The man I had an affair with was the marriage counselor my husband paid a fortune to bring us together-6
Body Betrayal
Wednesday session. Lucas’s voice held a deeper, hypnotic resonance. He inquired about physical tension. I nodded, dazed. "Try relaxing," he guided. "Close your eyes? Focus on your breath?" I obeyed. Silence pressed. Only our breathing. "Imagine tension melting… flowing down from your crown… shoulders…" His voice was intimate, soft. A hand rested lightly on my left shoulder.
Tentative. Heat seeped through thin fabric. I froze. My mind screamed: Shove him! Flee! Wrong! But my body, a parched plant craving sunlight, defied me. My spine steeled, every pore vibrating. His touch consumed oxygen. How long? A blink? An eternity? His hand withdrew. I snapped my eyes open, plunging into his slate-blue gaze. Something shattered there. Something burned. Desire. Struggle. Stark. Unmistakable. "Time's up," his voice rasped, gaze averted. I grabbed my bag. Escaped.
The Precipice
Weekend. David’s company retreat: hot springs. "You're coming!" He packed excitedly. "Relax! Everyone sees your improvement—Lucas worked wonders! Another payment due!" His tone light. I watched him stuff designer swimwear, costly serums into luggage. His currency of "love"—material filling emotional voids. "Lucas... helped," I forced out, throat tight.
David zipped the case, pulled me close. "Told you. Solvable problems aren't problems. Your happiness matters." His embrace was warm, arms strong. Yet cold spread from his touch. The next week, I moved like a ghost. Lucas stayed silent. The "bundle up" text felt dreamed. Wednesday loomed. I stared at the clock. Go? Stay? War raged inside. Office emptied. An unseen force drove me to the car. Cold sweat slicked the steering wheel.
NEXT >>
Wednesday session. Lucas’s voice held a deeper, hypnotic resonance. He inquired about physical tension. I nodded, dazed. "Try relaxing," he guided. "Close your eyes? Focus on your breath?" I obeyed. Silence pressed. Only our breathing. "Imagine tension melting… flowing down from your crown… shoulders…" His voice was intimate, soft. A hand rested lightly on my left shoulder.
Tentative. Heat seeped through thin fabric. I froze. My mind screamed: Shove him! Flee! Wrong! But my body, a parched plant craving sunlight, defied me. My spine steeled, every pore vibrating. His touch consumed oxygen. How long? A blink? An eternity? His hand withdrew. I snapped my eyes open, plunging into his slate-blue gaze. Something shattered there. Something burned. Desire. Struggle. Stark. Unmistakable. "Time's up," his voice rasped, gaze averted. I grabbed my bag. Escaped.
The Precipice
Weekend. David’s company retreat: hot springs. "You're coming!" He packed excitedly. "Relax! Everyone sees your improvement—Lucas worked wonders! Another payment due!" His tone light. I watched him stuff designer swimwear, costly serums into luggage. His currency of "love"—material filling emotional voids. "Lucas... helped," I forced out, throat tight.
David zipped the case, pulled me close. "Told you. Solvable problems aren't problems. Your happiness matters." His embrace was warm, arms strong. Yet cold spread from his touch. The next week, I moved like a ghost. Lucas stayed silent. The "bundle up" text felt dreamed. Wednesday loomed. I stared at the clock. Go? Stay? War raged inside. Office emptied. An unseen force drove me to the car. Cold sweat slicked the steering wheel.
NEXT >>
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