Allure of Temptation

4: The Day After

Four

I got home just before 9am, shoes in my hand, head pounding in that dull, exhausted way that meant I was thinking too much about what had happened.

The house was cold and silent as usual. For a second, I wondered about what Dante would say if he saw me dressed like this, creeping into the house as though I had snuck off before. A part of me wanted to see the look of surprise on his face–no. I wanted to revel in the shock that would be sprawled all over his face when he saw my outfit, my hair, and my whole appearance as a freshly f****d woman who’s still worthy of pleasure and orgasms.

Would that make him jealous? Would they make him have a rethink about the stupid open marriage he imposed on us? Would that make him think of a second chance for our marriage?

Even if it did, it wouldn't shake away the feeling of shame that clung to me like a second skin. Of all the men I could have hooked up with, it was Matteo, a boy I was old enough to mother.

That was outrageous.

I entered the apartment and to my surprise, Dante was seated in one of the couches, wearing headphones. He raised his head slowly, eyes landing on me as he assessed me slowly. I stilled, waited for his reaction. I wanted to see the jealousy in his eyes. I wanted to see his reaction to the fact that his wife might have hooked up with someone last night.

But he said nothing. He didn't even acknowledge my presence or my arrival. He didn't say anything. My husband just went back to his phone, as if his wife of seven years hadn't just returned home after spending the night outside.

It dawned on me then: how much our marriage had faded into dust. There was almost nothing left to salvage. But still, I was desperate to hold on to him.

To save this marriage.

So I cleared my throat and greeted him, “Good morning, Dante.”

His answer was a barely audible reply that made me feel like an i***t. He didn't even look up at me as I crossed over to the kitchen to fetch water from the fridge.

“Remember, we have a Christmas party to attend this evening. The one being held by the Russo Group. The theme is black and red, so don't wear something else.”

He spoke in a detached tone that one would use for a security guard and not for their wife. It filled me with a sudden anger as I turned to him.

“I'm not interested in going.”

“You have to,” he replied casually as if I didn't have any say in it at all, “Jackson Volkov would be in attendance tonight, and this is my only chance to meet him after chasing him for a year.”

“Then go. I don't have a business with Jackson, and I'm not interested in parading myself as your perfect wife just to get a contract whose money you'd end up spending on your whores.”

“I suppose you'd prefer I turn up at the party with one of the said whores on my arms, right?”

My anger spiked, and I had to grab the edge of the cabinet to control myself. When I was calm enough to reply, Dante was already walking away from the sitting room.

“Red carpet starts by 5. We don't want to be late.”

I closed my eyes and groaned at the lack of respect and affection. This wasn't the Dante I married. It seemed like along the line of our marriage, my husband was swapped out for this horrid stranger.

I returned to my room, and the minute I stepped inside, the images of Dante between the legs of another woman on our matrimonial bed flooded into my mind. I closed my eyes, shoved the images to the furthest part of my mind before settling down in front of my vanity to undress.

One look at my disheveled state was all it took for the memories to come running back. Matteo’s groans as he f****d me. His harsh whispers. My moans and pleas. His savage thrusts. The way his tongue lapped onto my core. The slapping sounds we made. All obscene, dirty, sinful, and erotic enough to make my core clench even at the memories.

I crossed my thighs as a fresh wave of arousal hit me. I instantly felt disgusted by myself. If last night was a mistake, then I had no right to relive it in such vivid detail. I had no right to secretly crave a repeat.

How could I have even allowed myself to do that? How could I have let myself fall into his touch so easily? What will Meredith say if she hears about this? Not that I was ever going to mention the one-night stand with her son to her anyway, and I doubt he would be eager to tell his mom that he f****d her best friend. Thinking about it tasted like ash in my mouth, yet the feeling… the memories?

For a moment, the silent curiosity of having him repeat the things to me like he did last night burned in my mind. I wanted him to touch me as he did, like he knew what made me throb, like he wanted to make my body come alive just so I could be sure last night actually happened.

“What am I doing?” I muttered aloud, following it up with a trail of cusswords at myself. I shouldn’t be having thoughts like this. I was married, and even though Dante didn’t respect that fact, two wrongs never made a right… or how did the saying go again?

Besides, Matteo was my friend’s son. He was way younger. I have a reputation to uphold, and I wasn’t about to allow a mistake ruin it all for me. Last night was a mistake. It should never have happened. I wasn’t about to let one night of reckless indulgence ruin my life entirely. And it definitely wasn't going to happen again.

We were the image of the perfect couple when we arrived at the venue that evening. The venue was already loud when we arrived. Laughter ricocheted off the walls, glasses clinked, music hummed beneath everything like a pulse I couldn’t escape. Our pictures were snapped by paparazzi, with Dante’s hand at the small of my back and our smiles wide and genuine as we gazed at each other.

We navigated the crowd, hands in hands, saying hellos and flashing the brightest smiles to acquaintances we saw. For a minute, it almost felt like old times when we didn’t pretend to be in love, and everything we displayed was genuine.

We found Jackson easily, and even though I zoned out from their conversation, Dante’s hand remained on my back, and I heard him mention me a couple of times in his sentences.

Words like 'good wife,' 'she launched me,' 'she changed my life,' etc., floated around, and I had to resist the urge to snort. If I were a really good wife, then he wouldn't have the audacity to cheat on me on our matrimonial bed.

The conversation with Jackson went well because Dante kept grinning from ear to ear when the former finally left us after they exchanged handshakes and he pressed a kiss to the back of my palm.

“Well, that went better than expected.”

“Can we leave after a while? I don't really feel…”

“Audrey darling.” That familiar voice came from behind us. It instantly made me stiffen, but I plastered my biggest smile on my face as I turned to Meredith.

But it wasn't Meredith that I saw first when I turned. It was the person who had his tongue buried in my p***y less than 24 hours ago.

It was Meredith’s son.

Matteo Williams, walking towards us with his mother with his eyes trained on where Dante’s hand rested around my waist.