Lucy lay naked on the couch, too tired and lazy to move. Pedro held her from behind, quiet—as if he didn’t want to ruin the moment by saying anything. She had just given herself fully to him for the first time, cheating on her husband right there in their own home. But no, she wasn’t thinking about that. All she felt was the freedom to choose her own pleasure, to let go completely. She thought about how he made her wait, refusing to fuck her too fast even when every inch of her pussy was drenched and begging. That mix of control and tenderness—the heat of his breath, his teeth grazing her ear, the way his voice ordered her to touch herself, his strong hands gripping her steady—and the sweet release she’d been craving for weeks.

Then the phone started buzzing, its screen glowing with James’s name. Lucy was surprised to find herself calm, almost indifferent, as if it were something she had expected.

“Let’s hope he’s going to be late,” Pedro whispered, low and amused, his hand slipping over her breast, softly pinching her nipple between his fingers, while the other hand slid slowly between her legs, cupping her pussy. Lucy shivered beneath his touch, her breath hitching as she answered the call.

“Hey, babe,” she said, forcing her voice into a steady rhythm.

On the other end, James sounded rushed, distracted. “Hey, I’m starving—think you could have something ready before I get home?”

Pedro didn’t stop, seeming to ignore the phone call. Two fingers slipped deep inside her, slow and curling upward. She sucked in a quiet breath, just enough to hear the edge in it, but not enough to give anything away.

“Mmm,” she replied, letting her voice mask the sound of her stuttering breath. “I’m in the middle of something,” she said, “but I can handle it.”

Pedro took the challenge, slipping in a third finger, his hand moving in a strong, deliberate rhythm as he watched her fight the urge to squirm.

“You doing yoga or something?” James asked, his voice carrying a vague curiosity. “Sounds like you’re out of breath…”

Lucy let out a soft laugh, full of warmth and mischief. “Yeah, a good stretching session. I think I needed it.”

James’s voice held a note of hesitation. “Sorry... I'll let you...”

“No, it’s fine,” she said gently, her voice warm and unshaken. “Believe it or not... I was thinking of you.”

James chuckled on the other end, completely unaware. “Well, I’ll let you finish. I’ll be home soon.”

“Just a few minutes to stretch and I’ll get dinner going.”

“Great. Thanks, honey.”

She ended the call and set the phone aside, exhaling with wicked satisfaction. Pedro pulled his fingers from her slowly, deliberately, rising from the couch like a man denied the final bite of something forbidden. A little breathless, a little frustrated.

“You really are the perfect wife, you know that?” he murmured, resigned.

“Don’t rush,” she murmured back, her voice hesitant. She leaned in and kissed him deeply, surrendering to the moment, letting herself lose for a second.

“I wish you could stay longer,” she whispered against his mouth, stroking him once, just enough to make him throb. “But maybe we shouldn’t play with fire... not just yet.”

He smirked, eyes glinting. “Don’t worry, I know the drill. I’ll be quick. Shower?”

“Yeah, but I’m going first. I smell like...”

She paused, lips curling into a knowing smirk. "...like sex.”

With practiced movements, Lucy pulled the yoga mat from behind the couch, scooped the pants and shirt out of the closet, and moved naked to the bathroom. She flicked some water onto her clothes before tossing them—rumpled and damp—into the bin beneath the sink. Her reflection caught her eye in the mirror. She was flushed, hair tangled, lips swollen from too many kisses. She couldn’t resist smiling.

So, you believe I was doing yoga, James? Fine—here’s your yoga.

Then, she stepped into the shower and made it quick. She resented James for cutting her evening with Pedro short, and in her mind, she pictured what might have been: the two of them tangled in the steam, getting lost in each other all over again. Lucy forced herself back to the present, drying off and getting dressed. Then she moved briskly through the apartment, wiping away every trace of pleasure and evidence.

