The energy was electric. The entire school roared as both the football team and the cheer squad claimed their respective victories--the first in the school's history. After a grueling road trip downstate, exhaustion should have set in, but the thrill of winning drowned out any fatigue. Students, parents, faculty, everyone was swept up in the fever of celebration. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, my own excitement mingling with the overwhelming joy around me.

Later that night, back at the hotel, I was still buzzing from the win when I caught a male student sneaking onto the girls’ floor. With a firm voice, I grabbed his arm and led him down the stairs, then down the hall, my grip firm as he muttered half-hearted excuses. Ignoring him, I knocked on Ken’s door with sharp raps. When he opened it, his expression shifted instantly from curiosity to exasperation as he took in the scene--me, arms crossed, lips pursed, and the sheepish-looking boy trying to shrink into himself.

“I got this one,” he said, his voice carrying that effortless authority the kids respected. “Wait here for me.”

“Fine,” I exhaled, mishearing him. “I’ll wait in your room.”

Ken gave me a look but nodded, escorting the boy away.

Alone in his room, I sat, my nerves a tangled mess of anticipation and dread. My fingers curled into the hem of my sweater as I fought the urge to pace. Every rational thought screamed at me to leave, to walk out that door before this situation spiraled into something I couldn't take back. But my body, my traitorous, trembling body, remained frozen in place. My breath hitched when I finally heard his footsteps approaching the door, my heart slamming against my ribs as I braced for whatever came next.

The door clicked open, and Ken stepped inside, letting it shut softly behind him. His eyes flicked to me, brows lifting slightly in surprise. "You waited for me in my room?"

I nodded, my throat too tight to form words.

He ran a hand over his smooth, bald head, exhaling a tired sigh as he toed off his sneakers. “That kid’s got some nerve,” he muttered, shaking his head before looking at me again. His expression softened. “You okay?”

No, I wasn’t. My nerves were frayed, my pulse hammering so loudly I could barely hear anything else. I swallowed hard, willing my voice to come out steady. “Yeah, just… still running on adrenaline.”

Ken smirked, stepping toward the minibar. “Then we should toast. It’s a big night. First championship in the school’s history--for both teams.” He pulled out two small bottles of whiskey, raising one in question.

I hesitated for a beat before nodding. “Just one.”

He poured us each a glass, and I took mine with slightly unsteady hands, the amber liquid swirling as I lifted it to my lips. The burn was immediate, spreading warmth through my chest. But it did nothing to settle the deeper fire that had been smoldering inside me for weeks.

Ken settled onto the edge of the bed across from me, his gaze searching mine. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said simply.

I flinched, caught off guard by his directness. “I haven’t--”

He gave me a look, one that said don’t lie to me.

I sighed, setting my glass down on the nightstand. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I thought it would be better if we kept some distance.”

Ken nodded slowly, as if he understood. Then, leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, studying me. “Why?”

That one word sent a tremor through me. My chest tightened, my fingers curling into my lap. I couldn’t look at him. Instead, I focused on the swirl of whiskey in his glass, on the way his fingers wrapped around it, steady, sure.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

Ken set his drink aside and sat up straighter. “Kerry.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, the weight of his voice making my stomach clench. “I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “For the flirting. For all of it. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and I--”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently.

I forced myself to meet his eyes.

Ken stood, closing the small distance between us, and crouched down so we were eye level. He took my hands, his grip firm but warm. “It’s okay,” he said, voice low, soothing. “I’ll stop if that’s what you want.”

The sincerity in his tone cracked something inside me. I should have nodded, should have said yes, please, end this before it’s too late. But instead, my eyes searched his, my heart pounding as his thumbs brushed over my knuckles, grounding me in a moment I wasn’t sure I wanted to escape from.

And then, before I could think, before I could stop myself, I leaned in and kissed him.

Ken froze for a split second, his lips still beneath mine.

Then he kissed me back.

The last thread of restraint snapped.

