A surge of heat spikes in me, the primal urge to follow, to tear him away from her. But just as I take a step, one of the men at the bar calls my name, pulling me back into the circle. My jaw flexes, but I force myself to remain still. I pull out my phone and fire off a text to Oliver:Take care of Ceci.
His reply comes seconds later, a simple thumbs-up.
It should settle me. It doesn't.
I force myself to follow the conversation, adding a word here, a nod there, even a laugh when it’s expected. But my mind is already halfway across the bridge with my wife. When enough time has passed for her to be home, I check my phone.
Me:Hope you're home safe. I love you.
Ten minutes tick by. No response. My thumb hovers over the screen, restless, before I message Oliver.
Me:Did you make sure my wife got home safely?
The three dots appear almost instantly.
Oliver:She’s home safe and sound. Didn’t lay a finger on her. You can relax.
Jerk. He thinks he's so damn funny.
I linger for another hour, making the rounds and shaking hands. When I finally call it a night, I head for the entrance and wait for the valet to bring my car.
I try not to think. I just want to get home. But the images won’t stop.
Ceci’s smile when she saw Santoro, warm, open, the kind I hadn’t received all night. His eyes following her. The way they both disappeared at the same time.
Did they really only meet that once in the Hamptons? Or was that just the most digestible lie she could give me?
When the car pulls up, I tip generously and slide into the driver’s seat. My hand hovers over the ignition, then stills.
Her voice comes back to me, soft and entirely too familiar.Alexander.
First-name basis. Already.
My jaw tightens as I grip the wheel. With one hand, I dial the call and pull away from the hotel, the silence of the car suddenly feeling like an accusation.
The following section includes explicit, on-page cheating. It is part of the story’s journey, but this moment may be difficult for some readers. Please feel free to skip it if it feels overwhelming.
Maya opens the door wearing nothing but a sheer red lace babydoll.
She doesn’t even have time to part her lips before I’m on her. I kiss her hard, a desperate, punishing collision meant to drown out my thoughts, not soothe them. My hands grip her thighs and lift her, pinning her back against the wall with the full weight of my frustration.
The lace gives way under my fingers, the sound swallowed by her groans and the scrape of my teeth against her skin. My hand slides lower, finding her already slick, already ready, and the heat of it ignites something wild and unrestrained in me. I press in harder, keeping her caged as I fumble with my belt, freeing myself in frantic, clumsy movements.
I don’t think. I just push into her. Just the tip. A lie I don’t even pretend to believe as I sink fully inside her and fall into a brutal, relentless pace.
I don’t hear her. I barely register my own breath. Everything dissolves into white noise. All I know is her warmth, the way she tightens around me. The harder I move, the louder the guilt claws at the back of my mind—but it isn’t enough to stop me.
Not until the very edge, when instinct finally slams into me. I pull back at the last second, release spilling hot across her stomach as I pant against her neck.
I brace my palms against the wall, boxing her in between my arms. As I watch the aftermath slide down her body, something violent twists in my chest, cutting deep into a place I can’t protect.
"This was perfect," Maya whispers, her teeth grazing my ear.
Perfect.The word slices through me like a blade.
I set her down and turn away immediately, fumbling with my belt, fastening it with hands that won't stop trembling. I keep my back to her, my jaw locked tight, as the weight of what I’ve just done settles over me like ash after a fire.
“I’m going to wash up and get some rest. Are you coming?” she asks, her tone sweet, laced with a terrifying contentment.
