The drive to Eric’s house on Tuesday evening felt like a slow, agonizing march toward an inevitable cliff.
My hands gripped the leather steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned stark white.
With every kilometer I covered, my chest constricted further.
I kept reaching up at every red light to adjust the rearview mirror, compulsively checking my lipstick, smoothing down my hair, and straightening the hem of my fitted pencil skirt.
I repeatedly lied to myself, whispering under my breath that I was merely dressing professionally for a high-profile client.
But deep down, every erratic beat of my heart betrayed the lie.
I wasn’t just driving to a client’s house to measure rooms and take photographs.
I was walking back into a quiet, dangerous fire.
The lingering memory of Sunday night was still burning freshly in my mind.
Every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel the phantom weight of Tom’s hand sliding underneath my dress, the sharp, electricity-like shock that had traveled through my core when his middle finger slid inside me in Eric’s dimly lit powder room.
I could still hear the muffled moan I had tried so hard to swallow while Ethan fucked me from behind hours later, completely oblivious to the fact that his wife was reaching her climax by picturing another man’s face.
I pressed my foot harder on the gas pedal, trying to outrun my own shameful thoughts.
Stop it, Rain.
You love Ethan.
You are a married woman.
Sunday was a fluke—a wine-fueled mistake.
When I finally pulled up to the winding cobblestone driveway of Eric’s estate, the massive house looked deceptively peaceful against the backdrop of the fading orange twilight.
The grand windows reflected the dull sunset, giving the mansion an eerie, quiet atmosphere.
I parked my car, killed the engine, and sat in total silence for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of my own rapid breathing.
I reached for the passenger seat, clutching my heavy camera bag against my chest like a shield.
Stepping out into the cool evening air, I smoothed down my skirt one last time and forced my legs to walk toward the grand front entrance.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, my thumb hovering over the doorbell, before finally pressing it.
A few seconds later, heavy footsteps sounded from inside, and the massive oak door swung open.
Eric stood there, wearing a comfortable cashmere sweater, offering a warm, hospitable smile.
“Rain!
Excellent, you made it right on time.” “Hi Eric,” I replied, managing to force a polite, professional smile as I crossed the threshold into the grand foyer.
My eyes involuntarily scanned the deep shadows of the hallway behind him, half-expecting Tom to emerge from the dark.
“I brought the wide-angle lens and the laser measure for the hallway and the study corridors.” “Fantastic,” Eric said, turning to lead me through the foyer.
“Your ideas for the lighting layout from Saturday were brilliant, by the way.
I was telling the guys about it yesterday.” My heart did a quick, nervous flutter at the mention of ‘the guys,’ but I kept my composure.
“Thank you, Eric.
Proper lighting can completely transform a narrow hallway.” “Listen,” Eric continued, checking his watch with a slight frown.
“My accountant just called two minutes ago about an urgent tax filing.
I have to take this call in my office.
It shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes.
Feel free to set up your tripod and get started in the main corridor.
The lighting control panel is right next to the double doors.” “Oh, please take your time,” I said, breathing a quiet, genuine sigh of relief.
“I need a few minutes to calibrate the camera sensor anyway.” “Make yourself at home,” Eric nodded gratefully before turning down the west wing corridor, closing his heavy office door behind him.
The moment the latch clicked, the vast mansion fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
I pulled my heavy DSLR camera and aluminum tripod from the bag.
The air in the corridor was thick, carrying the subtle scents of polished mahogany, old leather-bound books, and expensive vintage wine.
I set up the tripod near the center of the hallway, adjusting the height legs with meticulous precision, trying desperately to occupy my mind with technical details.
ISO 400.
Aperture f/4.
Exposure two seconds.
I repeated the settings in my head like a mantra, trying to drown out the sudden throbbing heat between my thighs.
Click.
The camera shutter echoed unnaturally loud in the empty corridor.
I leaned down, staring into the digital viewfinder to assess the lighting balance.
I was so consumed by the framing that I didn’t notice the faint sound of the grand front door clicking open and softly shutting again.
It was only when the quiet, deliberate sound of dress shoes began clicking against the hard oak floor that my entire body went rigid.
I didn’t turn around immediately.
I stood frozen over my camera, my pulse spiking so fast that I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.
The footsteps stopped directly behind me, close enough that I could smell the distinct, intoxication scent of sandalwood and expensive cologne.
“You left the front door unlocked, Rain,” a low, deep voice murmured softly near my ear.
I inhaled sharply, my fingers gripping the edge of the tripod until my nails dug into the metal.
It was Tom.
I slowly stood up straight, turning around to face him while keeping my camera body held firmly in front of my stomach like a protective barrier.
Tom was leaning casually against the hallway wall, looking infuriatingly handsome in a tailored navy blue suit, his top collar button undone and his tie slightly loosened.
His dark eyes were fixed on me, tracking the line of my neck down to my waist with an unhurried, possessive intensity that made my skin prickle.
“Tom,” I said, trying to project a firm, calm tone, though my voice betrayed me by coming out breathless and thin.
“I…
I thought Eric said you weren’t coming until much later.” “I decided to reschedule my evening,” Tom said smoothly, pushing off the wall and taking a slow, deliberate step toward me.
His hands were tucked casually into his trousers pockets.
“I had a feeling you’d be here working alone.” “Eric is in his office right now,” I said quickly, taking a small step back until the back of my calf hit the metal tripod leg.
“He’s just taking a quick business call.
He’ll be out any second.” Tom didn’t stop moving.