Ken pulled me into his arms as our desperate breaths and tongues began to mingle together. His thick arms wrapped around me, crushing me against him, his heat bleeding into my skin. I could feel the tension radiating from him, the way his body trembled with the force of his restraint, the war between hesitation and hunger waging within him. But when I whimpered into his mouth, that battle ended. His hands splayed across my back, fingers digging in, holding me to him as if I might slip away.

I clung to him just as fiercely, my nails raking through the smooth plane of his scalp as I pressed deeper, wanting more, needing more. It was like we had been wandering separate deserts, parched and desperate, and had finally found the oasis we had been longing for.

We broke apart just long enough for him to yank my sweater over my head, the cool air prickling my heated skin before his hands found me again. Then, as if the separation had been too much, we crashed together once more, lips parting, tongues tangling in a dance of pent-up longing.

Ken’s hands trembled slightly as they found the clasp of my bra. With a practiced flick, the fabric fell away, and I let it slip from my arms, baring myself to him. His breath hitched, his dark eyes roaming over me, drinking me in as if he had been starved for this moment. His gaze was heavy, reverent, like he was memorizing every curve, every dip of my body, committing it to memory in case this moment ever slipped away.

A shiver of anticipation ran through me under his gaze, a heat coiling deep within me that had been building for months. I had never felt so exposed, yet so worshiped. His hands traced over my ribs, his palms rough against my soft skin, a contrast that made me ache in ways I hadn’t before. He groaned, a sound that was both pleasure and restraint, his fingers flexing at my hips as though he was holding himself back from claiming me entirely.

Slowly, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my delicate thong, slipping it down my legs, leaving myself completely bare. The cool air kissed my skin, heightening my senses, making me hyper-aware of the way Ken’s gaze darkened with pure, unfiltered hunger. His jaw clenched, his breathing shallow, his eyes dragging over every inch of me with a mixture of awe and desire.

The contrast between us was stark--his deep brown skin against my pale, creamy flesh. The way his large, calloused hands gripped my hips sent an illicit thrill through me, a silent promise of what was to come. My breath caught as he traced his thumbs along the curve of my waist, his touch both gentle and possessive. I was utterly at his mercy, and God, I wanted to be.

My heartbeat quickened as Ken stepped back, his fingers moving to the waistband of his boxer briefs. I swallowed hard, anticipation crackling between us like a live wire. As he pushed them down, revealing himself fully, my breath caught. He was magnificent--thick, long, the dark length of him standing proud and pulsing with need. He had not disappointed. If anything, he exceeded every heated fantasy that had taken root in my mind over the past few months.

A mix of excitement and apprehension fluttered in my stomach. I had imagined this moment in stolen thoughts, in guilty daydreams, but nothing compared to the reality of him standing before me, the sheer presence of him overwhelming my senses. I licked my lips unconsciously, watching the way his chocolate cock twitched in response. My body ached for him, my thighs instinctively pressing together as I knelt before him, the dominance of his stance making me feel small, delicate, utterly consumed by the heat in his gaze.

Lowering myself to my knees, I found myself in the same position I had been in with Tim weeks ago--but this was different. This time, I had Ken’s full, undivided attention. His gaze burned into mine, heavy with desire, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. I felt powerful in that moment, igniting something deep inside him that had been buried under restraint and self-control for far too long.

I reached out, my fingers grazing the hard lines of his stomach before drifting lower, skimming over his thick, dark length with a mixture of curiosity and reverence. The contrast of our skin tones sent a fresh thrill through me, a visual reminder of how different we were--how forbidden this was. My small, pale fingers looked delicate wrapped around his thickness, a stark contrast that made my core tighten with want. He tensed at my touch, a sharp inhale slipping past his lips. Slowly, I let my fingers explore, tracing the contours, feeling the heat of him beneath my palm. I marveled at his size, testing his weight, his thickness, watching in fascination as he twitched in response to my touch. A deep ache built inside me as I met his gaze, my own filled with anticipation and need. I wanted to please him, to feel the weight of his desire, to make him unravel the way I had only dared to imagine.

