Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
His fingers trace the lace edge of my panties, sending shivers down my spine. They don’t just trace—they tease, dragging along the delicate lace with maddening slowness, hooking under the elastic just enough to make my stomach clench before retreating again.
A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, dark and knowing, like he can hear the way my breath hitches every time he pulls back, like he’s memorizing the exact degree my hips tilt toward him in silent begging.
He’s drawing this out on purpose, letting the anticipation coil tighter inside me, and the worst part? The shameful, delicious part?
I love it. I love the way my skin prickles under his touch, love the way my body betrays me by arching into him even as my mind screams at me to stop. Love the way he watches me unravel with nothing more than a flick of his fingertips against the damp fabric clinging to me.
He’s not just touching me—he’s toying with me, and I’m powerless to do anything but melt into it, my lips parted, my pulse hammering in my throat like a trapped thing desperate to be set free.
"God, I should go," I tell him softly. He knows these are only words. He knows he has complete control over me. I couldn't go even if my life depended on it. And it does… my life as I know it.
"I want to have you right here in the backseat of my car," he whispers against my ear, his voice rough with need.
A shiver runs through me. My breath catches in my throat, sharp and uneven. Every rational thought screams at me to stop, to pull away, to remember who I am and what I stand to lose.
But then his hand slides deeper, harder against my wet pussy, and all those warnings dissolve into static. I know I shouldn’t. I know this is reckless, selfish, a betrayal of everything I’ve built with Reeves.
I can’t stand it. The promise of what’s coming—it’s too much. I know I should be stronger. I should walk away. But right now, with his breath hot against my neck and his fingers rubbing me into oblivion, I don’t want to be strong. I want to be his. I want him to make me come.
Even if it’s just for this stolen moment in the back of his car, with the world outside forgotten and the consequences waiting like a shadow at the edge of my mind. I want him so badly it hurts. "Do…" God, I can barely speak. "Do… you have a condom?" I ask, breathless.
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as he pulls one from his wallet. “Just in case...”
I swallow hard, then quietly open the car door. The interior light flickers on, casting everything in a soft glow. "Get in."
He slides across the backseat, his eyes never leaving mine. I follow, straddling his lap, my dress riding up around my hips. The second my body melts into his, a wave of heat crashes over me, starting where his hands grip my waist and spreading outward like wildfire.
Every point of contact—his rough palms against my bare thighs, the hard planes of his chest beneath my fingertips, the way his breath ghosts hot against my collarbone—sends electric sparks skittering across my skin.
My pulse thrums in my throat, my breath coming in shallow little gasps as I arch into him, chasing that delicious friction.
The car’s leather seats creak beneath us, the air thick with the scent of his cologne and something darker, muskier—the unmistakable scent of need.
My dress is a tangled mess around my hips, the cool night air brushing against my exposed skin, but all I can focus on is the way his touch burns me, brands me, like he’s searing himself into my very nerves.
I should be cold. I should be ashamed. But I’m neither—because the second his hands slide up to undo the zipper of my dress, and he cups my breasts through the flimsy lace of my bra, all I can think is more.
More of his mouth, more of his skin, more of this reckless, consuming fire that licks through my veins every time he so much as looks at me.
My fingers fumble with his belt, then his zipper. When I wrap my hand around him, he lets out a sharp breath. "Fuck, Jenna—"
"I need you," I whisper, guiding him toward me. "Now."
The foil packet tears between his teeth with a sharp, animalistic sound—something so primal, so uncontrolled, that it sends a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my belly.
My breath hitches as I watch him, this man who’s always so composed, so effortlessly in command, now reduced to this—jaw clenched, eyes dark with hunger, his usual precision replaced by something raw and untamed.
The way his fingers tremble just slightly as he rolls the latex down his length makes my thighs clench together, my body aching with anticipation.
Something is intoxicating about seeing him like this, about knowing I did this to him—that I unravelled him so completely he can’t even bother with finesse anymore.
The car’s dim interior lights catch the sharp angle of his cheekbones, the corded muscles of his forearm as he works, and I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper, my pulse hammering between my legs.
God, the way he’s looking at me—like he’s one second away from devouring me whole—makes me want to beg. To provoke him. To see just how far I can push him before he snaps.
