Forbidden Affairs

I followed her into the kitchen, the clinking of plates and soft hum of an old ceiling fan filling the silence. She stood at the sink, turning on the tap, sleeves rolled up just past her elbows. I stepped beside her without a word and grabbed a towel from the rack.“You wash, I dry?” I offered, half smiling.She looked at me, hesitant, but then nodded. “Deal.” For a few minutes, we worked in easy silence, a rhythm forming between us that felt natural. Too natural. I stole glances at her as she scrubbed a plate, her face softer now, relaxed. There was a quiet sadness in her, but also something familiar. The way she brushed a stray hair behind her ear. The way she smiled at the bubbles on her fingers. It all felt like slipping into an old song you never forgot the lyrics to.“I missed this,” she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.I paused. “Missed what?”She didn’t look at me. “Being seen and the feeling that comes with someone willingly helping out.”My heart thudded agai

I don’t remember crossing the room. One moment, I was frozen in the doorway, and the next, I was standing in front of her, my heart thundering, my breath shallow, and consumed.She gasped when she finally opened her eyes and saw me. But she didn’t stop. She didn’t hide.Her lips parted, and all I saw was need. Raw, aching need.“I shouldn’t be here,” I whispered, voice low, trembling with restraint. “But I can’t walk away.”Her answer was a breathless whisper. “Then don’t.”That was all I needed.I knelt between her trembling thighs and gently brushed her hand aside, replacing it with mine. My fingers slid through the heat she had created—slick and inviting—and when I slipped two fingers inside her, her back arched off the velvet seat, a cry catching in her throat. Her eyes never left mine, wide and wild with lust.VI moved slowly at first, curling my fingers just right. Her hips rolled, matching my rhythm, her breath falling in broken gasps that sounded like my name. I leaned closer,

The house felt heavier than ever that morning, as though the walls themselves had soaked up every scream swallowed, every night of silence, every promise that had crumbled between the cracks in the floorboards. Dust motes floated through the still air, catching the dull morning light like silent ghosts of what had once been love… or what had tried to be.Alina sat quietly on the edge of the chaise lounge, the same velvet piece of furniture that had, just hours before, witnessed us crossing a threshold we could never return from. She was wrapped in my shirt, her legs folded under her, bare skin brushing against the fabric in a way that made my heart ache—not with lust, but with awe. Her hair was tousled from sleep and tears, her cheeks puffy, her lips soft and pink from all the ways I’d kissed her into remembering who she was.And yet, despite the mess of grief and sex and exhausted emotion, she had never looked more breathtaking to me.Not as the perfectly dressed trophy wife she had

The knock came late in the morning. Isla had just gotten out of the shower and thrown on the first thing she could find—frayed denim shorts, a loose gray tank top, and no bra. She was still towel-drying her hair when she heard it. When she opened the door, her breath caught. Liam stood there, a cocky half-smile on his face and a tool bag slung over one shoulder. “Forgot to give this back last night.” He held up a book—some random thriller her book club had recommended ages ago. “Thought I’d return it before your schedule got busy.” Isla arched a brow. “You were never much of a reader.” “I’m expanding my horizons,” he said, stepping past her like he owned the space. “Plus, I heard you’ve got a plumbing issue. Figured I’d lend a hand.” She blinked. “Excuse me?” “The leak under your sink? Marcie mentioned it yesterday. I figured I’d check it out. Got my tools and everything.” He held up the bag and grinned. “Unless you’ve got someone else doing house calls?” Her eyes narro

Isla wasn’t sure when the thrill had turned to dread and anxiety.Maybe it was the night she kissed Liam in the shadows of her garage, barely pulling away before his mother walked in through the back door. Maybe it was the dinner party where his hand slid between her thighs under the table, and she bit her lip so hard it left a mark. Or maybe it was this morning, when she saw Marcie’s number flash on her phone and felt panic, not excitement.It was too much. Too risky. Too much what ifs! What will people say?And Isla wasn’t reckless—not anymore.Which is why she stood in her bedroom now, her suitcase halfway packed, folding clothes with shaky hands, forcing herself to breathe.Just a weekend at her sister’s. A break. Distance. She will text Liam after she left. Say she needed to think. Needed space. It would hurt, but it was better than being found out. Better than destroying friendships and reputations and—The door swung open.She froze.Liam stood in the doorway, hair tousled, che