With a tentative tilt of my head, I parted my lips, my breath warm against the head of his shaft. My tongue flicked out, tasting him, teasing him, and the deep groan that rumbled from his chest sent liquid heat pooling between my thighs. His fingers threaded into my hair, not pushing, but guiding, his muscles taut with restraint. I wanted to make him lose that control. I wanted to make him forget everything but the feel of my mouth wrapped around him.

I took him deeper, inch by inch, my lips stretching around his thickness, the warmth of him heavy on my tongue. He cursed under his breath, his grip tightening, his hips twitching forward as I hollowed my cheeks and sucked him deeper still. His dark skin against the softness of my lips sent a sinful rush of pleasure through me. I was completely consumed by him--his taste, his scent, the sheer power in his trembling restraint.

Ken groaned low, his voice thick with desire. “Fuck, Kerry… you feel so good.”

Encouraged, I moved with purpose, my tongue swirling over him, my hands stroking the length of him as I worked him with slow, deliberate strokes. I wanted him to come undone. I wanted to hear him lose himself in pleasure, to know that I had shattered the last of his control. His thighs tensed beneath my hands, his breath ragged, and I could feel him teetering on the edge, his black cock throbbing against my tongue.

The idea of taking all of him, of feeling him spill into my mouth, sent a fresh pulse of arousal through me. But before that moment could arrive, his hands tightened in my hair, his grip firm yet tender. In one swift motion, he pulled me away, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with something deeper than just desire.

Before I could react, he lifted me effortlessly, guiding me back onto the bed, his touch reverent yet filled with urgency. I barely had time to catch my breath before he was kneeling before me, his presence intoxicating as he settled between my parted legs. The hunger in his gaze sent a fresh shiver through me as he murmured, "I don’t want this to end so soon. Now, it’s your turn."

My breath hitched as Ken’s hands skimmed over my thighs, his touch both gentle and possessive, his fingers tracing slow, teasing circles over my sensitive skin. The stark contrast between his dark, powerful hands and my pale, trembling flesh sent a rush of heat pooling deep in my core. The sight of his rough fingers against my soft curves, the way his touch lingered as if savoring the difference, made my breath quicken. Each deliberate stroke set my nerves alight, making my muscles tense in anticipation.

He kissed his way downward, his lips pressing reverent, lingering caresses along the insides of my thighs. His breath, searing hot against my skin, sent a shudder through me, making me instinctively part my legs wider. I was already surrendering to him, already aching, already needing.

The hunger in his touch was undeniable. His hands--so large, so possessive--gripped my hips, pinning me to the bed like I was something fragile he could break if he wasn’t careful. His lips and tongue teased, explored, claimed, the roughness of his stubble grazing my sensitive skin, adding a sharp edge to the pleasure that coiled hotter with every passing second.

I gasped when his breath ghosted over my slick, needy heat. And when he finally replaced his teasing kisses with the silken, devastating stroke of his tongue, I cried out, my back arching violently off the mattress. A shockwave of sensation jolted through me, wracking me with pleasure so intense it bordered on agony.

He took his time, dragging me under, unraveling me with precision, his deep groans vibrating against my aching, swollen core. My fingers twisted into the sheets, my breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps as he explored me without mercy.

His tongue flicked, tormented, delved deep, alternating between slow, lazy strokes and tight, concentrated circles that sent electric bolts of pleasure ripping through me. I was helpless beneath him, writhing, trembling, completely at his mercy.

My thighs clamped around his head, but he only growled in response, his grip tightening, his fingers digging possessively into the softness of my skin as he held me open for his mouth to take.

The pressure built, winding tighter, hotter, the sharp edge of pleasure climbing higher, reaching a peak that threatened to snap at any second. And then he sucked--slow, deep, demanding--his lips sealing around my most sensitive spot, his tongue flicking with perfect, ruthless rhythm, and I broke.

A cry ripped from my throat as pleasure detonated inside me, sending my body into a shuddering, uncontrollable climax. My entire being clenched, my muscles locking tight as wave after devastating wave of release crashed over me.

