When Greg stepped through the front door, the living room felt heavy with a secret only two people understood.
Selene was there. She sat anchored at the center of his sofa, her posture marked by a terrifyingly effortless grace. Mayette stood over her, offering a cupcake with the same maternal warmth she gave her favorite students. It was a picture of domestic tranquility—polite, soft, and utterly deceptive.
"Oh, Hon, you're home," Mayette said, crossing the room to greet him. She pressed a firm, possessive kiss to his lips.
Mayette didn't see the look. Greg felt it. Selene's gaze lingered, her eyes tracing his mouth a second too long before she looked away.
Since that night at the estate, the world had shifted on its axis.
Mayette had blossomed in the wake of his renewed attention. She dressed with a newfound intention, rediscovering a confidence she had long buried. Greg tried to focus on his wife—to be the man he was supposed to be—but his eyes betrayed him. They constantly drifted back to the girl on the couch. Selene wore fitted shorts and a loose top—every line of her body a deliberate provocation. He forced himself to breathe through the tightness in his chest.
"Our goddaughter is visiting?" he asked, his calm carefully manufactured.
"Yes," Mayette chirped. "She just finished dance class, and Kyla asked if I could help her with her studies. I'll be tutoring her a few evenings a week."
Selene didn't flinch. There was no tremor in her hands as she ate, no flicker of guilt in her expression. She played the innocent student with chilling precision—something Greg almost admired.
"I'll drive her home," he said, too quickly.
Mayette frowned slightly. "Are you sure? It's been a long day at the office."
"It's fine," he said, the lie sliding out easily. "I need the air."
Selene looked up then, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting, electric moment. The corner of her mouth twitched—a private smile meant only for him.
Dinner was an exercise in restraint. Mayette spoke fondly of Selene's beauty and the boys at school who clamored for her attention. Greg nodded, hiding behind his glass of wine, watching the way Selene ate in silence. By the time they walked to the car, the tension was a physical weight.
Once the car door shut, the innocent student vanished. Selene grew quiet, her fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of her shorts. Greg watched her, savoring the shift from the confident girl in the living room to the hesitant woman beside him.
"You still want this?" His voice dropped an octave.
She looked at him, her gaze raw and searching, before she gave a single, sharp nod.
Greg didn't take the turn toward her house. He drove until the city lights faded into the rearview mirror, stopping at an abandoned park where the grass grew waist-high and the shadows swallowed everything. Selene stepped out, the cool night air making her shiver.
"It's so dark," she whispered.
"You've never been afraid of the dark," Greg countered, stepping into her space.
"It feels different tonight," she replied, hugging herself.
"But you aren't afraid of me."
She didn't answer. She didn't have to. The silence between them was charged with a shared understanding that words would only ruin.
Greg moved with a sudden, rough urgency. He lifted her, sitting her atop the hood of the car so they were eye-to-eye. "Don't you know I'm dangerous?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He claimed her lips with a hunger that far surpassed their first encounter. She was soft, elusive, and tasted like the sweets she'd eaten earlier. To Greg, she was the ultimate dessert—a forbidden indulgence he knew would eventually destroy his palate for anything else.
He moved with a frantic need, discarding her clothes into the tall grass. Under the flickering glow of the car's headlights, her skin looked like polished marble. He was a man drowning, and she was the only thing keeping him under.
"Ah... Ninong..." she gasped as he moved between her thighs.
The sounds of the night—the rustle of the wind and the rhythmic chirping of crickets—blended with their ragged breathing. Greg felt the heat of his own obsession radiating off him. Even after nights spent in Mayette's arms, this young woman possessed a gravity he couldn't escape. She was the reason he was a stranger to himself; she was the reason for the violent intensity he now brought to his marriage bed.
He explored her with a desperation that bordered on worship, tasting the salt of her skin and the sweetness of her youth. When he finally rose to join with her, the difference in their frames was staggering—he was a mountain of muscle and shadow over her lithe, trembling form.
"Are you sure?" he rasped, his hand already gripping her waist. "Because once I start, I'm not stopping."
Selene's answer was a low, guttural moan as she pulled him closer.
The encounter was a collision of worlds. The car rocked under the force of his movements, the metal hood cold against her skin while he was a furnace above her. To an outsider, it might have looked like a crime; to those within the circle of the headlights, it was a mutual surrender.
They moved from the car to the grass, the blades stinging their skin as they lost themselves in the friction. Greg looked down at her—at his goddaughter, his wife's student, his ruin—and realized that the difference between them dissolved under hunger. They fit together with a terrifying perfection.
As they reached the peak of the storm, a cry escaped Selene that seemed to startle the very woods around them. They collapsed together into the dirt and grass, their bodies slick with sweat, staring up at the indifferent stars.
Greg lay there, his heart hammering against his ribs, wondering how the fire could ever be extinguished when it burned brighter than guilt, reputation, or soul.