It was time to for him to go, and I watched his every move, his every blink of the eye, his every breath which rose inside his chest. He was the epitome of beauty, masculine yet delicate in his countenance. I still felt the warmth of his lips on mine, his arms around me, and his words, “I live for you.”
I knew it was a lie. He was leaving me, as he always does, to go home to his wife. We had an arrangement, and it worked well for both of us. Yet he insisted on saying sweet nothings to me throughout the night, as if I needed it to survive the encounter. It was a game we played: pretend we were in love in the brief moments we spent together each week.
Only in my case, I did love him and would go to the ends of the earth for him. It was wrong and I knew it, yet I could not stop myself or end the affair. He made my heart soar as no one else ever has, and I didn’t want to let go of the happiness which seemed so precious and rare. All I could do is give him everything I am when I am with him. If the time came for my heart to shatter into a thousand pieces I will deal with it as I always have. I have not died yet.
I moved behind him on the bed and and placed my arms around his chest, planting a soft kiss on his neck. He turned and lifted me over, laying me against him on his lap. His eyes searched deeply into my own, then said in a heavy whisper, “Marry me.”
I laughed. “Did you suddenly forget you’re already married?”
He smiled widely, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight. “Remember that things aren’t always as they seem.”
He got up, picked up his tie without putting it on, and left towards the door. I sat stunned and baffled at his words. Was this part of the game? As I watched his backside walking away, I became awed with his physique and lost my thought.