The wine bar was quiet for a Thursday night. Muted jazz floated from a speaker overhead, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of a glass. Alex sat alone at a corner table near the window, fingers on a glass of Cognac he hadn't touched yet. He rechecked his phone, though there were no new messages. Katherine hadn't responded to the one he'd sent thirty minutes ago.

8:20 pm

"We're at the wine bar; she looks absolutely delightful."

That was all he’d managed. After that, everything else slipped.

She was captivating in every way—not in the polished, curated way his wife had prepared herself, no. Lucy was something else entirely. Casual, natural, and effortless, she moved with quiet confidence, her mousy brown hair loose around her shoulders, a few strands falling free around her soft, open face. Hazel eyes, warm and searching, locked onto his as soon as she walked in.

She smiled as she crossed the room toward him, no hesitation, no nerves, as though she'd known him for years.

“Alex?” Her voice was low, smooth. Curious.

He rose from his seat, offering his hand, unsure whether to go for a handshake or something warmer. She solved it for him, leaning in and brushing her lips across his cheek.

“You look just like your photo,” she murmured. “Except better.”

He chuckled, caught off-guard. “You’re... early.”

“Couldn’t wait,” she said, sliding into the chair across from him. “Besides, I was curious what a man like you looks like when he's waiting.”

He tilted his head. “And what do I look like?”

She smiled and took a sip of her wine. “Hungry.” She said, grinning.

The conversation flowed more easily than Alex expected, effortless. Lucy moved through dialogue like a dancer. She had a rhythm. A natural curiosity. And a way of making even mundane topics feel charged with something more.   

She swirled her wine, her gaze lingering on him over the rim of her glass. “So, how does a man like you end up here, sitting in a wine bar, waiting for a stranger?”

He smiled, catching the suggestion in her tone. “Same way a woman like you does, I imagine.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Touché.”

There was a pause, not awkward, but electric. The kind that hummed with anticipation. Lucy leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, her chin on the back of one hand. Her eyes glinted beneath the dim light.

“You know,” she said, voice dropping half a register, “I wasn’t sure I’d even show up. But something about your messages… they made me curious.”

“Oh?” he asked, raising a brow.

“You spoke like someone who knows what he wants. That’s rare.”

Alex sipped his Cognac, letting the silence answer for a moment. Then he said, “And now that you’re here?”

Her lips curled into a grin. “Now I want to know what it takes to make you lose control.”

He blinked, the weight of her words sinking into his chest like a warm hand. She was direct, not aggressive, not performative, just honest. Bold in a way that made his pulse quicken.

I don’t fall apart that easily,” he said in a low voice.

Lucy smiled. "Oh, I don't know. You look like someone who holds it all together until someone finds the right thread to pull."

She shifted in her seat then, subtly, but enough for him to notice. Her posture changed, one knee brushing his under the table. She sipped her wine again, letting a drop linger on her lower lip before she licked it away, slow and deliberate.

Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “Also, I wore something special under this dress. Thought it might make things… interesting.”

Alex’s brow lifted. “Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.” She sat back, crossing her legs with exaggerated grace. “But I’m not going to show you. Not here.”

He laughed softly, the tension in his shoulders replaced by something heavier, desire threading through his chest like smoke.

“That’s cruel.”

“No,” she said, sipping again. “That’s anticipation.”

Their eyes locked. The hum of background noise faded. It was just them now, him and the woman with the secret beneath her dress and the knowledge that he wouldn't stop thinking about it until she let him see.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured.

She smiled again. This time, it did reach her eyes. “Not yet,” she said. “But I could be.”

And just like that, the balance shifted. She had him. Not in a manipulative way. Not as a game. But in that quiet, devastatingly powerful way, only women like her can manage, with a look, a line, a promise not yet delivered.

Alex leaned back, his body already betraying the calm of his face. He reached for his phone, But Lucy said something he didn’t catch, then he slipped it back into his pocket.

Because Lucy leaned in again, her voice a velvet whisper:

“Would you like to see what I’m wearing underneath?”

