I know it was wrong, but that night, I couldn’t help it. My husband was away, and my son was staying at a friend’s house. The quiet of the evening made me feel restless and lonely. When I saw him locking his door, I called him over, saying I needed help with something in the house. But honestly, I just wanted him there with me.
As soon as he stepped inside, I shut the door, and the air felt different. There was a look in his eyes that made my heart race. Without thinking, I leaned in and kissed him. At first, it was soft, but it quickly grew more intense. His hands slipped under my gown, and I felt a spark of excitement when his fingers brushed against my bare skin. I hadn’t felt this kind of desire in a long time.
I guided him down, and he didn’t hesitate. He slipped under my gown and started kissing me in a way that made my whole body tingle. His tongue found all the right spots, and I couldn’t hold back the moans. I was lost in the feeling, my hands gripping his hair, pulling him closer. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this—the thrill of someone’s mouth exploring me, making me feel alive again.
I pulled him up and pushed him onto the couch. I wanted him just as badly. As I took him into my mouth, I loved the way he groaned, the way his hands tangled in my hair, urging me to go on. The heat between us was growing, and I wanted more.
Finally, he lifted me onto his lap, and I felt him fill me completely. Our bodies moved together, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure through me. The room was filled with the sounds of our heavy breaths and moans, and for a while, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered.
When we were done, we lay there, catching our breath. I helped him clean up, and as he was leaving, I gave him a quick kiss goodbye. I should have felt guilty, but all I felt was the memory of his touch, the excitement still buzzing in my body.
Now, even though I know it was a moment of weakness, I can’t stop thinking about it. That night made me feel alive, and it’s a secret I’m not ready to let go of.