Through the guise of joint projects, Claire and I managed to travel together, stay away overnight and carry on an affair right under the very noses of our partners. It began with the odd day out here and there, then the occasional overnight, each of us booking separate rooms. On the surface, it all looked perfectly respectable. Over Sunday lunch one weekend, in front of the whole family, Claire looked up and asked, “By the way, are you doing the Milan Book Fair?” I replied that I had not thought about it, but the seed was planted.
A month later, after a little planning, Claire and I were on our way to Milan. The weather was kind for that time of year, and we stayed off the motorways so we could enjoy more of the countryside. That was where things really started. We had just crossed into Italy near Lake Como when we found a small hotel on the edge of town, perfect for our little games and getaway. We did the usual, booked separate rooms and recorded our webinar video, but this was where everything changed. Normally, one of us would go to the other’s room, unpack, pick something to eat and settle in. This time was different. We simply freshened up and went straight to the restaurant.
We sat in the bar, which was quite busy, and had a drink before dinner. When we finally went in to eat, a German couple approached us and asked if they could share our table. He introduced himself as Lukas, in his mid-forties, and his partner as Mareike, a little younger. We agreed, and what followed was an evening that began light and comfortable and soon became very enlightening indeed.
We were just into dessert and another glass of fine Italian wine when I felt a foot brush lightly against my leg. I did not flinch, but I let my gaze drift to Mareike. She held my eye for a moment, a small, knowing smile at the corner of her mouth. Lukas and Claire were still absorbed in a deep conversation, Claire completely unaware of what was happening on my side of the table. The evening was beginning to take a different turn, one that felt warmer, more intimate and edged with a slow, growing hunger neither of us had expected, far beyond anything we had planned.
Normally, Claire and I would just finish our drinks, smile politely and go up to one of our rooms together. That was our routine, tidy and discreet. Tonight, that script was already slipping. Mareike’s foot stayed resting against my leg, slow and deliberate, as she asked questions about our work, about the book fair, about how often Claire and I travelled together. Her accent wrapped itself around every word, soft and interested, and I could feel my body tuning itself to her attention. Lukas kept drawing Claire in, laughing with her, leaning closer as he told a story about a small adult toy shop in Hamburg and the parties they hosted. Watching the two of them, something clicked. If this was going to go anywhere, Claire needed to drift upstairs with Lukas, while I found a way to keep Mareike with me.
***
My Point of View
The thought alone sent a pleasant heat through my chest. I let the conversation stretch out, guiding it gently. I joked about early starts and long days at the fair, about how we should probably head up soon and be sensible. Lukas laughed and suggested a nightcap first, perhaps a bottle sent up to one of the rooms so we could avoid the bar noise. Mareike glanced at me then, her eyes bright, and lightly traced her foot along my calf as if to underline the idea. I suggested that Claire go ahead with Lukas to her room, since it was on the corner of the floor, also afforded a better view, and that Mareike and I could raid the bar for a decent bottle and follow shortly. It all sounded casual, practical, harmless. But under the table, with her foot on my leg and Claire already standing to go with Lukas, it was clear to both of us that this night was not going to end the way any of us had first imagined.
Claire stood first, laughing at something Lukas had just said, and he rose with her, his hand hovering at the small of her back as he guided her toward the lifts. I watched them go with what I hoped was an easy smile, something tightening briefly in my chest before I smoothed it away. After all, Claire and I were the ones slipping off together on these trips. I drew a quiet breath, let it go, then turned to Mareike. She slipped off her shoe under the table, her now bare foot pressing firmly along my calf in a way that felt far too deliberate to be an accident.
“So,” she said quietly, “we fetch the wine now, ja?” Her eyes held mine for a moment too long, the little German lilt making it feel more intimate than it should have.
There was a question there, and an answer already forming in my body. I signed the bill, thanked the waiter, and we walked together toward the bar. We chose a decent Italian bottle, Petravia, from Altamura down in Puglia. Something red and smooth that the barman assured us was “very romantic”, which made her laugh softly.
As we stepped back into the reception area, she moved in closer, her arm lingering against mine, her perfume curling around me in a warm, private little cloud.
We stepped into the lift and rode up to our floor.
“Which way?” she asked, looking up at me, much closer than before. I hesitated for only a heartbeat, her gaze holding mine, then I nodded toward the opposite direction from Claire’s room.
“My room is closer,” I whispered, keeping my voice low and steady. “We can open the bottle there and then decide if we still want to interrupt them.”
Mareike studied me, her smile deepening, her lips curving in a way that made it clear she understood exactly what I was suggesting, and what I was not saying. She did not argue. Instead, she slipped her arm lightly into the crook of mine, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. The corridor was quiet, our footsteps soft on the carpet, my keycard suddenly heavy in my pocket. Each step felt like a small surrender, a quiet yes that neither of us voiced. Outside my door, I paused, giving her one last chance to pull back. She did not. Her eyes were bright, steady, and there was a slow, unmistakable hunger in them that matched the thrum building low in my chest.
I opened the door and held it for her. She walked in first, bottle in hand, giving it a lazy little swing like a prize she had just won. As the door clicked shut behind us, I had the distinct feeling that whatever story we had come to tell, this was the night it would be rewritten.
Mareike stood in the middle of the room for a moment, looking around, taking it in. It was just another hotel room, neat, anonymous, but the way she turned in that soft light made it feel like something else.