Regis Hotel

The hotel room was on the 6th floor. Well appointed. Discreet. A place where no one asks questions. They didn't talk much on the way there, just glances, stolen smiles, and the occasional brush of hands. The moment the door closed behind them, a quiet shift passed between them, like an unspoken permission.

Alex took a step forward. Lucy didn’t retreat.

She kicked off her shoes with a playful flick, skipping lightly over to the window. The city lights shimmered in the glass as she gazed out, hands slipping behind her back in mock innocence.

"So…" she said, voice laced with mischief, "this is the part where you pretend you're the one in control?" She turned back to him slowly, lips curled in a smile, eyes sparkling with challenge. 

He took a slow step toward her, something still in his hand, maybe the moment. Relaxed. Unhurried. He paused just enough to make her wait. 

“Pretend?” he echoed, tilting his head with a quiet, amused smile. “You think that’s what this is?” 

She looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes glinting. “You’re not. But I like that you think you are.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Alex rested his hands gently on Lucy’s shoulders—steady, assured. There was no rush in his touch, only intent. She stilled beneath him, the playful glint in her eyes dimming, replaced by something softer… unsure.

She lowered her head slightly, letting her cheek rest against the back of his hand, her breath catching just a little. He could feel it—that flicker of tension tightening her muscles beneath his palms. The confident, teasing woman from the wine bar was still there, but now she was being stripped back.

He turned her slowly, deliberately, his hands guiding her with quiet authority.

She didn't resist, but something had changed in her. Her pupils were wider. Her lips parted slightly. Her breathing was shallow and quick with anticipation.

She knew it now; this wasn't just foreplay. It was a line being crossed.

And she didn’t know what waited on the other side.

“You can always tell me to stop,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing the curve of her neck.

He leaned in.

His breath was warm against her skin, close enough for her to feel the promise behind it.

“But I don’t think you want me to.”

He reached behind her and pulled the zipper of her dress down; her dress slipped to the floor, revealing not lace or silk but bare, warm skin—honest, flushed, real.

Lucy kept her gaze steady as she reached for his belt, her movements calm, in control, or so she thought.

Alex stepped closer, not just to kiss or touch, but to study her. To see her. He cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs grazing her cheekbones, eyes locked on hers.

“That’s not what I expected,” he said, voice low and even. 

Lucy undid his trousers, letting them fall away.

She leaned down and touched him, already getting thick and long. Alex caught his breath,

Lucy gleamed a smile at him as their lips met again in a long lingering kiss.

Breaking off, her smile flickered, confidence still intact.

“Neither are you. That’s the best part.” She whispered.

But the moment she said it, she felt the shift.

It wasn't in what he said next; it was in the way he said nothing at all. In the way, he looked at her like he already knew how she'd fall apart.

He shed the last of his clothes without a word, eyes never leaving hers. Then, reaching for her hand, he guided her to the bed with quiet purpose. The mattress gave a soft sigh beneath their weight as they sank into it, mouths meeting in a kiss that was deep, unhurried, claiming.

But it was Alex who led decisively and deliberately.

His hands roamed her body with practised certainty, every touch intentional. There was no hesitation. Only control.

He pressed slow kisses to her neck, then her collarbone, tracing the delicate line of bone with lips and tongue. Each breast received equal attention, his mouth closing over a nipple, sucking gently, then deeper, until it peaked stiff against his tongue. She arched into him, already breathless.

Then he began his descent.

Mouth trailing lower, leaving heat in his wake until he reached her hip, her stomach, and finally, the tender skin of her inner thigh. He paused there.

When his lips met her flesh, she gasped, not because he was gentle, but because he was deliberate.  

Measured. 

He wasn’t asking.  

And that made her ache. 

And when his tongue found the folds of her lips, slow and deliberate, she arched, already losing the rhythm she thought she’d lead. 

His kisses were long, slow, and devastatingly deliberate. He took his time as if tasting her was a ritual, not an act of lust, but devotion. His mouth moved lower, mapping her body with lips and tongue, until he found the centre of her heat.

