Page 23 of I’m Already Gone

Her breath hitched. “Ethan⁠—”

I crashed my mouth against hers, stopping her words. She gasped, my tongue making its way into her mouth. It was messy and desperate, and the kiss tasted like regret and loneliness. I could barely stifle the moan that slipped out.

Her fingers skimmed down my neck and onto my chest until they closed around the thick, pulsing length of my cock, already embarrassingly aroused beneath my trousers.

What the fuck was I doing?

I sprang from the chair so forcefully that it shot back and crashed into the wall with a loud, jarring thud.

We had crossed a line. A line I allowed to be crossed. It made my blood boil with anger and disgust with myself.

Desperate to put distance between us, I quickly circled around the desk, my body tense. With my back to her, I took a moment to collect myself, struggling to regain my composure and control my physical reaction to her touch.

“I’m sorry,” I said, running a hand over my face. “I shouldn’t have done that. This was a mistake.” Each word landed with a painful clarity that cut straight through my heart.

“Oh, God…I’m so sorry, Ethan,” she sputtered.

“My behavior was inappropriate, and I am so fucking sorry for putting you in that position, Emma,” I muttered.

I ran my hands through my hair and paced the room. I craved my wife, not another woman’s lips or hands on my body. I wanted my Lily. My Sunshine.

“I didn’t stop it because a part of me wanted it to happen, Ethan. You aren’t the only one to blame.”

I stopped pacing and turned to face her fully, my expression hardening into a deep scowl. “What I did was wrong and unethical.”

I shook my head, unable to disguise my disgust at her and at myself. “Let me make it absolutely clear, so there is no misunderstanding between us. You and I are never going to happen. That is not who I am and never will be. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Now, please leave,” I said through gritted teeth, bile rising in my throat as the full weight of what I had done crashed over me.

Without another word, she turned and practically ran out of my office.

I stood in place for a long moment, chest heaving, adrenaline still coursing through me. I felt sick to my stomach, guilt gnawing at me. I betrayed my wife, even if only in some small, unintended way. I had lost myself in the moment, surrendering to the loneliness that came from missing the connection I once had with Lily. Still, that was not an excuse for what happened, to justify why I allowed myself to cross that boundary.

The Uber pulled away from the curb as I shoved my key into the lock and stepped inside. The house was dark and still, the lingering sweetness of freshly baked cookies hanging in the air. I dropped my keys onto the entry table, kicked off my shoes, and climbed the stairs.

Entering the bedroom, my gaze immediately snapped to Lily. She was curled close to the edge of the bed.

My chest tightened. I yanked at my tie as if it were strangling me and ripped it off, flinging it onto the bench in the closet. I stepped to my dresser, opened a drawer, grabbed a pair of briefs, and walked into the bathroom.

I let the shower’s scalding water beat down on me, my palms pressed flat against the cold tiles, trying to wash away the resentment, the guilt, the sheer exhaustion of it all. Once I was done, skin raw and steaming, I dried myself, pulled on the briefs, and killed the light.

The bedroom light flickered on with a sudden, blinding snap.

I froze, blinking against the harsh glare. Lily stood in the doorway, my phone clutched in one hand like a grenade, my dress shirt dangling from the other. Her eyes, usually soft, were sharp and accusing.

“Why is Emma texting you at this time?” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, which was far more terrifying than if she had shouted.

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

She scanned my face, her eyes narrowing, dissecting every twitch, every flicker. The doubt on her face was a physical blow.

“I’ll ask again. Why is your assistant texting you at midnight? Better yet, why are you just getting home?”

“I was working late.” That part was the truth. “And I have no idea why she’s texting me.” That part was a lie.

“Does it have to do with this?” she snarled. “This goddamn lipstick stain on your collar?” She hurled the shirt at me.