Ken didn’t stop--not yet. His tongue continued laving at me, tormenting me, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure until I was nothing but a breathless, boneless mess beneath him. He consumed me completely, tasting me, owning me, until I was utterly ruined in his grasp.

Still gasping, still trembling, I felt his lips begin their ascent--trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up my quivering stomach, over the soft swell of my breasts. His mouth found a hardened peak, and his tongue circled, flicked, sucked, his teeth grazing just enough to make me whimper, to make fresh arousal pool between my thighs.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with reverence and hunger. His hands roamed my body, possessive and exploring, mapping every curve, committing me to memory, marveling at the stark contrast between us--the deep, dark strength of him against my pale, trembling softness.

I should have been spent. But as his body pressed against mine, the thick, heated length of him settling between my legs, teasing me, taunting me, I realized I wasn’t.

I was still aching for more.

His breath was hot against my ear as he whispered, “You sure about this, baby?”

I moaned, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him forward.

“God, yes,” I breathed. “I need you, Ken. Now.”

His entire body tensed, his jaw tightening as he held himself there, hovering at my entrance, teasing, making me squirm beneath him. His dark eyes burned into mine, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“You need me, huh?” His voice was husky, teasing, but there was an edge of something darker, something primal behind it.

I whimpered, my fingers trailing down his back, gripping the firm curve of his ass, urging him forward. My other hand rose to his jaw, guiding him into a deep, needy, open-mouthed kiss. It was my silent permission. My invitation.

Ken groaned into my mouth, his body tightening, and I felt the moment his control snapped.

I gasped as he pushed forward, stretching me inch by inch, filling me completely, his thick length pressing deep, making my entire body shudder beneath him. I could feel every pulse, every inch of him, and I knew I had never felt anything like this before. The sheer size of him, the weight of him inside me, the way my body clenched around him--it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Ken stilled, giving me a moment to adjust, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath ragged, uneven. His hands trembled where they gripped my hips, his restraint fraying to the edge of breaking.

“Jesus, Kerry,” he groaned, his voice rough, desperate. “You feel so fucking good.”

I whimpered, rolling my hips to take him even deeper, to feel every inch of him claim me. The stretch, the fullness, the raw, primal need between us was almost too much--and yet, I never wanted it to stop.

I dragged my nails down his back, my thighs trembling as I whispered, “Don’t hold back, Ken. I want all of you.”

His grip tightened, a deep growl vibrating through his chest.

“Then watch, baby.”

And I did. I watched as his dark hands gripped my pale thighs, spreading me open. I watched as his body moved against mine, as we fit together despite every difference. I watched as he pulled back, then slammed into me, dragging a broken moan from my lips.

He set a slow, torturous rhythm, each thrust deeper, harder, hitting the perfect spot, making my body tighten around him, making me lose myself completely.

I met his gaze, his dark eyes burning into mine, and in that moment, I knew--

I would never stop craving this.

I would never get enough of him.

And I didn’t care.

The tension coiled deep inside me, winding tighter with every stroke, every deliberate movement that seemed to match the rhythm of my body as if Ken had discovered the melody to my most intimate symphony. Each thrust was a note, each motion a harmony, building toward an inevitable, breathtaking crescendo. My body responded instinctively, clinging to him, craving more, as if I were trying to merge with him, to drown in his strength enveloping my softness, the raw power of him making me feel impossibly small yet undeniably desired.

Just as I teetered on the edge, my body tightening in anticipation, I felt Ken shift--his movements growing more erratic, more possessive. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver through me, and I gasped as I felt the unmistakable pulse of his desire, the heat of his cock swelling with unspoken need. 

Instead of stopping him, I whispered words I shouldn’t, my voice breaking with need. “More, Ken… don’t stop,” I pleaded, my nails digging into his back, urging him to lose himself completely. “God, yes… make me yours,” I gasped, each syllable trembling with reckless surrender. My mind screamed at me to stop, to think, but my body had already made its choice.