“Glasses?” she asked, holding the wine bottle up.
I moved past her, a little too aware of how close her body was to mine and found two small glasses by the minibar. My hands were not quite steady as I put them on the table by the bed. She noticed, of course, she did. Her mouth curved in that same small smile I had first seen across the table.
She passed me the bottle, eyes never leaving my face. “You decide what happens next,” she said, stroking a finger slowly down my chest, that small smile curling at her lips. “I’m very good at being led.”
I uncorked the bottle with a soft pop that sounded louder than it should in the quiet room.
“Nervous?” she asked, her voice low, amused.
“A little,” I said, and that seemed to please her.
“A little,” I said, and that seemed to please her. She only smiled and stayed where she was while I poured my own, making no move to reclaim the space between us.
She tipped her glass toward me. “To Milan,” she murmured, her voice soft and sultry, a wicked little smile promising more than just wine.
I raised my glass, eyes on hers. “To Milan,” I said, as if we both knew it meant far more than the city.
We raised our glasses and drank, just a small sip, then neither of us moved. We stood there facing each other, the lights of the town and the dark line of the lake a soft blur behind the curtains. Her eyes drifted down to my mouth and back up again, a slow, deliberate look that seemed to draw the room in a little closer.
She tilted her head, watching me over the rim of her glass. “You and Claire,” she said softly. “You travel together a lot. It feels more than just work.”
It was not quite a question. I gave a small, crooked smile. “Often enough.”
She turned the stem of her glass between her fingers, then took a slow sip and stepped a little closer. “And you enjoy each other’s company,” she said, as if she already knew the answer.
“Very much,” I said.
“Good,” she murmured, her shoulder almost brushing mine now, her eyes never leaving my face. “I like to be around people who already understand pleasure.”
Her free hand reached out, fingers brushing the front of my shirt as if to smooth an invisible crease. The touch was light, almost casual, but it ran straight through me.
“I like people who know how to enjoy themselves and do not mind crossing a few boundaries,” she added, her thumb tracing my shirt.
Her hand stayed there, resting against my chest. I could feel the steady pressure of it, the subtle drag of her fingertips through the fabric. She looked up at me, giving me every chance to back away. I did not. Instead, I set my glass carefully on the small table beside us, then took hers and did the same.
Her eyes never left mine. “Is this all, right?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” I said, my voice softer than I meant, my body answering before my head could. “Very.”
She smiled again, slow and satisfied, then reached up, her fingers sliding to the back of my neck. The first kiss was not rushed. She took her time, tasting, exploring, letting me feel the softness of her mouth and the gentle insistence beneath it. My hands found her waist, the fabric of her dress warm under my palms, and she moved closer, bodies fitting together with an ease that felt both new and strangely familiar.
When we finally broke apart, she did not move far. Her forehead rested lightly against mine, our breaths mingling.
“You drove me a little crazy,” I murmured, thumb brushing her lip. “From the moment your foot started working its way up my leg in that restaurant.”
She let her head fall back, a soft laugh and held my gaze, her eyes wide and intimate, as if the rest of the room had fallen away. I brushed my thumb lightly across her lower lip, feeling the soft give of it, and she parted her mouth just enough to catch it. Keeping her eyes on mine, she drew my thumb slowly into her mouth, lips closing around it, the warm, wet pull of her tongue sending a quiet shock through me. She let it slip free again, then trailed her fingers down from my neck to my chest, lingering over the line of buttons. One by one, she began to open them, unhurried, her knuckles brushing my skin as she worked. Each small movement drew us deeper into the quiet bubble of the room.
Her lips found mine again, slower this time, and as I drew her closer, feeling the warmth of her body pressed full against mine, the rest of the world fell away. The bed was just behind us, the wine forgotten on the table. When we finally let ourselves sink down onto the cool, white sheets, it was with the easy, hungry certainty of two people who had already said yes long before they ever reached this door.
The bed met the back of my knees, and I let myself sink down, taking Mareike with me. She came willingly, her weight warm and familiar as she settled across my lap. For a moment, we just looked at each other, close enough that I could see the light around her pupils, the faint rise and fall of her chest.
Her fingers traced the open edge of my shirt where she had left off. She pushed the fabric aside, her palm sliding over bare skin now, slow and exploratory. My breath caught, and she smiled, pleased with the reaction, her thumb circling lazily over my ribs.
“You are very easy to read,” she said, her tone thick with promise.
“Only because you are the one reading me,” I answered, heat curling in my chest.
Her answer was another kiss, deeper this time, no hesitation. Her tongue teased at my lower lip before slipping past, inviting and assured. I met her pace, my hands skimming up the length of her thighs, feeling the smooth line of them under her dress. She shifted to straddle me properly, her skirt riding up as she moved, the heat of her pressed snugly against me. There was nothing subtle about the way my body reacted, and from the soft sound she made in her throat, she liked that.
“Tell me if you want to slow down,” she whispered against my throat.
“I really do not,” I answered, my voice rougher than I meant, my hands already pulling her closer.
She gave a soft, delighted laugh and kissed me again, deeper this time, her body pressing firmly against mine. For a few moments, I let her set the pace, her hips moving lazily over me, her mouth teasing mine until my control began to fray. Somewhere in the tangle of kisses and hands, fabric shifted and slid, buttons gave way, and there was suddenly a lot more skin than clothing between us. Then, on a breathless little giggle from her, I shifted, catching her around the waist and rolling us, swinging her onto her back in one smooth movement. She landed beneath me with a surprised gasp that turned into a smile, eyes bright and inviting, as if this was exactly where she had wanted to end up.
