I should have known this would go wrong. The thought shoots through my head as I see Lukas leaning against the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid like liquid fire in the neon sign’s glow. He’s barely changed in five years—still that impenetrable calm, that look that strips you bare without you noticing, that creeps under your skin like slow poison. I pause, my heart pounding against my ribs, hard and fast, and I wonder if I should turn back. But my feet carry me forward as if they have a life of their own, as if they already know what I refuse to admit to myself.
“Marlene.” He says my name as if tasting it, savoring every word, letting the syllables melt on his tongue. I saunter over, my handbag clutched tight, knuckles white, nails buried deep in the soft leather. My husband Markus is on a business trip; I treated myself to a night out—and walked right into the trap. Or maybe I’m the hunter disguised as prey, the bait that bites itself.
“Lukas.” I sit on the barstool next to him. The space between us is just a hand’s breadth, but the air crackles with tension, heavy and electric, like before a storm. The bartender nods at me, I order a dry martini, my voice steadier than I feel. Lukas’s gaze drifts slowly over my dress, which I put on deliberately because I knew I might run into him. It’s low-cut, red like a warning, like a stop sign I’m ignoring. I don’t want to admit I hoped to see him here. But the truth is: I dolled myself up, stood in front of the mirror longer than necessary, curled my hair because he liked curls, because I remembered his fingers buried in them.
“You look fantastic,” he says, and I feel that tingle I know so well from before. It runs down my spine, settles in my belly, a fluttering, hot thing. Back then, when we spent hours tangled in bed, when I thought he was the one. But he was never the one, just the wrong man at the wrong time. Still—his gaze is like a spell that sucks me in, that smothers every sensible impulse inside me.
“Thanks. You too.” I sip my martini. The olive floats in the clear drink, and I stare at it as if it’s the center of my life. The vodka burns on my tongue, a pleasant pain that grounds me for a moment. Lukas laughs softly, a deep sound that echoes in my belly, that feels like a promise between my legs.
“Still so nervous? You’re trembling.” He places his hand on mine, and I let him. His fingers are warm, rough, with calluses on the tips that dig into my soft skin. He works construction, his grip firm, reassuring, demanding. Markus has soft hands, office hands, always groomed, always controlled. I’m ashamed of the comparison, but the thought is already there, uninvited, and it makes me wet.
“I’m not nervous. Just surprised.” I try to smile, but my lips are dry. I lick them, and Lukas’s eyes follow the movement, dark and hungry, like a predator locking onto its prey.
“Surprised I’m still alive? Or that I still desire you?” His voice is barely a whisper, but every word hits me like a blow, right between my legs. I look at him, and in his dark eyes is something that makes me weak. No game, no coquetry. Just naked desire, raw and unvarnished. He leans in, his mouth close to my ear, his breath hot on my skin, and I feel the hairs on my neck stand up.
“I never stopped thinking about you, Marlene. Every night. I miss you.”
I close my eyes. The drink is strong, but not strong enough to drown out the voice in my head that says: Stop, go home. But my body says something else. My body remembers his hands, his mouth, the first time he pressed me against the wall and I knew I was lost. I feel a pull between my legs, a wet warmth spreading, soaking the fabric of my panties.
“I’m married,” I whisper, but it doesn’t sound like a rejection. It sounds like an apology, a cry for help, a last rebellion of reason. Maybe I want him to save me. Or to ruin me, break me, make me whole again.
“I know. But this is just a drink, right?” He waves at the bartender, orders two more without asking me. I finish the martini quickly, as if I could numb myself, the cold glass against my lips a faint comfort. The olive falls onto my plate, a small, green reproach. Lukas is silent, but his leg presses against mine, the denim of his jeans rubbing against my bare skin, and I feel every fiber, every movement, every twitch of his muscles. Our bodies speak a language that doesn’t need words.
After the second drink, he kisses me. Just like that. Right in the middle of the bar. His mouth is warm, demanding, and I taste whiskey and something that tastes like longing, like five years of yearning. I return the kiss, brief, intense, but when I try to pull away, he holds me tight, sucks on my lower lip, bites gently until I let out a soft moan. Then I pull back, breathless, my heart racing.
“Not here,” I say. My voice is hoarse, rough with desire, barely recognizable. My nipples are hard, rubbing against the silk of my dress, every breath a torment.
“I know a hotel. Two streets over.” His hand is on my thigh, pushing the hem of my dress up, higher, until it meets bare skin. His fingers trace circles, slow, agonizingly slow, and I tremble, my whole body shuddering under his touch.
I nod. Reason has long since flown out the window, replaced by a pull that drags me deeper, a whirlpool of heat and guilt. We pay, step out onto the street. The night air is cool, but I’m hot, my blood pulsing, throbbing in my core. Lukas takes my hand, and we walk side by side, silent, our steps in sync. The hotel is small, nondescript, a neon sign flickering, red like my dress, red like a sin. He checks in without hesitation, slips the porter a bill that disappears into his pocket. I stay in the background, the hood of my coat pulled low over my face, but I’m sure the man knows what’s happening here. It’s written all over us.
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