The restaurant was dimly lit, the soft glow of candles casting flickering shadows across the faces of my friends. Among them was a couple I had known for a long time, their presence always comforting, familiar. But tonight, something felt different.

I couldn’t help but notice the way he looked at me, his eyes following my every move. It wasn’t the first time I had felt his gaze linger a little too long, but tonight, it seemed more intense, more deliberate. His wife, blissfully unaware, sat beside him, engaging in light conversation with the others.

As the evening wore on, I felt his hand, gentle but purposeful, brush against my knee under the table. My heart skipped a beat, and I glanced at him, my mind racing. His expression remained neutral, but there was a glint in his eye that told me everything.

I should have pulled away, but I didn’t. Instead, I allowed his hand to inch up, the heat of his touch sending a thrill through me. There was something intoxicating about the danger of it all, the way he could be so bold with his wife sitting just inches away. It was as if we were playing a secret game, one that only we understood.

I knew it was wrong, but in that moment, I didn’t care. The excitement, the risk — it was addictive.