The next day, they met again at the café—earlier than usual. Almost as if neither of them could stay away.

Sophie had dressed differently. Not much, but enough. A tight-fitting black top that clung to the soft curve of her waist, jeans that hugged her hips, and a hint of lace peeking from beneath her neckline when she leaned forward just right. Iain noticed. His eyes dipped once—twice—and she caught him both times, her smirk growing smugger each time.

“You’re early,” she said, sliding into the seat opposite him.

“So are you.”

She sipped her latte. “Maybe I couldn’t sleep.”

“Same.”

Their eyes locked again, the weight of the previous day still hanging thick in the air between them. They hadn’t touched. Not even a brush of fingers. And yet, it felt like they were already naked to each other.

Sophie broke the silence. “I couldn’t stop thinking about your voice. The way it dropped when you said what you’d do to me.”

Iain shifted in his seat. His cock stirred to life again, pressing uncomfortably against the denim. “I meant every word.”

“I figured,” she said. “I also figured you’ve got a filthy mind for a married man.”

He smiled. “And you’ve got a dangerous mouth for a single one.”

Sophie leaned forward, whispering, “Wanna know what I imagined last night?”

His throat bobbed with a swallow. “Yes.”

“I imagined your hands pinning me down… your mouth between my legs... and then flipping me over, taking me from behind while I screamed your name into the pillow.”

Iain groaned under his breath. “Fuck, Sophie.”

“I soaked the sheets,” she said casually, as if talking about the weather.

He looked around, as if suddenly aware of the world again. People chatted over coffee, oblivious. But his skin was on fire.

“Come for a drive,” he blurted, unable to contain himself. “Just you and me.”

Sophie blinked, surprised—but her grin turned wicked. “Where to?”

“Somewhere private.”

They left their coffees unfinished.

*********************************************

The engine rumbled beneath them as Iain pulled onto the quiet road. His knuckles were tight on the steering wheel, trying to focus, trying not to show just how close he was to breaking.

Sophie, however, was in no rush.

She curled one leg up onto the seat, turning slightly toward him. “You know,” she said, her voice silky and low, “I’ve had some very dirty thoughts about you, Iain.”

His eyes flicked toward her. “Oh yeah?”

She nodded. “Wanna know the worst one?”

“Yes. Absolutely yes.”

She grinned. “It’s the one where you bend me over the counter in that café. Just after closing. I’m still in my coat, panties pulled to the side… you’re still wearing your wedding ring.”

Iain exhaled sharply, cock twitching at the image.

“Jesus, Sophie…”

She let the silence hang, then added softly, “What about you? Any filthy fantasies about your coffee buddy?”

His laugh was dark. “Too many.”

“Pick your dirtiest.”

He glanced at her again, then back to the road. “Alright. You, tied up. Arms above your head, blindfolded. Nothing but heels on. I’d take my time, make you beg.”

Sophie shifted in her seat, squeezing her thighs together. “God, you’re worse than I thought.”

He smirked. “That’s not even top five.”

She slid her hand to his thigh again. “I want to hear them all.”

“You’ll get your chance.”

Her fingers drifted higher, brushing the denim-covered bulge. “I hope they involve my mouth,” she whispered.

He growled low in his throat. “Sophie…”

She pulled her hand away like a tease and smiled sweetly. “Eyes on the road, Mr. Married Man.”

He turned down a narrow lane and pulled into his driveway a few minutes later. The house was quiet. Empty. He killed the engine and looked at her, chest rising and falling.

“This is your last chance to change your mind,” he said, voice low but serious.

Sophie unbuckled her seatbelt slowly. “I changed it the second I came thinking of you.”

They got out of the car, the silence between them charged.

Inside the house, the door closed with a soft click.

The real game was about to begin.

*********************************************

Iain’s heart was already pounding before he opened the door. He didn’t know what to expect—but he knew he wanted her. Needed her.

When he did open it, time seemed to freeze.

Sophie stood there, coat buttoned up, her hair wild with curls, lips glossed with deep red, eyes filled with lust and mischief. Without a word, she stepped inside and pulled the coat open with a slow, deliberate flick of her wrist.

Beneath, she wore black lace lingerie that clung to her curves like a second skin. The cups pushed her breasts up perfectly, nipples visible through the thin material. The body dipped low between her soft mounds, hugging her waist and flowing down between her thighs, where a thin strip of fabric barely hid anything at all. Thigh-high stockings finished the look, her heels clicking softly on the floor as she stepped closer.

“You said we were just having coffee,” she teased.

“I lied,” he breathed, stepping toward her.

His hands found her hips, her skin warm through the lace. They stood chest-to-chest, their breaths fast and shallow.

“Do it,” Sophie whispered, her lips brushing his. “Kiss me like you’ve imagined a hundred times.”

He didn’t hesitate.

Their mouths collided—soft at first, then hungry. Their tongues tangled as years of teasing tension finally ignited. His hands roamed her back, her arse, then slid down her thighs as he pressed her against the wall. She moaned into the kiss, grinding her hips against his already-hard cock.