She laughed softly and shifted, propping herself up a little beside me. Her hands went to the back of her bra, fingers working the clasp with an easy confidence. A moment later, it came loose, and she slipped the straps down her arms as if she had been waiting for this. I eased the fabric away and let it fall, watching, captivated, as more of her was revealed. I did not rush, kissing each new inch of skin, letting her see how much I wanted her. My mouth traced along her collarbone, down the curve of her chest, across the flat of her stomach and the delicate line of her hip, following the path my hands had taken a moment before. She melted back into the pillows, her breath catching when I dipped lower, tasting the soft inside of her thigh, lingering there until she made a small, helpless sound and shifted, opening to me. When I reached for her, she caught my hand and guided it, showing me exactly where she wanted to be touched, how she wanted to be held.
The room grew quieter, or maybe the rest of the world just faded. All that existed was the soft rustle of fabric, the faint creak of the mattress, the sounds she made when I did something right. My clothes had gone the same way as hers, dropped carelessly to the floor, forgotten. Skin met skin, and the contact was a shock, a rush, a slide into something that felt as inevitable as gravity.
She pushed me back against the pillows and followed, her body aligning with mine, fitting along every line and hollow. We moved together slowly at first, finding a rhythm, learning each other in breath and touch and the way our hands wandered, greedy and curious. Her lips brushed mine between sighs and broken words, half English, half German, all need. When she closed her eyes and pressed closer, I felt her shiver, felt my own control begin to fray.
Time blurred. There were only waves, building and breaking as our bodies found their rhythm, her fingers digging into my shoulders, my hands holding her steady as if I could keep us from being swept away. The pleasure rose in layers, sharp and sweet, until thought was nothing but fragments, and the only clear thing left was her, wrapped around me, meeting me, giving and taking in equal measure.
When she finally let go, the tension snapped, and the rush swept through us. She held on, her forehead pressed to mine, our breaths ragged and shared. The world narrowed to that single, blinding moment, then slowly opened again as the aftershocks faded.
She collapsed against my chest with a satisfied sigh, her skin damp and warm. I wrapped my arms around her and felt her smile against my shoulder, her breath slowly falling in time with mine.
“Mmm,” she said softly, her accent thick with tired contentment. “This little stop by the lake is already more interesting than I expected.”
I laughed quietly and kissed the top of her head, letting my hand rest at the small of her back, keeping her close. For a while, we lay there in a loose tangle of sheets and limbs, the wine untouched on the table, the lake humming somewhere beyond the window, and I could not help but wonder what Claire was doing at that exact moment in her room with Lukas.
***
Claire’s Point of View
Lukas had just finished some ridiculous story about a “runaway” toy at one of his ladies’ nights. I was still laughing as I pushed back my chair.
“Shall we?” he asked, standing and offering me his hand. I let him draw me to my feet, and it felt as if we both knew he was suggesting more than just a walk to the lift.
It sounded so simple. A nightcap, a look at the view from my room. Nothing in his tone said anything more than that. Still, the warm little flutter low in my stomach told a different story.
I glanced back at the table, expecting to see Peter, my usual partner in crime, getting up too. Instead, he was still seated, turned toward Mareike, his head dipped to catch her words above the muted clatter of the restaurant. Their shoulders were almost touching. Mareike’s hand rested lightly on the stem of her glass, her body angled toward him in a way that made it look, for a moment, as if the two of them were in their own little pocket of the room. I could not have said why, exactly, but something in the picture made a small, uncertain knot form low in my stomach.
I waited for that familiar moment when our eyes would meet across the space. Usually, there was a look. A shared smile, a quiet confirmation that we were slipping away together. It did not come. He never glanced up. He was focused entirely on her.
A small, sharp note rang somewhere in my chest. Jealousy? Maybe. Or perhaps something else, something I did not quite want to name. I told myself it was fine. We had agreed to a drink. Lukas and I would head up, and they would follow with the wine. No secrets. No drama. All very grown up, very modern. That was the story I repeated to myself as I turned away, but the tiny knot low in my stomach did not quite believe it.
Lukas walked beside me toward the lifts. “Your rooms are on the same floor, yes?” he asked, his voice low and easy, as if he already knew the answer and what it might mean.
“Yes,” I said. My voice sounded a fraction too bright to my own ears. “Nice view over the lake. I have not really looked at it yet.”
“Then we should fix that,” he said, and this time his hand did settle briefly at the small of my back as we walked toward the lifts.
The touch was light, barely there, but it spread warmth across my skin in a way that felt disproportionate. I told myself it was the wine, the long day, the soft lights. The lift arrived with a muted chime, and we stepped in. I turned my head for one last glance back toward the restaurant, half expecting to see him rising from his chair, that familiar, guilty smile waiting for me. The doorway was empty; he was still at the table with Mareike. Then the doors slid shut.
No familiar arm slipped around my waist, no shared conspiratorial grin reflected in the lift doors. Just me and Lukas and the quiet hum of the hotel. His shoulder brushed mine as the lift started to move, a small, accidental touch that did not feel accidental at all, and for the first time, I wondered if I was really the only one going upstairs alone.
