His breath is warm and smells of beer as he presses his lips against mine. I pull him close. I want to feel the weight of his body tight against mine. I want to block out the noise and the fear. I want to block out my guilt at needing him – a married man – so badly.

Because I do need him. Right now, I need him – and I know if he can hold me so close that I can feel what I do to him, then I can forget it all for a time. I can become lost in the most basic of instincts and the most animal of feelings.

I won’t even think about who he is – how we have promised each other time and time again that we aren’t going to do this any more. That it’s not good for either of us. Not professional. Not fair to Jen and the boys. Not fair to each other. Because this is not love. This is not even ‘like’. This is sex. This is scratching an itch for both of us and nothing more.

It’s angry, physical sex that distracts and makes my nerve endings tingle, to the point that all I can focus on are the sensations coursing through my body. The wrongness of it is part of what makes it so irresistible, even though each time I find myself alone with Ryan, his hands groping at me, making me melt time and time again, I swear it will be the last time. I swear I won’t ever show him how weak I am again. Because this, this need for something animalistic on a wet Saturday night when his wife and children are out of town, and I’m trying to block out how scared I am, this is very much a sign of my weakness.

I lose myself in it as he groans, moves inside me until he calls my name and gasps, his body juddering then stilling, his breathing heavy. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he mutters. We’ve not even made it out of the hall this time.

I pull away from him, go to the bathroom to freshen up. Looking in the mirror, I stare at my flushed face. A sheen of sweat covers my forehead. What remained of my lipstick is gone, my hair is frizzing from the rain, my eyes are tired. I try to catch my breath because it still hasn’t settled. I try to fight back the urge to cry or scream. I don’t want to be scared. I don’t want to tell Ryan I’m scared. That will just show him even more of my weakness. In this moment, I wish this could be something more. He could be someone else. That he is someone who loves me and that I love him. But he isn’t someone else and we don’t love each other.