He closed the remaining space between us until he was standing barely six inches away.
The heat radiating from his broad frame was overwhelming, instantly triggering a vivid, uncontrollable flashback of his hot breath against my neck in the powder room, his fingers sliding mercilessly into my wet center while people chatted just outside the door.
My core tightened violently, a sudden, heavy wave of heat pooling directly between my legs.
I hated myself in that moment.
I hated how instantly my body betrayed my mind the second he stepped into my personal space.
“Let him take his time,” Tom whispered, his gaze dropping slowly to my lips before rising back to hold my eyes captive.
“You look breathtaking tonight, Rain.
The pencil skirt is a lovely choice…
though, to be completely honest, I preferred how you looked on Sunday when your dress was pulled up around your waist.” “Tom, stop,” I pleaded softly, placing my palm against his crisp shirt chest to push him back, but my arm had no strength behind it.
My hand remained resting over his steady heartbeat.
“You can’t talk to me like this.
You can’t do this here.
Ethan—” “Ethan isn’t standing in this hallway,” Tom interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously quiet.
He raised his hand, his warm, rough fingers gently brushing against the side of my neck, tracing a slow line down my collarbone.
A sharp shudder ran straight down my spine, making my knees feel weak.
“And judging by how hard your heart is pounding under my hand right now,” Tom added, his thumb lightly caressing the hollow of my throat, “I don’t think you truly want me to stop either.” His touch sent a violent jolt of electricity straight to my core.
I instinctively squeezed my thighs together, biting my lower lip to stifle the soft moan threatening to escape my throat.
The heat between my legs was unbearable now, drenching me in evidence of my own betrayal.
I was drowning in a sickening ocean of guilt, yet the sheer thrill of being pinned against my own tripod by Tom—with my husband’s friend just a few thin walls away—was intoxicating beyond reason.
“We shouldn’t…
we can’t do this,” I whispered, though my body leaned imperceptibly closer into his warmth.
“You said the exact same thing on Sunday,” Tom murmured, his lips hovering a fraction of an inch from mine.
His thumb reached up to slowly trace my swollen lower lip, applying just enough pressure to part my mouth.
“Right before you opened your mouth and wrapped your tongue around mine.” “That was…
I was drunk, Tom,” I gasped, my chest heaving against his chest.
“I wasn’t thinking straight.” “You’re not drunk tonight, Rain,” he whispered, his hand slipping down from my neck, sliding over my shoulder, and tracing the curve of my waist with absolute possession.
“And yet, here you are, trembling under my hands, soaking wet for me while your client is in the next room.” My breath hitched.
He knew.
He could tell exactly what his presence was doing to me.
“I’m going to step into the study at the end of the hall,” Tom continued, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my knees wobble.
His voice dropped to a command, low and thick with promise.
“In ten minutes, after Eric finishes his call, I want you to walk into that study to take ‘measurements’.” “And if I don’t?” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of defiance and desperate desire.
Tom leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive shell of my ear, his hot breath making me shiver violently.
“If you don’t, I might just have to tell Eric how much you enjoyed my fingers inside you in his washroom on Sunday.
Or better yet…
I’ll mention it to Ethan the next time we grab a drink.” A cold spike of fear shot through my spine, instantly mingled with a dirty, forbidden jolt of arousal.
He was blackmailing me.
He was backing me into a corner, and the terrifying truth was that part of me had been praying for an excuse to yield to him all along.
Before I could formulate a reply, the distinct metallic click of a door handle echoed from the far end of the corridor.
Tom didn’t flinch.
With terrifying speed and smooth composure, he slipped his hand off my waist and took two casual steps back, turning his body toward the wall art just as Eric stepped out of his office, phone still in hand.
“Sorry about that delay, Rain!” Eric called out warmly, sliding his phone into his pocket as he walked toward us.
“Tax season is an absolute nightmare.” He paused, noticing Tom.
“Ah, Tom!
I didn’t hear you come in.” “The front door was unlatched, so I let myself in,” Tom replied effortlessly, offering Eric a relaxed, charming smile.
His posture was completely composed, looking every bit the refined gentleman—a stark contrast to the predator who had been threatening to ruin my life two seconds ago.
“Rain was just showing me the lighting angles for the corridor.” “Oh, wonderful,” Eric said, completely oblivious to the suffocating sexual tension radiating in the narrow hallway.
“Rain has fantastic vision for this place.” My face was burning hot.
I turned back to my DSLR camera, pretending to adjust the lens focus, though my hands were shaking so violently that the camera frame bounced up and down.
“I’m actually going to step into the study to check on those vintage oak cabinets I mentioned, Eric,” Tom said smoothly, glancing at his wristwatch before turning those dark, heavy eyes back onto me.
“Rain, once you’re finished with the corridor shots, you should bring your measuring tape in there.
I’d love your professional opinion on the layout.” The subtle threat behind his polished words was crystal clear.
“Good idea,” Eric agreed cheerfully, heading toward the kitchen.
“I’ll go pour us some of that red wine from Sunday.
Rain, take your time.” As Eric disappeared around the corner, Tom stood at the edge of the hallway for a single second longer.
He met my terrified, wide-eyed gaze, gave me a slow, deliberate smirk, and turned on his heel, walking silently down the dimly lit corridor toward the heavy wooden door of the study.
I stood completely alone in the hallway, clutching the cold metal of my tripod.
My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, and between my legs, I was burning up.
I looked down at my watch.
The ten-minute countdown had already begun.