For a heartbeat, I almost said something. We could wait. I could suggest going back down, make some harmless excuse and slip out of the gentle pull of his presence. My hand even twitched towards the panel, then stopped. Instead, I watched the numbers climb, that strange mix of guilt and relief slowly unspooling inside me.
What exactly was I feeling guilty about? At home, there was already a line I had stepped over. Here, by the lake, Peter and I were already crossing it regularly. And yet the idea of wanting someone else, too, felt like walking out onto thinner ice.
Lukas seemed perfectly at ease. A hand in his pocket, shoulder leaning lightly against the mirrored wall, he watched me rather than the floor numbers.
“You enjoyed dinner?” he asked, his voice a shade lower than it had been downstairs.
“Very much,” I said, feeling my mouth curve. “You tell very good stories.”
“They are all true,” he replied, his mouth curving. “Or at least true enough for dinner.”
That made me smile in spite of myself. The lift stopped, the doors slid open, and I suddenly realised my heart was beating faster than it should for a simple walk to a room.
We stepped out into the corridor, quiet and carpeted, the lights dimmed for the night. I led the way, keycard in hand. My fingers felt clumsy as I slid it into the slot. For a moment, I hoped the light would turn red, that I would have to fuss and try again, that something would interrupt this strange, floating feeling.
It flashed green on the first attempt.
I opened the door and stood aside for him to enter. It was only a standard hotel room, no more impressive than his would be, but seeing him step into my space made it feel different. More private. More intentional.
He walked to the window and drew the curtain back a little.
“You were right, Claire,” he said. “Beautiful view.” He stood there a moment longer, looking out, then glanced back at me instead of the lake. “Although,” he added, a small smile touching his mouth, “I think it looks better with you in front of it.”
He stepped aside and held a handout to me, inviting rather than insisting. When I joined him at the window, his fingers brushed the small of my back, light as a question. Outside, the water shimmered in the dark, but all I could feel was the warmth of his palm through my dress and the way his breath stirred the hair near my temple as he leaned in, close enough for his next words to be just for me.
I was suddenly aware of my own body in a way I rarely was. The dress that had felt simply smart at dinner now seemed shorter, closer, skimming my thighs instead of covering them. My skin remembered the warmth of him leaning in at the table, the way his laughter carried across the space, the quiet confidence in his voice. I thought of the man downstairs, of Mareike’s dark hair, the way she had thrown her head back at his jokes, and something low inside me tightened and curled, small and private and very wet.
I suddenly thought, not calmly at all, how he would take it if he knew what I was about to do in this room. Would he be hurt? Angry? Or would he understand all too well, in his own room with Mareike, her mouth on his, her body pressed along his the way mine was about to be along Lukas’s?
“I have enjoyed having you to myself tonight,” Lukas said as he turned back to me, his eyes holding mine a shade too long. “I hope your colleague does not mind.”
We had been circling this all evening without saying it. He’ll survive,” I replied, trying for a lightness that sat a little uneven in my chest. “He’ll be okay. He always is.”
Lukas smiled, and for a moment his expression softened, but his eyes stayed very much on me. “You two are close,” he said.
Close. The word landed between us, heavy.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “We are.”
His thumb stroked once at my hip, almost absently. “And you trust him,” he said. It sounded less like a question and more like something he was carefully confirming.
“Yes. Of course I do.”
The answer came easily enough, but I felt it catch somewhere in my chest, as if saying it out loud had just made everything between us that little bit more dangerous.
The honesty of that answer made my chest ache. I trusted him with my work, with long days on the road, with shared hotel rooms, with stolen kisses and with the complicated tangle of my feelings. Did that mean I could not want anyone else? Did trust have to mean exclusivity when nothing between us had ever really been defined?
Lukas took a few steps towards me, slow and unhurried. He stopped close enough that I had to tilt my head to look at him properly.
“If at any point you want me to leave,” he said, his eyes holding mine, “you only have to say. But I have a feeling we won’t be interrupted tonight.”
His tone was calm. No pressure, no urgency. He was offering me a way out, and somehow that made staying feel even more like a choice I was about to own.
My heart stumbled and then settled into a heavier beat. The space between us felt smaller, pulled tight by something I could almost touch. I wanted to close it, to lean in and finally learn the taste of his mouth without wine and conversation in the way. At the same time, a quieter part of me wanted to move carefully, to let this be a choice made with my whole self, not just a rush of nerves and heat.
Behind all that wanting, another image slipped into my mind. I saw him downstairs with Mareike, giving her that half smile he usually kept for me. It should have stung. Instead, it felt oddly freeing. If he was allowed to follow his curiosity, maybe I was allowed mine.
“I do not want you to leave,” I heard myself say.
The words surprised me even as they left my mouth, but once they were out, a calm settled in behind them. Lukas searched my face for a long moment, as if he was checking for any trace of doubt. If he found it, he was kind enough not to mention it.
“Then I stay,” he murmured, the corners of his lips lifting. There was a quiet certainty in his voice, as if, in his mind, the choice had already been made for both of us.
He reached out, touching me gently, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from my cheek. The touch was light, courteous almost, but it made every nerve under my skin sit up and pay attention. My breath caught. He noticed. His thumb lingered a heartbeat longer at my jaw before he let his hand fall to my hip, then lower.
“Still good?” he asked, his tone quiet and sure, one hand holding me in place as if he already knew my answer.