He grips my hips, pulling me down as he pushes into me hard, filling me completely. A moan tears from my throat, my head falling back as pleasure ripples through me. His hands are everywhere—my waist, my breasts, tangling in my hair—like he can't get enough.
"Look at me," he demands, his voice strained.
I open my eyes, meeting his gaze. The intensity there steals my breath. He's watching me like I'm the only thing that matters, like he's memorizing every second.
"God, I love you so much," he mutters, his voice raw.
The words hit me like a physical force. My vision blurs, my chest tightening. I should stop this. I should push him away and run. But there's no way now…
Because the truth is crushing me from the inside, a weight I can't carry anymore. Because every fiber of my being is screaming what I've been trying to deny for weeks now.
Because despite everything—my marriage, my family, the life I've built—I'm completely, utterly, desperately in love with him too. The realization hits me like a tidal wave, washing away every last defence I had left.
His grip tightens, his forehead pressing to mine as he moves deeper. "Say you love me too."
"I… I love you," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. "I fucking love you."
His mouth crashes onto mine, swallowing my words as our bodies move together, desperate and wild. The car windows fog around us, the world outside ceasing to exist. There's only this—only him, only the way he makes me feel alive in a way I've never been before.
And for the first time, I don't care about the consequences. I don't care about anything but this moment, this man, this love that's consuming me whole.
The usual sounds of the afternoon regulars fill the pool hall as I mechanically wipe down the bar counter. My body's here, but my mind is miles away—replaying last night in Caine's car over and over like a movie I can't turn off.
I've become the woman I always judged. The cheater. The liar. The one who says "I love you" to one man while married to another.
"This isn't me," I whisper to myself, scrubbing harder at an imaginary spot. But isn't it? If it weren’t me, I wouldn't have done it. Wouldn't have meant those three words when I said them.
The truth hurts worse than the guilt: my marriage has been broken for a long time. Even before Caine walked through those doors. Reeves and I have been circling each other like tired boxers for years, too exhausted to land any meaningful blows, too stubborn to leave the ring.
"Holy shit, who died?" Liza's voice cuts through my thoughts as she drops her purse under the bar. She studies my face, her expression shifting from playful to concerned. "Jenna, what happened?"
My eyes burn with unshed tears. "I slept with him again.”
She doesn't say a single word.
"And I told him I love him," I add, my voice barely audible.
"Shit," she breathes, pulling me into a tight hug. Her familiar scent of vanilla wraps around me. "Do you? Love him?"
I nod against her shoulder. "That's the worst part. I do."
She pulls back, hands on my shoulders. "Then maybe this isn't the tragedy you think it is. Maybe it's a wake-up call."
"I'm married, Liza. I have a son."
"And that matters—a lot. But staying in a marriage that's making you miserable isn't doing Liam any favors." She squeezes my shoulders. "Kids know when their parents are unhappy. They feel it."
"So I just blow up our family because I fell for someone else?"
"No." Her eyes soften. "You make the hard choice to be honest. Tell Reeves everything. Maybe it ends things, maybe not—but secrets poison everything they touch. And sweetie, you deserve better than drowning in guilt for the rest of your life."
I wipe my eyes. "What if I lose everything?"
"What if you find yourself?" She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Sometimes the brave thing and the right thing are the same."
I take a shaky breath. She's right. No matter what happens with Caine—whether he disappears from my life forever or somehow we find a way forward—I owe Reeves the complete, devastating truth about what I've done.
About who I've become. About the woman who's been living a double life under his roof, sharing his bed while her heart belongs to another man.
I owe him that much courage, that fundamental honesty, even if it destroys everything we've built together.
Even if it means watching the hurt bloom across his face when I tell him about the secret meetings, the touches, the way I've fallen so completely for someone else that I can barely recognize myself anymore.
The thought terrifies me—seeing disappointment replace the love in his dark eyes, watching him realize that the woman he married, the mother of his child, has been slipping away piece by piece.
But carrying this weight, this crushing guilt that follows me through every mundane moment of our shared life, is slowly killing me from the inside out.
Liza's right about secrets poisoning everything they touch. I can feel the toxicity spreading through every interaction, every forced smile, every time I kiss him goodnight while thinking of another man.