He’s the most sinful…

He knew I’d come.

This is the dance we do.

I pretend not to notice him all night behind cordial greetings and fake smiles as I stand next to Rafi, gleaming over compliments about our new place or laughing when someone retells a story from college. Ones I’ve heard a million times over, but there’s comfort in that.

In the ability to exist on autopilot because all the while, I’m pretending not to notice him.

I’ll even lie to myself so convincingly… that trying to will myself not to make an excuse to leave or suddenly fall ill with a headache won’t seem false.

It won’t be selfish or cruel. It’ll just be the wine or my allergies.

And yet, I know he knew I’d be right here. Standing in this dimly lit bedroom, chest rising and falling so succinctly, it’s begging to be touched.

He knew I’d come.

My breath hitches, head turning only enough for my chin to line up with my shoulder.

“We need to talk,” I breathe out.

He says nothing as his hands unclasp from behind his head, and those unmerciful brown eyes bore into mine.

Because nothing needs to be said.

It’s just another lie I told myself.

He pushes off the wall walking past me as quiet acquiescence settles over my bones.

I know he feels it, too, because it doesn’t matter what I did or told myself. I knew I’d be right here in the place I shouldn’t. With a man who’s forbidden.

The creak of the door drags through the silence, mimicking what my heart sounds like living in the life I know before the click of the lock jumpstarts it again.

“This is the last time,” I lie, already hungry for the next.

But he says nothing until his fingers dip under the thin strap of my dress, skating it down over my shoulder.

“You tell my brother we’re only getting started.”