When his lips closed around her clitoris, he didn't rush. He sucked gently, then released, letting the tip of his tongue flick over the swollen nub with feather-light precision. Again. And again. A rhythm designed not to bring release too quickly but to unravel her completely.

Lucy's breathing changed, becoming shallow and erratic. Her thighs twitched against his shoulders. Her fingers curled into the bedsheets. Panic flickered in her eyes, not fear. Still, the helpless, dizzying rush of a climax approached faster than she could prepare for.

Alex felt it in her. The tremble. The shift. The way her hips bucked despite herself.

He didn’t stop.

Instead, he reached up and found her hands, lacing his fingers through hers, grounding her as he pressed his mouth harder against her. He sucked again, deeper this time, then circled her clit with the flat of his tongue, slow and steady, pushing her right to the edge.

Lucy’s back arched violently, her head thrown back, a strangled cry ripping from her throat. Her stomach tensed in waves, sharp, rhythmic contractions tearing through her lower abdomen. Her thighs clamped around his face as her orgasm hit, fast and brutal, her juices spilling against his tongue.

He didn’t move. Didn’t let go.

He stayed with her, tasting every pulse, every quiver, until her body began to melt back into the bed beneath her.

Only then did he crawl up her body, slow, controlled, patient like before. His cock brushed her inner thigh, slick with his own arousal, heavy and thick.

He held her gaze as he aligned himself. No words. No warning.

Just the slow press of his hips as he entered her, inch by deliberate inch.

Her gasp wasn’t soft or coy. It ripped out of her, torn from someplace deep. Her body clenched around him instinctively, still tender, still throbbing from her release.

The stretch of him filled her completely, thick, insistent, undeniable. Her hands scrambled for his back, clutching at the skin. Her breath stuttered into his neck.

She had no control left. And she knew it.   

Alex moved inside her with slow, deliberate thrusts, setting a rhythm she couldn’t match—because he wasn’t chasing the end. He was savouring the unravelling. Each roll of his hips was purposeful, almost cruel in its restraint, drawing her tighter instead of faster.

Lucy could barely breathe.

Her fingers clutched at the sheets, then at his back, anything to anchor her in the rising tide. She had already shattered once on his tongue, her thighs trembling, voice broken. But now—now he was dismantling what was left.

She met his eyes briefly.

The look he gave her made her whimper: dark, focused, unflinching. He wasn’t fucking her. He was taking her.

From the inside out.

Each stroke pressed deeper, grinding against the most tender part of her, building a heat so thick it turned her thoughts to static. Her breath caught with every thrust. Her legs locked around his waist.  

Still, he didn’t rush.  

He didn’t need to. 

His name fell from her lips again, quieter now, reverent. A plea, a prayer.

He dipped his head, lips brushing her ear. "Give it to me," he whispered the words, not a command, but a certainty.

And she did.

Her body tensed, then convulsed around him, helpless in the wave that took her. Her climax crashed hard, hot and tearing through her like fire, her cry muffled into his neck.

That was when he let go.

With a groan that came from somewhere deep, he thrust once more, hard, full, and spilt into her, gripping her hips as if anchoring himself inside her.

They stayed like that, tangled and breathless, hearts pounding against each other’s chests.

She didn't speak. She couldn't; he hadn't just taken her body.

He’d taken something more.

And she’d let him.

The air in the room was thick with sex and breath and the quiet echo of what had just passed between them. The sheets clung to their bodies, still damp with sweat, desire, and everything they hadn’t said.  

Lucy lay half-sprawled across Alex’s chest, her skin flushed, her body slow to still. Her hand rested on his abdomen, fingers trailing mindlessly along the line of his hip. 

She broke the silence first, voice soft, cracked open by what she didn’t expect to feel. “You were… different.”  

Alex turned his head slightly on the pillow. "Different, how?" 

Her laugh was tired. Honest. “I thought I’d be the one in charge.”

He smiled faintly, brushing a damp strand of hair from her temple. “You were. Until you weren’t.”

She lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes searched his, still curious, but something had shifted behind them. The playfulness was there, but now it was buried beneath reverence. Surrender.