“Yes,” I answered, and this time my voice was shaky as I felt his hand drift lower, skimming over my waist and hip before slipping between my thighs, finding exactly what he wanted.
Whatever I had meant to say after that was scattered. The room seemed to shrink to the span of his hand and the heat blooming low in my body. He moved in closer, his mouth brushing mine, his touch slow and deliberate, and any thought of stopping slid quietly out of reach. I was no longer weighing the pros and cons. I was just leaning into him, letting him take over, letting myself fall into his arms.
When his lips finally met mine, the guilt did not disappear, but it softened, folding into something more manageable, something I could live with for that night. Behind my closed eyes, for a brief second, I saw a different room, a different bed, a familiar body in someone else’s arms. Then even that faded, replaced by the warm, solid reality of Lukas here, now, his hands on my waist, his mouth teaching my body a new language.
Whatever stories we had come here to tell, it seemed we were all busy writing new ones behind our own closed doors.
Lukas’s lips moved slowly down from my mouth, along the line of my jaw, to that place just below my ear that has always been my undoing. He found it with an ease that made me wonder how many times he had pictured this, how carefully he had been paying attention at dinner. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, more to keep my balance than anything else, as a warm, spreading weight settled low in my belly.
“Claire,” he said quietly, as if tasting the name, and something in the way he said it made it feel like it belonged to me again.
I felt the cool slide of the zipper at the back of my dress before I realised his hand had moved. The sound was soft, almost polite, but my whole body reacted to it. The dress loosened and slipped a little on my shoulders. He did not rush, did not tug. He simply eased the fabric aside, his fingertips following the new bare path he had created, tracing the ridge of my spine as if it were something precious.
“Tell me if anything feels wrong,” he murmured.
“It doesn’t,” I managed. “It really doesn’t.”
He smiled against my skin, a warm curve I could feel more than see, and let the dress fall the rest of the way. For a brief, suspended moment, I stood there in the low hotel light, bare in a way I had not felt in years. Not just without clothes, but without the familiar armour of being someone’s wife, someone’s mother, someone’s lover. I was just a woman in front of a man who wanted her, and the simplicity of it almost made me dizzy.
His hands framed my waist, then slid up, learning me, committing the line of my body to memory. When he kissed me again, there was no hesitation left in it. He took his time, tasting me, letting the kiss deepen until I forgot to be self-conscious and simply answered, my body leaning into his as if it had been waiting to do that all evening.
We stumbled back toward the bed in a slow, unhurried tangle, pausing every few steps when he found another place he wanted to touch, another small sound he could coax from me with his mouth or his hands. At some point, my fingers found the buttons of his shirt and worked them open without me quite realising I had started. His skin was warm under my palms, solid and strong in a way that made me feel oddly safe even as everything else felt like it was sliding out from under my feet.
He lay me down on the bed as if we had all the time in the world, then stretched out beside me instead of over me, letting me settle into him. His gaze held mine, no longer asking if he could, just making sure I wanted to go wherever this was leading.
“I want you to enjoy this,” he said, simple as that.
The rest unfolded in a kind of slow, inevitable cascade. The air between us grew warmer, heavier, scented with skin and faint cologne and something purely ours. Every time I thought we had reached the point where things must surely tip over, he found some new way to slow down and stretch the moment out, to bring me to the edge and hold me there, teaching me how to let go of the control I had been clinging to for years.
When we finally stopped hovering on the brink, it did not feel like a single sharp push from him, but a series of deepening circles, each one starting low inside me and spreading outward. His body settled into mine with a rightness that startled me, like fitting into a tight space I had not known was shaped for me. He moved slowly at first, careful and attentive, giving me time to adjust until my hands slipped from his shoulders to his back and, almost without thinking, I drew him closer.
I felt a small shift in his weight, the way his breath caught, the way his pace changed. We began to move together, not perfectly at first, just testing, learning each other’s rhythm. That was what surprised me most: how quickly my body began to respond to him, how natural it felt to meet him. There was a quiet conversation going on in the way our hips aligned, in the little adjustments of angle and pressure, in the soft sounds that slipped out of me before I could stop them.
Heat built between us in waves, rolling up from somewhere deep and low, each one a little higher than the last. Every time I thought, this is as much as I can take, something in the way he moved, or the way his hand spread at the small of my back and pulled me that fraction closer, sent it climbing again. My fingers dug into his shoulders, then into his back, not to push him away but to hold on, as if I needed something solid to anchor me while everything inside me loosened and tightened and loosened again.
He watched me. Even when his eyes closed for a moment, he always came back to my face, checking, reading. When I gasped and turned my head, he slowed a little, giving me room to breathe; when I lifted my hips to meet him, he answered without hesitation, deepening the movement in a way that made my whole body light up. I could feel him holding himself back, not out of distance but out of care, waiting for me to catch up, to tip over first. That, more than anything, made me feel suddenly, fiercely wanted. Not used. Wanted.
It rose in layers, not fast, but in a spiral, circling back over the same places with more intensity each time. My thighs began to tremble; I felt the muscles low in my belly tighten, gather. I heard my own voice, unsteady and unfamiliar, saying his name, saying yes in ways I had never quite managed before. He murmured something in English, something else in German, the words blurring together against my neck, the meaning carried more in the tone than in the syllables.
