The waiter appeared with a tray of six glasses, each around 50 millilitres, filled with Ginja liqueur. He placed the tray in the middle of the table and, after saying, “Enjoy,” walked away.
Mark took the lead by picking up one of the glasses. He raised it to his mouth but didn’t sip, waiting for us to follow suit.
We had little choice but to take a glass each and down the liqueur in one go upon his prompt: “Bottoms up!”
Amy grimaced after gulping her liqueur. “Urgh. It’s strong.” She set down her empty glass and leaned back into Jack’s embrace. Immediately, he wrapped his arm around her waist.
“It’s not that strong,” I remarked, placing my glass on the table. “I actually found it tasty.”
“Did you? When taking it as a shot?” Raul asked.
I nodded. “Yes, I did.” I wasn’t lying. Despite downing the liqueur in one go, I had tasted it and liked its taste, which was similar to vermouth.
Amy fanned herself with her hand. “It’s tasty but still burns your gullet.”
“It does, but at the same time, it kinda gives you a fleeting cool sensation,” Jack said, and his hand, which had been resting on her hip, slid onto her side, exposed by her crop top. “It feels cooling, don’t you agree, Amy?”
Everyone’s gaze followed Jack’s hand as it slid under Amy’s crop top, cupping her breast.
Amy trembled but didn’t push his hand away. Leaving it to rest on her breast, she agreed, “It feels cooling.”
“The cooling sensation you feel is because the shot was chilled,” Raul said, providing his scientific take on the matter, his eyes glued to Amy’s chest. “But overall, it will warm you up. The alcohol causes blood vessels to dilate, increasing blood flow to the skin, making you feel warmer after the initial illusion of coolness.”
“You’re probably right,” Jack said as he gently squeezed Amy’s breast under her crop top. He asked me something, but I didn’t catch it. I only heard my name at the end of his question, too distracted by my throbbing cock.
I mumbled, “Say it again.”
“Do you find the liqueur cooling?” he repeated his question. Amy’s chest was moving fast, her breathing heavy as his hand kneaded her breast.
“No, actually, now I feel it warming me up,” I managed to say, then swallowed in nervous excitement, shifting my gaze from Amy’s chest to her face. Our eyes met.
Biting her lip, she raised her eyebrows as if to ask me: Are you seeing what he’s doing to me?
I smiled. This was my silent answer: Yes, I’m seeing what he’s doing to you, and I like it.
She held her gaze on me for a moment before smiling back. Despite my unspoken assurance, she took Jack’s hand and slowly pulled it from under her crop top, saying, “It’s warming me up now, too. No more shots for me.”
An awkward silence fell at the table. What were Amy and I going to do from this point on? Weren’t we supposed to draw a line long before? We couldn’t just sit and pretend nothing had happened. But would it be too obvious if we stood up and left now? Then, if we stayed, how much further was this going to escalate?
If you enjoyed this excerpt, you can read the full story, Heat In Lisbon: A Hotwife Story, on Amazon here or explore more of my work on my Amazon Author Page