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Right now, I’m with Dean in his hotel room after a long and tiring day at work. It would feel weird bringing him to the condo I’ve shared with Declan. I just want to be around him, and this is where he is, so this is where I want to be.
At least the hotel suite is nice. It’s located downtown, so it’s near both of our offices and on the top floor, meaning a great view from the balcony, which is precisely where I’m at right now.
We just finished eating our room service dinner, and now we’re both sitting on the balcony enjoying the view of our city while drinking an ice-cold beer.
It doesn’t get better than this.
“So, baby, I was thinking.” His husky sex-laced voice snaps me from my thoughts. I look at him with a smile, taking another drink from my beer bottle.
“Careful, don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard,” I say with a wink. Dean throws his head back and laughs.
God, I love hearing him laugh.
“You’re a fucking smartass. I’m being serious here.”
“Okay, fine, I’m listening. Talk to me.” I set the beer bottle on the balcony table between our chairs and give him my full attention.
“We can’t stay in his hotel room forever. So, it would be nice to have you come to my place and spend the weekend with me.” Now it’s my turn to laugh.
I know he’s joking; he must be joking. Surely, he’s not crazy enough to suggest something that fucking stupid. My eyes search his face for answers, looking for the slightest movement to indicate that he’s joking and only trying to get a reaction out of me. But I come up short. He’s not kidding. He’s serious.
What the actual fuck?!
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“I’m serious, Cam. I’m checking out in the morning and going back home. I can’t stay here any longer. I’m one night away from filling out a change of address form and becoming a permanent resident.”
I stand and walk over to him, placing the back of my hand on his forehead.
“What are you doing?” he snaps.
“Checking to see if you have a fever. That would explain your ridiculous idea!” He swats my hand away and stands, his hands reaching out to grip my waist.
“I spoke with Karina a couple of days ago. She’s going home to London in the morning and will be gone for about a week. It’s my house, and I’m returning home.” He says it so casually as if it’s the most normal thing in the entire world that he just asked his mistress to come home with him while his wife is away. “I’ve asked her for a divorce, and when she returns home from her trip, I plan to begin the official process,” he explains, as if that makes it any better.
I hate the M-word. It’s so ugly and makes what we have seem so small and insignificant, and our relationship is anything but insignificant. But the bottom line is we’re having an affair. We’re cheating on our spouses, and I’m his mistress.
A woman is at home alone, wondering where her husband is, when he’ll be coming back, and what they can do to save their marriage, and he’s in a hotel room fucking someone else.
Me.
Regardless of us telling our spouses that it’s over, it’s still cheating. We’re still having an affair.
I should feel guiltier than I do.
I did at first, but now, not so much.
I’m a bitch, and a horrible person, I know. Though I’m doing something I know is wrong, I can’t stop because it feels too damn good.
“This is news to me.” I wrap my arms around myself, tilting my head back to look up at him.
“She won’t be there, so please, come home with me.”
“No.”
His face falls. “What? Why?”
“I’m not going to the house you share with your wife. No fucking way. Believe it or not, but I do have some morals.” Maybe not enough morals to keep from cheating on my husband with a married man, but having an affair under his wife's roof is where I draw the line.
