intensity that left no doubt about your control. Through the glass, I could see her clearly as he touched me, her head bowed, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she struggled against the bindings. She hated this. But maybe she also loved this. Just as much as I did.

"Don't let her in yet," I whispered, pulling you closer. "Make her wait."

You chuckled, low and dark, your fingers trailing down my thigh. "Oh, she'll wait. She'll stand there until I decide she's earned her place back in here. And by then..." You kissed me deeply, your lips claiming mine in a way that left me breathless. "She'll have heard exactly how much better you are."

The room filled with the sounds of us. Of our laughter, our gasps, the rustle of sheets and the soft thud of the bed against the wall.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in silence. But I knew she was still there, shivering, listening, feeling every second of what she couldn't have.

And I didn't care. This moment was mine.