Pedro entered the shower as Lucy made her way to the kitchen, calm and unhurried. She grabbed the container of pasta she’d made earlier for Pedro, dumped it into a large pan, and set it over the flame. As expected, the scent of basil and tomato filled the air, suggesting a meal lovingly prepared just for James. By the time she finished, Pedro was ready at the door.

No more than ten minutes after Pedro left, James was slowly eating his pasta. He looked distant, somewhat absent. Lucy sat across from him, her expression composed—though beneath the surface, her nerves were just a little tangled.

As James reached for a glass of water, Lucy caught the faintest wisp of scent: a trace of fresh mint and citron. On another night, she might have found it harmless. But tonight, sharpened by her own secret and suddenly thinking like someone with something to hide, that subtle fragrance set off quiet alarms.

Suddenly, questions bubbled up. Usually, after a whole day of work, he didn’t smell this fresh. Had James showered before coming home? She remembered fleeting moments from the past: late returns, unexplained errands. Was it possible? An affair?

The idea struck her with unexpected force—a jolt of suspicion so sharp it bordered on irony. She was the one covering her tracks, telling herself to stay calm. But now, every harmless detail felt loaded. James’s distance. The scent. Those memories from before. Was she just seeing clues because she was looking for them? Maybe it was her own secret winding her nerves tighter, her own guilt painting shadows where none had been before.

Lucy forced herself to appear relaxed, took a deliberate breath, stepping back from her racing mind. She rose and fetched a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses with practiced calm. Returning to the table, she set one in front of James and flashed him an easy smile.

“I was thinking,” she began, swirling her wine, her voice soft but measured, “maybe we should take a holiday. A real one. Somewhere far, just the two of us—no phones, no work, no excuses. I miss how we were when it was simple, don’t you?”

She watched him over the rim of her glass, studying every sign of hesitation. Would he welcome the idea of time alone together—or look for reasons to avoid it? This was her move on the chessboard, and she waited to see if he’d take the bait.

James blinked, surprised by her proposal. His eyes widened and a smile curled across his face.

“A holiday?” he echoed, his voice light. “This sounds... amazing. Just us, somewhere far away, no distractions.” He picked up his wine glass, masking the brief flicker of calculation in his features.

But almost instantly, the enthusiasm faltered; he set the glass down, words tumbling in to fill the silence. “Of course, the timing... I just... I started something huge at work. This new project, deadlines everywhere. Maybe... maybe soon? Just not right now, babe, you know how things are.”

James paused, then—almost as if to sweeten the deal or mask the deflection—added, “I know it’s not quite the same, but hear me out: we could arrange a weekend at that nice resort in the mountains you like. We could take Ann and Mark with us. Remember, we promised to have them over for dinner? And their anniversary’s coming up, I think.”

Beneath the polite offer, Lucy detected the subtle redirection: a group trip, friends as buffer, no risk of too much togetherness. Lucy’s smile brightened as she set her glass down with a decisive little click.

“That sounds perfect,” she said, voice warm but resolute. “I’ll call Ann tomorrow and set the whole thing up—dates, rooms, everything. They’ll be thrilled. Thanks, babe!”

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand, holding his gaze just a bit longer than necessary. “You know, that yoga actually helped me a lot tonight. I feel... relaxed. Flirty, even.” Her tone was playful—part invitation, part test.

James returned her smile, but the day’s fatigue softened his features, dimming any spark. “I’m beat, babe,” he said, letting his fork rest on the empty plate. “It’s been such a long day. Mind if we just put on a movie or something low-key?”

Not long after a bad movie, Lucy lay in bed, staring into the darkness, sleep stubbornly out of reach. Two ideas circled through her mind: one, where she let herself savor every stolen moment with Pedro; the other, where she watched James with careful, calculated attention. Patterns. Absences. Excuses. Even the smallest detail could mean everything.

Strange, she thought, how badly she wanted both—the thrill of secrets, and the satisfaction of knowing for certain.

Just as she began to slip toward uneasy sleep, James's phone, on his nightstand, beeped—one sharp note in the night.

A message.