Finally, Iain pulled out gently, his softening cock wet and glistening. He rolled to the side, landing on the bed with a heavy thud, chest heaving. Sophie collapsed beside him, her cheeks flushed, hair wild, thighs still twitching slightly.
They didn't speak at first. Just the sounds of their breathing, hearts still racing, filled the space.
Sophie turned her head to him. "That... was fucking intense."
Iain chuckled, exhausted. "You're telling me."
She leaned in, kissed his shoulder softly. "I've never... like that. Not even close."
He looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "Me neither."
There was a warmth, a tenderness settling between them now. The rawness was ebbing, replaced by something quieter. Softer.
But it didn't last long.
Click.
They both froze.
*********************************************
Sophie's eyes widened, mouth slightly parted in shock. "Was that--?"
Iain didn't answer.
His heart hammered in his chest like a war drum. The soft sound of footsteps crept closer, slow and steady. The bedroom door was half-closed, a warm lamp still glowing. Clothes lay scattered across the hallway.
Sophie clutched the sheets to her chest, breathing heavily, the flush of orgasm still painting her skin. "Fuck... what do we do?"
Iain's mouth opened, but no sound came. His mind raced.
He slowly pulled out of her, their bodies slick and trembling. The sound was unmistakable. Wet. Intimate. Obscene.
Sophie's eyes snapped to the door, terror creeping in. "She... she heard that. She knows."
Iain looked toward the hallway like a man awaiting a firing squad.
More footsteps. Closer now. The slight creak of a floorboard--just outside the room.
They locked eyes, every bit of heat and lust now twisted with fear, guilt, and the adrenaline of being caught in the act.
"Iain," his wife called again, softer now. Closer.
Then--
A shadow moved across the hallway.
Iain's eyes shot open, and Sophie's entire body tensed beneath him.
"Shit," he breathed, pulling out in a panic.
They scrambled. Clothes were yanked from the floor, underwear stuffed in drawers, and Sophie bolted toward the wardrobe without a word, slipping inside just as the door clicked open downstairs.
Iain hastily threw the covers over his nakedness and flopped into bed, feigning a sleepy haze, as his wife's footsteps approached.
She appeared in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the hallway light. Her eyes scanned the scene, her brow furrowed. "I didn't expect to be back so soon. The train was early. The conference finished ahead of schedule."
Iain rubbed his eyes, pretending to wake. "I didn't hear my phone. I must've dozed off."
She stepped closer, her expression softening. "You look knackered. Long week?"
He nodded, heart thudding like a drum. The scent of sex hung faintly in the air.
Then, to his horror, she climbed onto the bed, pressing her body against his under the covers. Her hand drifted down, wrapping around his still semi-hard shaft.
"Mmm," she purred, stroking him. "Looks like you've missed me."
Iain gulped.
She slipped beneath the covers, her lips wrapping around him. Iain clenched his fists, doing everything he could to stay still. But her mouth paused... tongue tasting... then her head popped back up.
Her eyes narrowed.
"What the fuck is that taste?"
Iain froze.
Her face changed. Disbelief turned into realization. "You've been with someone. Who was here?"
Iain said nothing.
Then she stood, whipping the covers off. His clothes were haphazardly strewn. The faint outline of a bra strap peeking from under the bed.
She stared at the wardrobe. The crack in the door.
"No... no way..."
The air turned cold.
She marched over and threw open the wardrobe doors.
Sophie stood inside, mostly dressed now, flushed with shame and dread.
The silence was suffocating.
Iain's wife turned to him, betrayal twisting her features. Her voice was low, trembling.
"I trusted you... and you fuck her? In our bed?"
Sophie stepped forward, trembling. "I--I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to--"
"Get out," his wife hissed.
Sophie gathered the rest of her clothes, avoiding eye contact, and quickly fled. The sound of the front door slamming echoed through the house.
Iain remained sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hand. His wife stared at him for a long, agonizing moment.
Then she turned and walked away, the weight of what had just happened settling over the house like a storm cloud.
*********************************************
Everything had unraveled faster than Iain ever imagined.
His marriage shattered beyond repair. His wife had left within days, the betrayal too deep, the hurt too raw. She took the kids. The house. The rhythm of his life. Even the silence in the aftermath wasn't his to control--it was filled with absence, the kind that screamed louder than any argument ever had.
Sophie disappeared too.
Not a word. No call. No message. Just gone.
He didn't blame her.
For months, he drifted. A man stripped bare of everything he'd clung to for years. Work was mechanical, nights were cold, and no amount of distraction could silence the echo of that one day. That one choice.
And yet, time dragged him forward.
Today, months later, he found himself in the old café again. The place they used to meet, joke, flirt. The last place he should be if he wanted peace.
He wasn't expecting her.
But there she was--Sophie.
Sitting in their booth, like the universe hadn't broken apart at all. Like it was still possible to breathe in the same space without it hurting.
Her eyes met his the moment he stepped in.
No sharpness. No resentment. Just that flicker of something soft--hesitant but unmistakable.
He stood frozen for a beat before walking over. She didn't look away. Didn't run.
He slid into the seat opposite her.
"Didn't think I'd see you here," she said, voice low, almost a whisper.
"I didn't think I'd come back," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
She nodded, glancing down at her coffee. "I moved away. Needed to clear my head. Distance helps."
He gave a small, bitter chuckle. "I lost everything, Sophie. House. Kids. Her. And you."
Her fingers stilled on the cup. "I know," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"Me too," he whispered. "For everything."
Silence sat between them for a moment, not quite heavy. Just... honest.
And yet, something stirred again.
Maybe it was the way she looked at him like the months hadn't dulled that connection. Maybe it was the fact she hadn't left the moment he sat down.
"You look good," he said softly.
"So do you."
Neither of them made a move. There was no dramatic reach across the table. No declarations.
Just two people, older now. Wiser. Wounded. Still carrying the memory of one mistake and everything it cost them.
But the spark?
It was still there.
Quiet. Waiting.
And maybe... just maybe... not done yet. |