When I finally tipped over, it came in a rush that stole my breath, my body tightening and then loosening in slow, pulsing waves. I clung to him, nails digging into his skin, as the world shrank to that one blinding moment.
But he stayed deep within me, steady and sure, until the last tremor ran out of me and all I could do was cling and breathe. Only then did he let himself go, a rough, low sound tearing free against my throat as his body went taut and drove in one last time, his own control finally letting go and filling me.
For a few seconds, we were both just weight and breath and heartbeat, pressed together, slick with sweat, the room spinning gently around us. Then he softened and eased some of his weight off me without breaking contact, as if he was afraid of leaving me too quickly. I felt his hand stroke slowly along my side, from my ribs down to my hip, a soothing, absent-minded caress that sent small aftershocks flickering through muscles that had already done more than their share.
Eventually, he rolled to the side, taking me with him, so I ended up half on his chest, half on the crumpled sheet. The bed looked as if someone had dragged a storm through it. Pillows scattered, covers twisted, one corner of the duvet hanging to the floor. My dress lay in a careless heap on the chair; his shirt trailed off the edge of the bed, one sleeve turned inside out. It made me want to smile.
I became aware of little things: the faint sting where his stubble had rasped against my neck, the dull, pleasant ache in my thighs, the way my body felt heavy and boneless and used in exactly the way I had been secretly craving for far too long. Lukas’s chest rose and fell under my cheek, his heartbeat slowing from a heavy drum to a steadier, calmer rhythm. His fingers traced lazy shapes on my upper arm, not demanding, not starting anything new, just… being there.
“You okay there?” he murmured after a while, his voice soft and a little sleepy, nothing but warmth in it.
I thought about lying, about making a joke, about deflecting with some glib remark the way I usually did when things felt too big. Instead, I let myself sink into the warmth of him for another beat, feeling the soreness, the glow, the strange lightness in my chest that sat right next to the guilt and refused to move.
“Yes,” I said at last, surprised at how true it felt. “I really am.”
He breathed out slowly, a quiet, satisfied sound, and pressed a slow kiss into my hair. Outside, beyond the curtains, the lake lay still and black, holding the reflections of other people’s rooms, other people’s secrets. In ours, for the first time in a very long time, I felt completely, almost dangerously, awake.
***
Next Morning – My Room
I woke to a thin strip of light cutting across the room and a warm weight against my side. For a moment, I did not quite know where I was. Then the faint hum of the hotel air conditioning, the smell of unfamiliar detergent, and something softer and sweeter on the pillow beside me pulled it all back into place.
Mareike was curled half on me, half on the bed, one leg thrown over mine as if she had simply claimed the territory in her sleep. Her hair was a dark tangle against my chest, her breath slow and even. The sheet had slipped to her waist, leaving most of her back bare, the curve of her spine relaxed and loose in a way that spoke of deep, satisfied sleep.
I lay very still and let my body report in. There was a pleasant ache in my shoulders, a heaviness in my thighs, a faint pull in muscles that had done more than just walk around a book fair. My skin felt oversensitive, tuned in to every shift of fabric and air. When I moved my arm the slightest bit, something protested along my bicep, and I realised there were small crescents from her nails there, half-moon reminders of how thoroughly the night had gone.
The bed looked as if several people had fought a small war in it. The pillows were scattered, one on the floor, the sheet twisted, the duvet half hanging off the side. One of her earrings glinted on the bedside table beside a crumpled tissue, and my shirt was in a heap near the foot of the bed, one sleeve inside out. The room no longer felt anonymous. It felt used, lived in, as if the two of us had written ourselves into its fabric.
I shifted carefully, propping myself up a little. Mareike murmured something in her sleep and tightened her arm around my middle, her leg sliding more firmly between mine. The movement dredged up a few more memories. Her laughter against my mouth. The way she had said my name in that accented, breathless way when she stopped being careful about her English. The look she had given me when we finally let go.
A small, selfish satisfaction warmed my chest. I liked the evidence, the marks, the mess. I liked the quiet proof that last night had not been a polite detour but a full, deliberate step into something else.
Right behind that satisfaction came a thinner, sharper thread of guilt. It did not slice through everything, but it made itself known, like a stone in the shoe of my thoughts. Claire.
I closed my eyes for a moment and pictured the lift doors closing on her and Lukas. Her easy laugh, the slight flush in her cheeks, the way she had not looked back at the table as she walked away with him. At the time, I had tried to read it as trust, as freedom. She knew me. I knew her. We had built our affair on a foundation of small, careful lies to other people and a surprising amount of honesty between ourselves.
What was she waking up to now? An empty bed, or one that looked like mine. Was she lying somewhere along the hallway, his arm around her, the same tired ache in her muscles, the same mixture of glow and guilt curling through her chest? The idea did not sit neatly in one box. It bothered me and excited me in equal measure.
Mareike nuzzled closer, her lips brushing my skin in a sleepy, unconscious kiss. Her perfume, warm and slightly husky, rose again as she exhaled. I glanced down and noticed a faint smudge of her lipstick still at the base of my throat, a blurred print where her mouth had lingered. It would sit safely under my shirt for the rest of the day, our small, private graffiti.
I let my fingers drift lightly along her back, tracing the line of her shoulder blade, and felt her relax even further. For a few more minutes, I allowed myself to simply be there, suspended between satisfaction and unease, body humming from last night while my mind edged carefully toward the morning, toward breakfast, toward the moment Claire and I would look at each other and have to decide how much we wanted to know.
