A moment of weakness

I still can’t believe it was me who did this.

My hands are shaking so hard the phone keeps slipping. My chest feels like it’s being crushed from the inside, and between my legs there’s still this warm, traitorous pulse that remembers him.

I cheated on Jake. For the first time in seven years of marriage. And it wasn’t just “sex.” It was like someone ripped me open, turned me inside out, and showed me who I actually am when no one’s watching.

We got to the lake house Friday night, right before the Fourth of July weekend. The cabin smelled like fresh cedar and grill smoke. American flags everywhere, red Solo cups, the air thick with ribs, pine, and distant gunpowder from early fireworks. Jake immediately went full grill-dad mode: hauling coolers, arguing with the neighbors about the perfect internal temp for ribeye, laughing loud, slapping backs.

I sat on the wooden bench by the firepit, clutching my drink, feeling something inside me slowly rotting. We still hold hands. We still say “I love you.” But when was the last time he looked at me like he wanted to tear my clothes off right there in front of everyone? I honestly can’t remember.

That night I put on that dress -the pale-pink sundress with tiny straps and a slit up to mid-thigh. Underneath, the black lace thong I bought “just in case” a year ago and never wore. The string disappeared between my cheeks with every step, a constant whisper: you’re still alive, you’re still a woman, someone could still want you.

Jake glanced over, said “You look hot, babe,” then went right back to talking barbecue sauce. Something inside me cracked.

That’s when I saw him.

Liam was standing by the next fire, lit orange by the flames. Tall, heavy shoulders, arms that looked built to lift you and pin you against a wall. White t-shirt clinging to his chest, leather bracelet, craft IPA in his hand. He caught my eyes and held them. Smiled slow, lazy, predatory. My breath stopped. My nipples went hard so fast they ached against the thin fabric. Heat flooded my stomach like someone poured molten honey straight into my core.

All night our paths kept crossing – me going for ice, chips, another beer -and every time his gaze dragged over me like a hand. Down my legs, up my thighs, across my breasts, lingering on my mouth. I blushed like a teenager and hated myself for it. And craved more.

When Jake finally stumbled off to bed, drunk on whiskey, mumbling “don’t wake me before eight, we’re going fishing,” I stayed by the dying fire. The last embers glowed, Chris Stapleton played low, and Liam slid onto the bench beside me. We talked about nothing and everything, but every word felt like fingers on my skin. He asked what I listen to when I’m alone in the car. I told the truth: “Hozier – when I want to cry because something’s too beautiful.” He just nodded, like he already knew.

Then he said, quiet, “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

I stood up and followed. I knew exactly where it was going.

We walked to the old dock where no one else was. Black water, stars and far-off fireworks mirrored on the surface. He stopped, turned to me, and asked straight:

“Are you happy?”

I opened my mouth to lie. Couldn’t. Just shook my head. Tears filled my eyes -not sad tears, just the overwhelming relief of finally being seen.

He brushed a tear off my cheek with his thumb and kissed me. Soft at first, testing. Then hungry, deep, claiming. His tongue slid into my mouth and I kissed him back like I was starving. My hands were in his hair, thick and a little wavy at the ends. I pressed my whole body against him and felt how hard he was. Huge. My knees buckled.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine.

“Say no and I walk away right now.”

I couldn’t speak. Because no wasn’t an option. I wanted him so badly it hurt.

He scooped me up like I weighed nothing and carried me into the shadow of a massive pine where the grass was soft and smelled like summer. Laid me down, loomed over me, eyes burning.

“I need to taste you. Can I?”

I could only nod.

He pushed my dress up to my waist, slid my soaked thong down my legs, and smiled when he saw how wet it was. Spread me open. His breath was hot against me – god, it had been years since anyone put their mouth there. Then his lips closed around my clit, gentle at first, then devouring. Slow licks, deep sucks, tongue pushing inside me, back to my clit again. I was gasping, grabbing his hair, grinding against his face. I was so wet I could hear him swallowing me. It was humiliating and perfect.

I came hard and fast, arching off the ground, biting my hand to keep from screaming loud enough to wake the whole lake.

He rose up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looked down at me with black eyes.

“Your turn.”

I sat up, hands shaking, undid his belt. Pulled his jeans and boxer briefs down together and actually gasped. He was massive -thick, long, heavy, the head already slick. My fingers barely met around him. I licked from base to tip, then took him as deep as I could. He groaned, threaded fingers through my hair. I sucked him like my life depended on it, tears in my eyes from how far he reached, loving every second. He stroked my cheek and rasped, “Fuck… you’re driving me insane… deeper, just like that…”

I almost came again just from his voice.

Then he pulled me off, laid me back, spread my legs wide. I felt the head nudge against me and tensed – he was too big. He saw it, kissed me slow and deep, and eased in. Just the tip and I was already breathless from the stretch. More… more… until he was buried to the hilt and I felt impossibly, perfectly full.

He started to move. Slow at first, letting me adjust. Then harder, deeper, every thrust slamming into my cervix. I wrapped my legs around him, clawed his back bloody, nipples dragging against his chest, clit grinding against him with every stroke. He wrapped one hand loosely around my throat, pinned me to the earth, locked eyes with me and growled:

“Look at me when you come.”

I shattered. My whole body convulsed, vision went white, a feral sound ripped out of me. He kept going, dragging the orgasm out until I was begging – too much, too intense.

He flipped me onto my stomach, pulled my hips up, and took me from behind. One hand on my throat, the other circling my clit. A few thrusts and I was there again. He growled against my ear:

“You’re mine… right now, you’re only mine…”

I came so hard I almost blacked out – shaking, sobbing, everything inside me pulsing around him.

He pulled out at the last second, flipped me over, and came all over my stomach and breasts – thick, hot ropes painting my skin, dripping between my tits. I stared, mesmerized. Then he leaned down and kissed me slow and tender, like a thank-you.

We lay there under the stars while distant fireworks popped. He stroked my hair while I shook – not from cold, but from aftershocks. He cleaned me with his t-shirt, helped me stand, fixed my dress. Kissed my temple and whispered:

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

I walked back at dawn. Jake was sprawled asleep, snoring. I slipped in beside him, stared at the ceiling, and felt a tear roll down my cheek. Not guilt. Relief. Grief for all the years I’d spent numb.

I don’t know what happens tomorrow. Maybe I’ll never see Liam again. Maybe this will be the brightest memory I ever have. But that night I wasn’t someone’s wife, someone’s mom, the “good girl.” I was just a woman – alive, wanted, on fire.

And I don’t regret a single second.