I should have known better. I did know better. I had spent years teaching students about responsibility, about consequences. But here, beneath him, feeling the way he stretched and filled me so perfectly, I craved the exact opposite. I wanted recklessness. I wanted abandon. I wanted him. My fingers slid up his back, clinging to him, my body urging him deeper, needing more. “Ken…” My voice was breathless, tinged with something desperate, something forbidden. “Inside me,” I whispered, my breath catching between the frantic rhythm of our bodies.

I hesitated, just for a second--one last fleeting moment where I could stop this.

Then I shattered it.

“I want to feel you cum inside me,” I whispered, my voice thick with desperation, my walls tightening around him in a silent plea. “Don’t stop… don’t pull out.”

A deep, guttural growl ripped from Ken’s chest, his body jerking at my words, his control snapping entirely. His rhythm became frantic, urgent, the weight of his body bearing down on me, pressing me into the mattress as if he needed to brand himself into my skin. I could feel him everywhere--the heat of him, the slick, sweat-slicked friction between us, the contrast of his deep brown skin against my pale, trembling thighs. The sight of it alone sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through me.

The raw, dangerous intimacy of having him buried inside me, unprotected, should have terrified me. But instead, it pushed me over the edge. My body tensed, every muscle locking as the pressure built to an unbearable peak, coiling tighter, tighter--until suddenly, it snapped.

A sharp cry tore from my throat, my entire body seizing as pleasure erupted through me, violent and unrelenting. My walls clenched down around him, spasming, gripping him in a relentless vise, milking him as the orgasm overtook me completely. My thighs trembled, my back arched, my nails raked down his back, desperate to hold onto something--onto him--as I convulsed beneath him, lost in wave after wave of raw, unfiltered ecstasy.

And then, Ken lost control.

A strangled groan escaped his lips, his body jerking as he buried himself to the hilt, his breath breaking into ragged gasps. And then I felt it. The first hot, thick pulse.

The sensation sent a shudder through me, the heat of his seed filling me, spilling deep inside my unprotected womb. Another pulse. Then another. Each one thick, potent, undeniable, spreading warmth through my core, each burst making my body tremble in reckless, wicked satisfaction.

And I wanted it. I wanted all of it.

My legs tightened around his hips, locking him in place, refusing to let him go, refusing to let this moment slip away. My body was still pulsing, still sensitive from my release, and yet, the feeling of him emptying his essence deep inside me--raw, unrestrained--sent another shock of pleasure through me, drawing out every last tremor.

And deep inside, in the most primal part of me, I knew why.

Because I wanted this to stay inside me. Because some part of me--a part I hadn’t even acknowledged until now--wanted his seed to take root, to make this moment permanent, to make me his in a way that could never be undone.

The thought alone sent another rush of arousal through me, making my walls flutter around him, as if urging him to give me more.

Ken groaned, his body shuddering against mine, his hands gripping my waist, anchoring himself as he spilled the last of his release inside me. The final pulses were slower now, lazy, exhausted, but still deep, still potent, his breath heavy against my skin as he slumped forward, spent.

I was completely full. Completely claimed. Completely his.

The air between us was thick with sweat, heat, and something far more dangerous than lust alone. My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart hammering against my ribs, my limbs trembling as the weight of what we had done sank in, but not with guilt--only exhilaration.

Even as my body trembled from the aftershocks, even as Ken remained pressed against me, his warmth still deep inside me, I knew one undeniable truth.

It wasn’t just the pleasure that left me breathless--it was the risk, the forbidden nature of it, the knowledge that we had crossed the final line we could never uncross.

The heat of it, the sheer, undeniable contrast of us entwined together, the way we had both let go of everything for this moment--it consumed me.

It was reckless. It was dangerous. And it was intoxicating.

I could still feel him inside me, throbbing, spent, yet still undeniably present.

And I never wanted it to end.

-----------------------

The shrill chime of my phone alarm pierced the quiet, yanking me from the haze of sleep. I blinked against the dim morning light filtering through the curtains, my body aching in ways that left no doubt about the night before. As my senses stirred, so did the awareness of warmth--of firm muscle beneath my fingertips, of the slow, steady rise and fall of breath beside me.

