GODLESS PLEASURES

“It started with an apology but it ended with my legs trembling and her mouth between them.” It was supposed to be just a dinner. A polite, slightly awkward, slightly too-formal dinner between coworkers and their spouses. My husband, Peter, had just been promoted at the firm. His boss, Cassandra, had invited us over to celebrate. She lived in a glass-walled penthouse in the city, where every inch screamed of power and polish. But what I hadn’t expected and what no one warned me about was her. Avery. Cassandra’s wife. Soft-voiced, stunning, and with a smile that burned hotter than the wine she poured. She greeted me at the door with a light touch to my arm that lingered just a second too long. Her perfume was intoxicating like jasmine and rain and her gaze? Direct. Open. Like she saw more than what I was wearing. I remember thinking: She’s dangerous. And I was right. Dinner was filled with chatter. Cassandra and Peter talked about clients and performance metrics. Avery sat across from me, her head tilted, fingers slowly circling the rim of her wine glass. She said little. But every time I looked up, her eyes were on me. Curious. Smoldering. She caught me watching her once and smiled slow, delicious, like she knew a secret I hadn’t figured out yet. Later, after dessert, Peter and Cassandra went out to the balcony to smoke cigars and talk work. I offered to help clean up, but Avery just laughed lightly, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Don’t bother,” she said. “They’ll be out there for hours. Come. Let’s have a real drink.” She led me down a hallway, into a lounge wrapped in velvet and low lighting. She poured us two glasses of some dark liquor I didn’t recognize and sank onto the couch with feline grace. I sat across from her, suddenly feeling too warm, too aware of how tightly my dress clung to my thighs. "You’re beautiful, you know," she said casually, sipping her drink. I choked on mine. "Excuse me?" She tilted her head. "I said you're beautiful. And... tense." I laughed, awkward. “It’s been a long day.” Her smile widened. “You want to know a secret?” she asked, leaning forward. Her voice dropped into something darker. “Cassandra only dates women who like women.” I blinked. “I’m married.” “So?” Her tongue traced the rim of her glass. “So am I.” I should’ve stood up. I should’ve left the room and returned to Peter and the comfort of marital convention. But I didn’t. I stayed. “I’ve never…” I began, but the words dried up. I hadn’t. Not really. Not fully. Not past curious kisses in college or long stares at women in changing rooms. But never this. Never skin prickling with heat under a woman’s gaze. She stood. She crossed the room with that same fluid grace and stopped right in front of me. “You can tell me to stop,” she whispered, fingers brushing my shoulder. I didn’t say anything. Her fingers slid down to the neckline of my dress, her eyes searching mine for permission. I gave it without words, only breathless silence. And then she kissed me. Her lips were soft but insistent, skilled in a way that told me she’d done this before knew how to make a woman melt. Her tongue slipped between my lips, coaxing a moan from me I didn’t know I was capable of. I clutched her arms, gasping as her hands found my thighs and pushed them apart. She didn’t rush. She worshipped. Kissed me like a slow seduction, like she had all the time in the world and wanted to remember every sound I made. She sank to her knees before me, her face level with the hem of my dress. “Can I?” she asked softly. “Yes,” I breathed. “God, yes.” She pushed the dress up gently, her fingers grazing my thighs. Her lips trailed soft kisses along the inside of one, then the other. Every nerve ending lit up. I felt exposed, terrified and euphoric all at once. And then her tongue touched me. Hot, slow, deliberate. I arched back on the couch, hands digging into the cushions as she explored me with exquisite patience. She licked and sucked, teased and tasted like I was her favorite dessert. I moaned shamelessly, thighs trembling. I came too fast, too loud, clenching and gasping her name. But she didn’t stop. She didn’t even slow down. Avery kept going, dragging out every drop of my pleasure, coaxing a second orgasm from me before I even recovered from the first. She kissed her way back up my body, her fingers tracing circles on my ribs. When she kissed me again, I tasted myself on her mouth and I didn’t care. I kissed her back, hungry and dazed, unsure of who I was anymore. We lay there tangled in each other, breathless. “That was…” I whispered. She smiled against my skin. “Sinful?” I laughed shaky, stunned. “Very.” She pressed her lips to my ear. “Good,” she said. “Because I plan to sin again.” We straightened ourselves before returning to the others, pretending nothing happened. But Peter looked at me funny. I blamed the wine. Blamed the heat. Blamed anything but the truth that I had just tasted a kind of pleasure my marriage had never offered. That I had let another woman make me come with her tongue. That I wanted her again.