“I don’t usually let go like that,” she said, a little embarrassed.

“I know,” he replied.

That made her blink. “How?”

Alex met her gaze, calm, steady. “Because you didn’t fake a thing. Not a moan. Not a breath. It all came out of you the way it should.”

Lucy swallowed. “You read people.”

“I read you.” He turned to face her fully now, a hand gliding slowly down her spine. “You wanted to test me. You just didn’t know what would happen if I passed.”

She gave a small, broken laugh. “God, you really did have me.”

“You still don’t realise,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, “you gave yourself.”

She didn’t argue because he was right.

They lay like that for a while, silent, spent. The kind of silence that didn't demand words because the body had already confessed more than the mouth ever could.

Alex sat at the edge of the hotel bed, pulling his shirt slowly over his shoulders, movements unhurried. Lucy lay on her side behind him, half-asleep, her breathing steady now, the occasional twitch of a thigh the only evidence of what had passed between them.

The room was quiet, too quiet; he reached for his phone.

Six messages. All from Katherine.

9:42 pm.

Is she okay with this?

9:58 pm.

Is it happening? Are you okay?

10:23 pm.

Alex?

10:41 pm.

You promised me something. I wanted to watch it.

11:00 pm.

Why aren’t you sharing it with me?

11:11 pm.

Is she better than me?

He stared at the last one. The tone had shifted, her confidence slipping beneath the cracks of silence. What had begun as curiosity, even arousal, had dissolved into something closer to hurt.

He let out a long breath and typed slowly: "I wasn’t trying to shut you out. I just... lost myself in her."

He stared at the blinking cursor, then deleted it.

Typed again. "It wasn’t about her, Kat. It was about being in control. For once."

Deleted again.

Instead, he sent nothing.

Just sat there, staring at the screen as a new one appeared:

11:17 pm.

I didn’t think it would feel like this. I thought I wanted this. I thought I could handle it. But I feel... left behind.

Then 01:15

This isn't fair, Alex

He stared at the blinking cursor and typed.

On my way home xx

He placed the phone in his pocket and sat in silence.

Katherine's Point of View

Tonight, he had done the taking.

And Katherine wasn’t sure where that left her. 

She sat on the edge of their bed, phone pressed to her chest like it might offer warmth. But it was cold. Silent. No new messages.

She had imagined herself aroused. Wet. Powerful.

But instead, she felt... peripheral.

Discarded.

The cuckold fantasy had always thrilled her. Watching him ache, watching him wait. But tonight, he hadn't waited. He hadn't reached out. He had forgotten her. And the cruel truth of it wasn’t in the sex—it was in the silence.

Had he smiled for her the way he had for Lucy?

Had he said her name?

Had he whispered the things Katherine used to hear?

Her thighs clenched, not in desire—but in defiance of how much it hurt to be left out of her own fantasy.

Maybe being a cuckquean wasn't about watching.

Maybe it was about the powerlessness.

And that... frightened her.

Her thumb tapped the screen again.

Katherine

Are you still with her?

Katherine

Was it that good? That you couldn’t even think of me.

Katherine

You promised we’d share it. This time. You promised I’d see her fall apart.

No response.

She threw the phone onto the bed and curled into herself, knees tight to her chest. Not crying. Not yet. Just... waiting. That kind of raw, cold waiting that only lovers know—the one where power and pain blur.

And in her chest, something bitter bloomed.

Was this how he had felt?

All those nights she had teased and tormented him from afar? All those times she’d whispered another man’s name and made him ache with love and jealousy?

She had believed the game was balanced.

But tonight, Alex had unintentionally rewritten the rules.

02:20 Alex arrives home

Katherine didn’t look up when the door closed.

Alex stood there for a moment, his coat still in his hand, a silence stretching between them like a taut string. The room was dim, with no lamps, just the hallway light catching her profile.

She sat at the edge of the bed, perfectly still. Her phone was in her lap. She wasn’t crying.

That somehow made it worse.

Alex dropped his coat on the chair, unsure of what to say. “Kat…”

She looked up, not with anger.