Ken.

He lay tangled with me, his arm draped possessively over my waist, his leg hooked around mine as if even in sleep, he wasn’t ready to let me go. His deep, rhythmic breaths bordered on a soft snore, and in the stillness of the morning, I had a moment to simply look at him.

The golden light traced the lines of his body--the broad chest I had clung to, the powerful arms that had held me so tightly, the strong hands that had touched me with both urgency and reverence. Every part of us was intertwined in a way that only a husband and wife should be. The realization settled in my chest, heavy, suffocating.

Guilt twisted through me, sharp and unrelenting. What had I done?

I swallowed hard, my fingers twitching against the sheets before I forced myself to move. My second alarm jolted me out of my spiral, its insistent beeping shattering the fragile quiet. I scrambled to silence it, heart pounding as Ken stirred but didn’t wake. I couldn’t let him wake. I couldn’t let him see the turmoil scrawled across my face.

I slid out from under his arm with careful precision, my skin cooling the moment I left his warmth. Moving quickly, I gathered my scattered clothes, wincing as I became acutely aware of the mess clinging to my skin--a mix of sweat, of him, of me. Shame and something far more dangerous warred inside me as I hurriedly pulled my clothes on, my fingers clumsy with urgency.

I had to get back to my room. I had to shower, scrub away the evidence, and prepare for the day ahead. By the time the students woke up, I needed to be Mrs. Ling--the responsible teacher, the devoted wife, the woman who had never once entertained the idea of betraying her marriage.

But as I stole one last glance at Ken--at the man who had unraveled me in ways I hadn’t even realized were possible--I knew the truth. No matter how much I washed away, no matter how convincingly I played my part… something inside me had already changed.

And there was no going back.

-----------------------

The steady hum of the bus filled the space around me, a dull backdrop to the chaos inside my head. Outside the window, the world blurred by in muted streaks of green and gray, but I wasn’t really seeing it. My hands hovered over my laptop keyboard, fingers motionless, as if the weight of what I was about to do had paralyzed me.

The confessions blog.

I had stumbled upon it months ago--an anonymous corner of the internet where people bared their deepest desires, their sins, their regrets. I had read the entries with idle curiosity at first, fascinated by the way strangers unraveled their secrets to faceless readers. It had always seemed distant, like something other people did.

But now… now, I needed to write.

I took a shaky breath, my heart hammering as I placed my fingers on the keys. The cursor blinked, impatient.

"I don’t know who I am anymore."

The words appeared on the screen, stark and unfiltered. I hesitated, my pulse quickening, then forced myself to keep going.

"I did something I swore I’d never do. Something that should make me feel disgusted with myself, but all I feel is confused. Guilty, yes. But also… exhilarated. Like I’ve woken up from a dream I didn’t even know I was trapped in."

I swallowed against the lump in my throat, casting a glance toward the students scattered throughout the bus. They were laughing, half-asleep, completely unaware that their teacher--the woman responsible for guiding them--was sitting here drowning in her own moral collapse.

"I love my husband. I do. But last night, in the arms of another man, I felt something I haven’t in years--something raw and real and all-consuming. And now I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know if I regret it."

My hands trembled as I typed the next words.

"What happens now?"

I stared at the screen, my confession laid bare in digital ink. A part of me screamed to delete it, to pretend none of this had ever happened. But another part--one that scared me--needed someone, anyone, to understand.

I clicked post before I could change my mind.

As the bus rumbled forward, taking me back to the life I had left behind, I had never felt more uncertain of where I truly belonged.

That night, I sat on the edge of the bed, my laptop glowing softly in the dark. The bedroom was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling, but my mind was anything but still.

My body still tingled, a phantom echo of Ken’s touch lingering on my skin. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel the heat of him, the way his strong hands had held me like he needed me just as badly as I had needed him.

God.

I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers shaking slightly.