He dropped to his knees, sliding her legs apart.

“Sophie…” he whispered, eyes locked on the glistening wetness between her thighs.

She didn’t respond—just grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his face to her.

His tongue found her instantly—licking up her slit slowly, then circling her clit in teasing strokes. She gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair. He licked her deeper, harder, then sucked her clit between his lips as her legs trembled.

“Oh, fuck—Iain—yes, just like that—”

He buried his face in her, moaning against her pussy as she writhed and whimpered, grinding on his mouth. When she came, it was loud, intense—her legs shaking, her juices coating his chin.

She pulled him up by his shirt, panting. “Bed. Now.”

They stumbled to the bedroom, tearing clothes off as they went. Iain’s shirt hit the floor, then his jeans, boxers—his cock thick and glistening, pulsing with need.

Sophie pushed him onto the edge of the bed and dropped to her knees between his legs.

“My turn,” she said, voice sultry.

She grabbed his cock with both hands, stroking slowly, admiring the girth. “I’ve fantasised about this.”

Her tongue flicked the tip, then she took him into her mouth—wet, hot, and hungry. She moaned as she sucked him, lips sliding down his shaft, saliva dripping as she worked his length. One hand stroked his base; the other cupped and played with his balls, rolling them gently as her head bobbed.

“Fuck, Sophie,” he groaned. “That mouth…”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and devilish, and deepthroated him—taking him all the way in, her nose brushing his stomach.

He nearly lost control right then.

She pulled back with a slurp, licking up the length. “You taste so fucking good.”

He pulled her up and spun her onto the bed, crawling over her. His cock slid between her slick folds as he kissed her neck, her chest, biting softly at her nipples through the lace.

“You want this?” he growled, teasing her entrance with his thick tip.

“Every filthy inch,” she begged. “Fuck me like you’ve dreamed about.”

He pushed into her slowly, and they both moaned—her pussy tight and soaked, gripping his cock perfectly. He fucked her deep and slow, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands clawing his back.

Then he pulled out, flipped her onto her knees.

“Arse up,” he commanded.

She obeyed instantly, arching her back, her cheeks round and ready.

He slid back in from behind, hands gripping her hips as he drove into her harder now. Their skin slapped together, wet and fast, her moans turning into gasps with every thrust.

“Harder,” she begged. “I can take it.”

He reached around to rub her clit, fucking her relentlessly. Then he pulled out again, spit in his hand, and pressed a finger against her tight back hole.

Sophie gasped, then groaned. “Yes—do it.”

He fingered her slowly there, easing her open, then pushed the head of his cock against her arse.

She looked back at him, eyes wild. “Fuck my arse, Iain. I want all of it.”

He pushed in carefully, and she moaned loud as he filled her—inch by thick inch—until he was buried inside her.

“God, you’re tight,” he groaned.

He fucked her slow at first, letting her adjust, then built up—one hand in her hair, the other on her hip, using her body how they both craved.

Her pussy dripped down her thighs as he took her from behind, then pulled out and flipped her over again.

“Finish inside me,” she panted. “I want to feel you come.”

He drove back into her pussy, rough and fast, her legs spread wide as her orgasm built again. Their moans mixed, sweat-slick bodies slamming together as they raced to the edge.

“Come inside me,” she begged, voice shaking. “I want to feel you…”

“Fuck—Sophie—I'm gonna—”

They climaxed together. Her body convulsed around his, her moans echoing as his cock pulsed deep inside her. He held her tight, grinding into her as their pleasure crashed over them in waves.

They collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, bodies trembling, hearts racing.

The only sound was their breath. And the soft hum of the world outside.

For the first time, they were quiet—satisfied, spent, tangled in the mess of what they'd just done.

Sophie lay on her back, chest rising and falling, skin flushed and sticky with sweat. Her legs were still hooked loosely around Iain’s waist, and he remained inside her, softening slowly but still connected, both physically and emotionally.

Neither of them spoke.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward—it was thick with unspoken truths, heavy breaths, and the realisation that something had just changed forever.

Iain brushed a strand of hair from Sophie’s forehead, gazing down at her.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

She smiled up at him, a lazy, satisfied smirk. “More than okay.”

His hand caressed her thigh as he stayed nestled between her legs, their bodies still pressed together.

“This shouldn’t feel this right,” he murmured.

“But it does,” she replied, running her fingers across his back, tracing small circles. “I’ve never felt so wanted. So devoured.”

He kissed her again, slower this time—no lust, just longing. A kiss of what ifs.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, tangled in sheets and sweat, until reality started creeping back in around the edges. The bedroom was dimly lit, the air thick with sex and the faint scent of her perfume clinging to his pillow.

Sophie shifted slightly beneath him.

“I should probably go before—”

Click.

The unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking froze them both.

*********************************************

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 heavy, 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. 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, 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 hands. 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.