Pierre drives you home, and says good morning to your husband.

He dresses quite handsomely in some slacks and a polo shirt and walks you out to a nice new BMW parked on the roof of a parking garage, right next to the bar from last night. He drives you home in the bright early morning sun of a summer Saturday morning. You make small talk, but there's still an underlying feeling of sexual tension and the unasked question; 'was this just a one-time thing?'

When you arrive at the house you have him pull up to the back of the house, just to be a little more discrete. He offers you his number written on a small card and you take it without hesitation. If you could have a regular night with this man once a week it would be incredible. You're not sure if you could handle him more frequently than that, thinking how tired and sore you are from the workout he gave you last night. You get out and so does he, saying he'll walk you to the door. You figure it's still pretty early, and it's really unlikely your husband would be looking at the back window. He's probably busy with the kids you think, with a small pang of guilt. He did insist you get out of the house though, so that assuages it somewhat. Pierre walks you to the door and says, 'I had a wonderful time Louisa.' Then he leans in and kisses you on the mouth. You kiss him back, and feel him place his hands on either side of your face. You are just about to break away when the back door opens. From the corner of your eye you see your husband backing out with the garbage bags. He's wearing baggy sweatpants and an old t-shirt, looking a bit dumpy next to the sharply dressed Pierre. He turns and sees you both and jumps, surprised, and drops the trash bags.

There's a split second where everyone freezes, then Pierre extends his light brown hand. 'Good morning. I'm Pierre. I just wanted to make sure Louisa made it home safe.' Your husband glances at you, then extends his hand a little awkwardly. 'Hi, I'm Ryan. Thanks for getting her home safe.' He turns to you, 'I was a little worried, but I'm glad you're home.' You smile and step forward, giving him a small peck on the cheek, 'Don't worry love, Pierre took excellent care of me.' You think you hear a small sound in your husband's throat. You turn to Pierre and tell him, 'Thanks again for the ride. We'll have to do it again sometime.' You give him a sly smile and hold your eye contact with him steadily while you say it. Maybe your double entendre is childish, but you glance down at your husband and are pretty sure there's a tent forming in his sweatpants already.

Pierre takes your hand and kisses it, his warm lips lingering for a second, and then he departs. You watch him go while your husband puts the trash in the bin, and then turn and step inside with him. The door shuts and he immediately pushes you up against it. Somehow his sweatpants are already around his ankles and he's pulling up your dress and reaching for your thong.

There's something a little hot in his urgency, and a part of you just wants to submit and let him take you. But another part of you wants a romantic reconnection with your soul mate. Even if he's frantically horny you both need to have an emotional connection after a night like that. And then you think of how tired you are from so much wonderful sex, and part of you doesn't want to do anything more than talk. Maybe he'd enjoy being denied anyway.