I had done it.

I had actually done it.

For weeks, I had teetered on the edge of this moment, convincing myself that it was all harmless. The lingering glances. The teasing. The fantasies I let myself indulge in when I was alone in bed. But this… this was real.

And now, there was no undoing it.

I stared at the black and white text I wrote on the confession site earlier on the bus, my fingers hovering over the mouse to click the “Show All Comments” button, fearful of what I was going to see.

Where do I go from here?

With the way my marriage had unraveled so slowly that I barely noticed until I was standing in the wreckage? With the way Tim had stopped seeing me, touching me, making me feel like I mattered beyond just being his wife?

Or should I start with Ken? With the way he had looked at me when no one else did? With how every stolen moment, every near-miss, had only made me want him more until there was no stopping it?

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

A part of me expected to be drowning in guilt--to feel sick with shame, desperate to undo it. And I did feel guilty--didn’t I? My stomach twisted at the thought of Tim, at what this meant for us, at the irreversible line I had crossed.

But beneath the guilt, beneath the fear, was something else. Something I wasn’t ready to name.

What if I was pregnant?

I had begged him not to stop.

Now, I had to face the reality of what that meant.

A part of me expected panic--sheer, gut-wrenching terror at the possibility of what we had done, of what could happen now. But as I lay there, my skin still warm from where he had touched me, fear wasn’t the only thing curling inside me.

A deep, undeniable part of me wanted it.

I pressed my hand to my stomach, as if I could already feel something changing inside me. It was impossible, but the thought lingered.

Would that be so terrible?

The rational part of me screamed that it would be, that I should be horrified at the idea of carrying another man’s child. But another part, a quieter part, wasn’t so sure.

The damage was already done. If I was pregnant, I would deal with it. There was no undoing this, no pretending it hadn’t happened.

And maybe… I didn’t want to pretend.

I exhaled sharply, slamming the laptop shut. I had expected to feel more ashamed, more disgusted with myself. But instead, a slow, burning heat still lingered under my skin.

It was the start of Spring Break. Monday was coming fast, and I’d have to see Ken at school again. The thought made my chest tighten. Would we be able to look at each other the same way? Would he regret it? Would I?

I had told myself this was just a one-time thing. That it had to be. But did I even believe that? Could I really go back to how things were before, pretend like nothing happened?

I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The bed felt cold, empty.

I turned onto my side, pressing my thighs together, closing my eyes.

And when sleep finally took me, I dreamed of Ken’s arms wrapped around me, holding me like I was something he never wanted to let go of.

-----------------------

A week had passed since that bus ride, since I had poured my soul into that confession and sent it out into the void. Now, Spring Break was nearly over, and on Monday morning, I would walk back into that school, back into my normal life--if it could even be called that anymore.

I was supposed to be clearing my head this week, figuring out what to do. Instead, my mind kept drifting back to him.

Coach Kenny.

Lying in my bed, wrapped in the cool embrace of my sheets, I pulled my laptop onto my stomach and refreshed the page. The confession had gained more attention than I expected--hundreds of responses, some long, some short, but all carrying an opinion on what I had done.

I skimmed through them, my pulse quickening.

"This was the hottest thing I’ve ever read. You need to go for round two--your husband doesn’t deserve you if he’s not taking care of your needs."

"Girl, live your life. If your man isn’t stepping up, find someone who will. Sounds like the coach knows how to treat you right."

"Wow. Just wow. I need to hear what happens next. Did you do it again?"

There were responses that made my stomach twist in guilt--ones that told me how wrong it was, that I needed to tell Tim the truth. But those were few and far between.

I chewed my lip, heat pooling in my core as I remembered every moment of that night--Kenny’s touch, his body pressed against mine, the way he knew me in ways I hadn’t been known in so long.

My fingers drifted lower beneath the sheets, my breath catching as I let the memories wash over me.

Monday morning, I would see him again.

What would happen then?

I didn’t know.

But as my body arched with the lingering ghost of his touch, I realized something terrifying.

I wanted more.