You go to bed

You rinse the empty wine glasses, the faint smell of sweet red still clinging to them, and stack the takeaway boxes into the recycling. The house is quiet now — kids asleep, telly off, just you and Tom moving lazily around each other in that comfortable end-of-the-evening way.

He catches your hand as you pass, tugging you in for a kiss that turns warmer than you expected. His mouth tastes faintly of the wine, his hands finding your hips. You let yourself melt into him, giggling when his fingers slip under your top.

You don’t bother making it to the sofa. You end up in the bedroom, clothes half-off, tangled in the duvet. It’s quick, messy, even, but you both laugh into each other’s mouths, the kind of quickie that’s more about closeness than anything else.

After you slip out of bed, padding to the bathroom. You wee, then step into the shower, letting the hot water rinse away the wine haze and the faint stickiness on your skin. You towel off, hair damp against your shoulders, and head back into the bedroom.

Tom’s already asleep, one arm flung over his pillow. You smile, lean down, and press a soft kiss to his cheek before climbing in beside him.

You lie in the dark, the duvet warm and heavy over you. Tom’s back is to you, his breathing slow, deep. Safe. Familiar.

You should sleep. You want to sleep. But your mind keeps circling back.

That video.

You’d frowned, even clicked away quickly. It wasn’t you. It isn’t you. You’re not that kind of wife. You’d never be.

But now… now it’s in your head, and you don’t know why.

You roll onto your back carefully, so you don’t wake Tom. The thought creeps in, uninvited: what would it even feel like? Not the cheap, showy way she’d described it — but you, still you. Married, ring on your finger, loyal… and yet.

Your thighs press together under the covers, and you feel that faint ache, low and warm.

You slide your hand down, almost embarrassed, even though no one can see. Your fingertips just rest there at first, over the soft cotton of your knickers. The fabric is warm from your skin. You shouldn’t do this — you’ve never… not like this, not about this.

In your mind, you picture being somewhere far away, somewhere no one knows you. A man’s eyes catching yours. Not a stranger in the shadows, but someone looking at you like he can see right through the polite smile, the “I’m married” barrier.

You imagine the tiniest brush of his hand against yours as he passes you a drink. The way your breath would catch. The way you’d feel almost… exposed.

Your fingers move slowly, the outline of your clit pressing back against the cotton. You’re wet already, and the realisation sends a small shock through you.

You picture him leaning in, his voice low. The heat of his breath on your ear. You wouldn’t do anything — you couldn’t. But the thought of what might happen if you didn’t move away makes your hips tilt without thinking.

Under the covers, you slip your hand inside your knickers. The first touch makes you gasp quietly, biting your lip so Tom doesn’t stir. Your fingertips brushing over your pussy. You’re wet. That shocks you more than anything.

It’s clumsy at first, shy, just soft circles You rub your clit slowly, testing the sensation. But then the fantasy deepens: the press of his thigh against yours, the subtle push as if he’s claiming space you haven’t offered.

You’re breathing faster now, imagining his hand cupping you, his fingers slipping where yours are. You think about the hotel room you’d never enter. The bed you’d never lie on. His cock sliding into you, just once and the sharp, dizzying wrongness of it.

That thought alone tips you over. You press your lips together so Tom doesn’t hear you. The feeling builds, small and tight and impossible to stop now. Your legs tremble as you come, quietly, in the dark.

When it’s over, you lie there in the stillness, your heart pounding. You slip your hand away, pulling the duvet close.

You press your forehead to Tom’s shoulder, eyes closing. It was just a thought. Just a strange, silly, one-off thought.

And you’ll never think about it