***
In Claire’s Room
I woke to silence and a sliver of light sneaking around the edges of the curtains. For a disorienting second, I thought I was at home, in my own bed, before the unfamiliar weight of the duvet and the faint scent of Lukas’s cologne on the pillow beside me reminded me where I was.
The other side of the bed was empty, the sheet still warm, but the impression of his body already beginning to ease out of the mattress. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling, ears tuned to the quiet of the room. No shower running yet, no clink of glasses. Just the slow thud of my heartbeat and the soft rustle when I shifted my legs under the covers.
That was when I felt it: a sweet, dull ache in places that did not usually complain after a day at a book fair. My thighs were heavy, my hips the slightest bit sore, as if they were reminding me of the different kind of work they had been doing. Everywhere Lukas had really touched me felt a little more awake, a little reluctant to go back to normal just yet.
I became very aware of my own skin. The sheet felt cool against it, the air on my shoulders almost indecent. I lifted my hand and let it drift down my side, fingertips brushing over a faint tenderness at my hip. When I pressed there gently, a small spark of sensation flared, and I realised there would probably be a mark later, hidden under my dress. The thought sent a quiet shiver through me.
The room felt different from how I had left it the evening before. It was subtle, but everything had shifted a little. My dress was draped over the back of the chair, not hung neatly. One of my shoes lay on its side near the end of the bed, abandoned halfway to where it was meant to go. The second pillow still carried the shape of his head, a flattened circle where his weight had been.
I turned onto my side and pulled that pillow closer, breathing him in. There was something dark and woody in his cologne, mixed now with the honest scent of sweat and skin. My body answered before my mind had quite caught up, a soft, remembered heat stirring low in my belly. Images flickered up, out of sequence. His mouth on my neck. The quiet sound he made when I tugged him closer. The moment when he had paused to ask if I was sure, and I had heard myself say yes without needing to think.
For a heartbeat, I thought of consequences, the way I used to. Then I remembered there were none left for me to carry. My husband had arranged that long ago, quiet signatures and a day in hospital that had ended with a nurse telling me it was all sorted now, no more “accidents”. Sometimes it still stung, the choice that had never really been mine. This morning, tangled in hotel sheets that smelled of Lukas, it felt almost like stolen use of something he had tried to close off.
Guilt padded in around the edges of those memories, not snarling, just present. I let it in. It seemed only fair. There was a man somewhere else in this hotel who had shared my bed more than once, who knew the way I liked to be kissed, who had learned the rhythm of my body over trips not unlike this one.
He would understand. He must. The thought rose up almost immediately, and I grabbed onto it a little too hard. If anyone knew how desire could blindside you, turn up in the wrong room with the wrong person, it was him. But then the doubt crept in. He hadn’t followed us to the lift. He had stayed at that table with Mareike, her laugh rich and low, her eyes a little too warm on him… and suddenly I wasn’t sure if last night had been something we were both doing, or if I had just quietly stepped over a line on my own.
A pulse of jealousy pricked at me, quick and bright, then dulled into something stranger, more complicated. Did I want him to be faithful to our infidelity? Or did some reckless part of me like the idea that we were both, for once, on level ground, each with our own secrets pressed into hotel sheets?
I rolled onto my back again and stared at the ceiling. The room was still. My body still hummed with the echo of Lukas’s hands, Lukas’s weight, Lukas’s voice close to my ear. At the same time, another presence sat just behind that, familiar and solid, the man I would be sitting opposite at breakfast, the one who could read me with one look across a crowded room.
What would I say to him? What would he say to me? Would we pretend nothing had shifted, or would there be a new space between us, charged and unspoken?
The door to the bathroom clicked softly then, and Lukas came back in, hair damp, wrapped in a white towel. He smiled when he saw me awake, easy and untroubled, as if last night had been the most natural thing in the world.
“Good morning,” he said. “You sleep well.”
“Apparently,” I replied, my voice softer than I intended.
As he crossed to where his clothes were draped over the chair, I let my eyes drift over him once, quickly, then away again. My body remembered him vividly. My mind tried to line things up, to decide what this meant, how it fit with the life I had been leading between motorways, book fairs and stolen hotel rooms.
He would understand, I told myself again. He had to. And if he did not, then the story we had been writing together might be closer to its final chapter than I wanted to admit.
Either way, breakfast was going to be interesting.
***
The Breakfast Room
Breakfast was in the same restaurant as the night before, but it felt like a different place. Daylight coming in through the big windows made everything look more honest, less forgiving. The clink of cutlery and low murmur of voices felt too loud to my ears, as if everyone ought to be able to hear the thudding guilt and satisfaction going on inside my chest.
Mareike walked beside me, not touching, but close enough that I could feel the warmth of her through my sleeve. She had left her hair loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and there was a small, faint mark on the side of her neck that made something in me quietly preen. I had checked my own reflection in the mirror before we came down. Shirt collar neat. Lipstick smudge gone. The mark at my throat sat safely under the fabric, our secret.
We paused at the entrance to the dining room. My eyes went straight to the tables by the window, and there they were. Claire and Lukas are already seated. They were side by side at the table, not opposite each other, both bent over their coffee cups, laughing at something private. Claire’s hair was pulled back in a quick, low knot, a style she usually reserved for tired mornings. Even from here, I could see the slight flush high on her cheeks, the softness around her eyes that spoke of very little sleep and none of it to do with insomnia.
