He stood at the kitchen bar, the bass of the party pulsing up through his feet. Glass icy in his grip, mind drunk on her scent and the taste of promise still lingering on his lips. Behind him, a body pressed in, warm, familiar as memory, masked in the same flickering red velvet as his wife. Her hands slid around his waist, bold as sin. One sliding lower to cup him through his slacks, the other stealing a drink from before him.

He twisted, trying to catch her face. The mask showed nothing but lips. Her mouth curled into a secret, wicked smile, her perfume close enough to his wife's to let him lie to himself. Not quite right. Sharper, cheaper. But close enough to pretend.

No words from her. The insistent drag of her hand, pulling him toward the back door. The kitchen crowd parted, too absorbed in their own vices to notice a devil leading a devil into the dark. He knew. The walk was wrong, the silence wrong, the way she moved slightly off from muscle memory. Not his wife.

He could stop. Turn around, make a joke, go find her.

But his cock was already hard, his pulse already racing with the forbidden thrill of it. The wrongness was the point—the danger he'd been craving in the heat and press of bodies, now here, real, her hand in his. He thought of his wife dancing somewhere inside. Oblivious, and the betrayal made him ache with want.

He chose the fall.

She shoved the door open; cold night slapped his cheeks. Alleyway yawning wide, shadows swallowing them whole. She turned. Braced herself against the rough siding, ass tipped up, skirt hiked obscenely high. He could just make out the red flick of a devil tail, the pale flash of skin. She looked back once, mask hiding everything, and arched her back, presenting. The music inside faded to a distant war-drum. He fumbled his fly, cock impatient, need gnawing holes in his resolve.

He stepped behind her, gripped her hips tight. Her flesh so familiar and so wrong. And drove himself in, all at once, hard and hungry. She gasped, shoulders bunching. Palms flat against cold siding, heels digging in as she ground back against him. The echo of her moans shivered across the bricks, silk and filth tangled in the alleyway air.

He fucked her deeper, rough, driven by the ugly thrill of risk. The electrifying chance of discovery. Her breath ghosted white against the bricks. Hair wild and tangled in his fingers, head thrown back. The way her cunt clung to him. Slick, eager, swallowing every selfish thrust, sent sparks up his spine. She took everything he gave. Her hips snapping back. Murmurs cracking into wild little sounds that belonged to a stranger and made him fuck her harder for it.

Someone laughed at the mouth of the alley. Neither of them cared. He pressed her harder to the wall, felt the building shake with their secret, his body reduced to rhythm and need. She whimpered, hips stuttering. Thighs quaking as she found her pleasure, grinding her ass back in jagged, helpless rhythm. The raw hunger in her voice shattered his control. He emptied into her, grunting, lost, his cum spilling hot and deep as he clung to her.

He pulled out, tucked himself away, fingers shaking on his zipper. She stayed bent against the wall, skirt still rucked up, thighs glistening in the alley light. He should say something. Thank her, apologize, acknowledge the enormity of what they'd done.

He said nothing.

He left her there. Leaking, bent, anonymous, and slipped back inside, the music swallowing his guilt. At the bar he washed his hands. Scrubbing at the scent of her, grabbed two drinks with fingers that still trembled. The bass pounded in his chest like a confession he couldn't voice.

And there—coming down the stairs, hips rolling, eyes wild behind her mask—his wife. Impossible: red satin, devil's horns, lips shining. As ruined and radiant as the stranger outside. His throat went dry; the glasses nearly shattered in his grip.

"…I was just with you in the alley. I said I'd bring you your drink—how'd you beat me inside?" The words split the truth wide open.

She caught his hand, pulled him into the hush beneath the stairs. Pressed his fingers into her panties, made him feel how wet, how marked, how full of another man's cum she was. Lust and terror and awe tangled in his chest. He was sure everyone at the party could hear his heart screaming.

From the alley, the scent of their secret still drifted, shameless and undeniable.

Inside, the party spun on, wild and obscene.

And the night, somehow, was hungrier than ever.