But beneath that, something more dangerous: hurt.

“You forgot me.”

He took a slow breath. “I didn’t forget you. I—”

“Yes, you did,” she interrupted, rising to her feet. “You forgot I was part of this. You forgot that this—” she gestured vaguely, voice trembling now, “—was ours.”

Alex swallowed. “It wasn’t like that.”

"Then what was it?" Her eyes glistened, but she refused to look away. "You sent one message and then nothing. No updates. No voice note. You just disappeared into her."

He stepped closer. “It just… happened, Katherine. I got caught in it.”

“Caught in her, you mean,” she said, bitter now. “So caught up that the woman who gave you that freedom wasn’t even a thought in your head.”

Her words sliced, too precise to be rage. More like surgery.

Alex stood still. He didn’t deny it.

Because it was true.

She stared at him, arms crossed over her chest as if she were holding herself together. "I thought I'd feel in control. Power. The thrill of watching you take someone else."

“And you didn’t?”

“No,” she whispered. “Because I wasn’t watching. I wasn’t even in the room.”

She moved to the mirror, leaning on the dresser with both hands, breathing hard.

This was her idea. Her game. Her rules.

And now she wasn’t sure she was even a player anymore.

Behind her, Alex approached slowly. “Katherine... I didn’t mean to shut you out. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“But you did,” she said softly, her reflection flickering. “And the worst part is, I’m not even jealous of Lucy.”

He tilted his head. “Then who?”

"You." Her voice cracked. "I'm jealous of you. Of the way you took control. Of the way, you didn’t need me to do it.”

He reached for her, turning her gently to face him. “I’ve always needed you.”

“Not tonight.”

He looked down. “No. Not tonight.”

Her throat bobbed. “Am I still enough if you don’t need me to watch?”

Alex didn’t answer.

Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Not hungry. Not possessive. Just… present.

Katherine resisted for a moment, her mouth still set. But when he placed a hand on her hip and the other on the back of her neck, she gave in—because the kiss felt like a thread stitching something back together.

When they pulled apart, she pressed her forehead against his.

“I don’t know what this makes me anymore,” she whispered.

“Fractured,” he said gently.

She nodded. “But still here.”

They stood in silence. And for now, that was enough. 

Later, they lay in bed, their backs touching but not curled into each other. The night was still. The hum of distant cars, the soft tick of the radiator—the only signs the world hadn't paused with them.

Katherine stared at the wall.

Alex breathed slowly beside her. Not asleep, not fully. Just resting. Worn out in that languid, satisfied way she usually brought him to.

But tonight, someone else had done that.

Someone else had made him forget to come back to her.

And that should have infuriated her.

But it didn’t.

It hollowed her.

She shifted slightly, careful not to wake him, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. The room smelled like the two of them. Sex. Skin. Memory. It always did. But tonight, something was off.

She had been the centre. This was supposed to be her game.

The queen.

The flame.

Tonight, he didn’t orbit her.

Tonight, he burned on his own.

And she… had felt what it meant to be outside the room.

She didn’t hate him for it. She didn’t even blame Lucy. No—the ache she felt had nothing to do with competition. It was something more dangerous. More intimate.

It was the quiet voice whispering:

If he can take it without needing you... where does that leave you?

Katherine blinked at the ceiling, eyes hot but dry.

What am I without power?

What am I if he doesn’t need to be watched?

Her fingers curled under the sheets, pressing lightly to her thigh. She still remembered the last man she’d taken, how Alex had watched, aching, desperate. How that had thrilled her.

Because her pleasure had always been performance.

But now she understood Alex’s wasn’t.

He hadn't performed for her; he had forgotten her.

And for the first time, Katherine realised she might not want to be seen, not anymore.

She wanted to be held.

She rolled onto her side, facing his back, and slowly, gently reached for him. Her fingers brushed his shoulder, then slid around his chest. He stirred slightly, not waking but leaning into her touch.

And in the dark, in the quiet space between apology and understanding, she whispered, "Don't shut me out again...please."

Not a demand. A truth. A fracture she wasn’t ready to shatter.