She looked good. Really good. Used in every way a body is after a long, satisfying night. Her night, for once. I had only watched it happen in my head.
The realisation hit me low and heavy, a mix of pride, jealousy and something else that felt suspiciously like excitement. I felt Mareike glance at me and straighten.
“Shall we join them?” she asked.
There was no polite way to say no. I lifted my chin and forced a smile that felt more real with each step. “Of course.”
We walked over together. Claire looked up first. For a heartbeat, our eyes met, and there it was, the old familiarity, the shared understanding of too many hotel mornings. Only this time, there was a new layer resting on top of it, thin and shimmering. Her gaze flicked once to Mareike, then back to me. If she was searching my face for clues, she did not let it show.
“Looks like you two are ahead of us,” I said lightly, nodding at the half-finished plates, the joke sitting close enough to last night to make it interesting.
“You were late,” Lukas replied, his mouth curving just a fraction. “We thought perhaps you had a busy night.”
The words were innocuous enough. His tone, however, made Mareike’s lips twitch. Claire looked quickly down at her coffee, but I saw the tiny, betraying smile that pulled at the corner of her mouth.
“Something like that,” I said.
Lukas gestured to the empty chairs. “Please, sit. There is still plenty of food. The croissants are decent here.”
We left Mareike’s bag on the floor and went to the buffet, a small mercy away from direct scrutiny. From the corner of my eye, I watched Claire move with the faint stiffness of someone whose body had recent, pleasant complaints; when she leaned for a piece of fruit, there was a tiny hitch in her breath. No one else would have noticed. I did.
Beside me, Mareike picked up a small selection of things, seemingly at random. Her wrist brushed mine as she reached for the tongs, and our eyes met over the plates. For a heartbeat, the room noise dropped away, and all I could see was her from last night, hair loose, mouth open on my name. My body answered with a quiet, treacherous thump. I cleared my throat and grabbed the nearest bread roll just to give my hands something to do.
When we returned to the table, Claire had shifted slightly closer to the wall, leaving space between herself and Lukas. A polite distance. The problem was, now that I knew what that body had been doing a few hours earlier, even the distance felt charged.
“So,” Mareike said, unfolding her napkin with delicate fingers, “did you two sleep well?”
She asked it innocently, almost sweetly. It was a lethal question.
Claire’s eyes flicked to mine for only a second. There was a flash of something there, almost like a dare, before she looked at Mareike instead.
“Eventually,” she replied, her tone light. “It took a while to wind down.”
Lukas gave a low chuckle. “The bed was comfortable,” he added. “Very… accommodating.”
Mareike bit into her croissant to hide a smile. Under the table, her knee brushed my leg in a way that was not accidental. My fork hesitated halfway to my mouth as every part of me rewound that simple sentence with Lukas in it, imagining exactly how accommodating that bed had been.
“And you?” Claire asked, turning the question back at us. “Good night?”
The opening was offered with a small, bright smile that did not quite reach her eyes.
I held her gaze, feeling the weight of everything we were not saying press into the space between us.
“Yes,” I said. “Surprisingly good.”
For the first time in all our trips together, I did not follow it with a wink, a private reference, a promise to tell her everything later. Instead, I let the answer hang there. Her eyes softened for a fraction of a second, something like understanding passing through them, and then she looked away, reaching for her coffee.
The conversation slipped back to the fair – schedules, meetings, stands we wanted to visit. On the surface, it was all business again. Underneath, the current ran strong.
Every now and then, Lukas and Claire would share a brief, almost absent smile over something only they had heard. It was small, quick, but every time it happened my chest tightened and loosened at once. I knew that look. I had been on the receiving end of it often enough.
Alongside me, Mareike crossed her legs, the movement slow and unconscious. Her skirt rode up just a little, and my mind betrayed me, dropping last night in front of my eyes like a film clip. The angle of her thigh over mine. The way she had gripped me when things finally tipped over the edge. Heat crawled up the back of my neck. I took a sip of orange juice and found it suddenly too sweet.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly, her voice pitched so only I could hear.
“Fine,” I murmured. “Just thinking about the day.”
“I am sure it will be busy,” she said, and there was that small, knowing note again. “Good thing we had some exercise.”
I nearly choked. Lukas glanced up, curious, and Mareike only smiled innocently and reached for the jam.
We finished breakfast slowly. Plates emptied, cups refilled. Small talk, easy laughter. On the outside, we were just four professionals at the start of a long day at a fair. Inside, every look and gesture was carrying twice its usual weight.
As we finally stood to leave, Claire came around the table, her hand brushing my arm. It lingered for half a second more than it needed to. I looked up at her. Up close, I could see the faint shadow of tiredness under her eyes, the softness in them that had nothing to do with sleep.
“You good?” I asked quietly.
“Yes,” she said. “You?”
“Yes.”
For the first time in a long time, that single word between us carried entire stories we had not told each other. She gave a small nod, as if we had just agreed on something important, and stepped away to join Lukas.
Mareike stood at my side, her fingers brushing mine in a light, fleeting contact that promised more without spelling it out. As we all walked out of the restaurant together, splitting naturally back into our pairs, I felt the strange, heady mix of jealousy, pride and arousal settle into something else.
Whatever the trip had planned for us, it was clear that breakfast was only the beginning.
Next stop was Milano
