I never replied to my lover's text about meeting again. As much as my body ached for him, I tried to push it out of my mind, keeping myself busy preparing dinner for my husband. Chopping, stirring—anything to keep my hands moving and my mind off the temptation that still lingered.

The guilt weighed on me, pressing harder each passing minute. I needed to act normal and focus on my husband. Smoothing down the red dress I'd slipped into earlier, I felt the cool fabric brush against my bare skin, a reminder of the choice I'd made tonight: to wear nothing underneath. Seducing my husband felt like the only way to shake off this lingering weight and to feel something other than the heaviness suffocating me.

The door opened, and my husband stepped inside, his footsteps pulling me from my thoughts.

"You're early," I said, glancing up from the stove. "Dinner won't be ready for a few more minutes."

"That's fine," he said, moving toward the stairs. "I'll grab a quick shower before we eat. Oh, and I invited a friend over for dinner. That okay?"

I paused for a second, then nodded. I always made extra food, and honestly, after what I had done, how could I say no to anything he wanted?

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you want," I said, my voice softer than I intended.

While my husband showered, I set the table, arranging the soup and salads in the center. The rich smell of roasted chicken filled the kitchen as I moved, almost on autopilot, pouring wine into glasses. My thoughts were anywhere but here—they were wrapped around him. My lover. The feel of his hands on my skin, the warmth of his body pressing against mine, his scent still lingering like a ghostly reminder.

I took a steadying breath, glancing at the clock just as the water shut off upstairs. Then the doorbell rang.

"Honey, can you get that?" my husband called from upstairs. "I'm just finishing getting dressed."

I wiped my hands on a towel and walked to the door. When I opened it, my heart dropped. Standing there, a man in black jeans and a blue shirt, holding a bouquet of red roses, his piercing stare cutting right through me.

Those eyes. Those lips. My mind raced—no, it can't be him. My lover had worn a ski mask when he came over, never sending me a picture of his face. But now, standing in front of me, it felt like this man could be him. No, I told myself, it can't be.

"These are for you," he murmured, leaning in close, his breath warm against my ear. "Babe."

My nipples hardened instantly, pressing against the thin fabric of my dress. That voice. The way he said babe—the same way he'd called me when he fucked me.

I froze, my eyes locking onto his, and then I saw it. The grin. That familiar, smug grin that sent a chill down my spine. It was him—my masked lover, standing right in front of me.

"You really shouldn't have been ignoring my texts." His voice was soft, almost playful, but there was a sharpness beneath it that made my blood run cold.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. My throat felt like sandpaper, and all I could do was stand there, frozen.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

I flinched, my heart pounding as I tried to pull myself together. What is he going to do? My thoughts spiraled, but I couldn't find the words.

He chuckled, stepping past me as if it was the most natural thing in the world, his gaze lingering on me. "Don't worry," he said, his tone casual but ominous. "I'm not here to cause trouble... yet."

As he closed the door behind him, his eyes swept the room. "Where do you keep the vase?" he asked, his voice calm, as if nothing had just happened.

"In the kitchen," my husband called from the stairs as he walked down. Then he saw me, still standing there, unmoving.

"What's wrong, honey? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," I croaked.

My gaze darted between the two men, heart pounding as I tried to figure out if my husband knew this man now standing in our home had fucked me. Flashes of his savage thrusts, the stretch of him filling, and the warmth of his release flooded my mind. I stood rooted to the spot, helpless against the rising panic, wondering if my secret had just entered the room alongside him.

My husband, casually dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, greeted him with a smile, shaking his hand like they were old friends. He took the flowers and headed to the kitchen, chatting as he placed them in a vase. My heart pounded, my hands trembling as I tried to pull the chicken out of the oven.

"You sit down, honey, I've got this," my husband said, noticing my shaking hands. He took over, bringing the chicken and baked potatoes to the table, while I stood there, trying to keep my mind from spiraling.

We sat down, and they drank wine, ate, and casually talked about fishing, even planning a weekend trip together. Meanwhile, I sat there, my appetite gone. The man I had cheated with was sitting at our table, laughing with my husband, a ticking bomb that could go off at any moment and destroy everything I had built.

The tension knotted in my stomach, but I forced myself to smile, pretending that nothing was wrong while the weight of the secret threatened to suffocate me.

"I know you don't like fishing, but do you want to come with us, honey?" my husband asked, smiling. "You could enjoy the lake. No one will be there—you could sunbathe topless."

Oh god, what is this? Why would he say that in front of him?

Annoyance flared in my chest as I tried to ignore the heat creeping up my face. "So, how do you guys know each other?" I asked, my voice sharp, ignoring the entire trip suggestion as I glared at them.

"Well, Tom and I are in the same group on LushStories about outdoor nudes," my husband said casually. My heart skipped a beat—I hadn't even known my lover's name until now. Tom.

My husband kept going, oblivious to the chaos inside me. "You know I do boudoir photography, and Tom's also interested. I actually posted some of your photos there—the ones we took in the forest."

My stomach twisted, the room suddenly feeling much smaller.

"You posted my nudes on Lush?" I asked, my voice tight.

"I cut or blurred your face," my husband said calmly, as if it were nothing.

"Don't worry, you looked amazing," Tom added with a grin. "Everyone loved your pics."

I stiffened, a wave of disbelief washing over me as I tried to wrap my head around the idea of strangers seeing those intimate photos of me.

"She has a fine ass, doesn't she, Tom?" my husband said casually, like it was an everyday comment.

"Very nice ass," Tom agreed with a smirk. "And pretty small tits, too."

My face flushed red, hotter than the dress I was wearing. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"No need to be embarrassed, honey," my husband added, reaching for his wine. "You're a beautiful woman, and you know I love to share you with others."

I could not say a word. Was there a double meaning behind his words? Did he know? What the hell was even happening?

"The dinner was delicious, honey," my husband said, and Tom nodded in agreement. "Now, let's head to the living room. Can you pour us some whiskey?"

I considered telling him to get his own damn drink and yelling at him for posting those pics without asking, but Tom—the man I'd cheated with—fixed me with a look that shut me right up. So, I poured myself a shot, downed it quickly to steady my nerves, then grabbed their glasses and walked over. They were already settled on the couch as I handed them their drinks.

"Sit here, honey," my husband said, motioning to the space between them.

Fucking hell, I thought, awkwardly sitting down between the two men. My dress rode up way too high for comfort, especially since I wasn't wearing any underwear. I shifted nervously, trying to make sense of what was happening, but everything felt off. The tension in the room was thick, and I wasn't sure what to expect next.

TO BE CONTINUED...