Temptation’s Grip

I sat on the edge of our bed, watching Sarah sleep. Her blonde hair spilled across the pillow, catching the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. She looked peaceful, her chest rising and falling gently under the thin sheet. My heart ached with love for her, but it was tangled with something else--guilt, sharp and twisting, gnawing at me from the inside. Last night, I'd lied to her again. Told her I was working late at the office. But instead, I'd been with Marcus, losing myself in a haze of lust that I couldn't seem to escape.

Sarah and I had been together for two years. We met in college, drawn to each other's laughter and shared dreams. She was my first serious girlfriend, and I'd fallen hard. I'm bisexual--always have been--and before Sarah, I'd dated both men and women. But with her, I thought I'd found everything I needed. Our sex life was electric at first, all fumbling passion and late-night explorations. Over time, though, it settled into something predictable. Comfortable, sure, but missing that raw, wild edge I craved. Lately, I'd been haunted by old fantasies--desires I'd buried since being with her. Desires for men. Specifically, black men. I couldn't explain it, not fully, but the thought of it lit something up inside me, a hunger I couldn't ignore.

That morning, as Sarah stirred and mumbled something sweet in her sleep, I forced a smile and slipped out of bed to get ready for work. I worked at a marketing firm downtown, and today we had a big meeting with a new client, Marcus Johnson. I'd seen his photo on his company's website--tall, dark-skinned, with a jawline that could cut glass and a smile that promised confidence. He was gorgeous, and I'd felt a flicker of something dangerous when I looked at him. But I told myself it was nothing. I was committed to Sarah. I had to be.

At the office, I threw myself into prep work, reviewing stats and slides. When Marcus walked into the meeting room, though, everything shifted. He was even more striking in person--six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, dressed in a tailored suit that hugged his frame. His voice was deep, smooth, commanding attention as he spoke about his tech startup. Our eyes met across the table, and I felt a jolt, like electricity sparking down my spine. I blushed and looked away, focusing on my notes, but I couldn't shake the heat creeping up my neck.

The meeting went well, and afterward, as my colleagues filed out, Marcus approached me. "Great presentation, Emily," he said, his smile warm and disarming. "You've got a real talent."

"Thanks, Mr. Johnson," I replied, trying to sound professional despite the way my pulse raced.

"Call me Marcus," he said, his eyes lingering on mine. "Hey, I'd love to talk more about your ideas. How about drinks tonight? Say, 7 PM at The Loft?"

I hesitated. It sounded like a business thing, but there was an undertone--a pull--that made my stomach flip. "Sure," I heard myself say. "That'd be great."

"Perfect. See you then." He flashed that smile again and left, leaving me standing there, heart hammering.

I texted Sarah: *Working late tonight--big project. Love you.* The lie tasted bitter, but I sent it anyway. Guilt twisted in my gut, but it was drowned out by a thrill I couldn't name.

That evening, I slipped into a black dress that clung to my curves--nothing too scandalous, but enough to feel sexy--and headed to The Loft. Marcus was already there, leaning against the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand. He looked me up and down as I approached, his gaze appreciative. "You look incredible," he said.

"Thanks," I murmured, sliding onto the stool next to him. We ordered drinks--gin and tonic for me--and started talking. Business at first, but it quickly turned personal. He told me about his travels, his ambitions, his life. I found myself laughing, relaxing, opening up about my own dreams. The air between us crackled.

"You're something special, Emily," he said after a while, his hand brushing mine on the bar. "Smart, beautiful. Sarah's lucky."

Her name jolted me, a reminder of reality. "Yeah, she's amazing," I said, but my voice wavered.

He noticed. "Everything okay with you two?"

I sighed, the gin loosening my tongue. "It's just... things have been stale. I love her, but it's not like it used to be."

Marcus leaned closer, his fingers grazing mine again. "Maybe you need something to shake things up."

His touch sent a shiver through me, and I didn't pull away. Our eyes locked, and then he was kissing me--slow at first, then hungry. I kissed him back, heat pooling low in my belly. When he whispered, "Come back to my place," I nodded, too caught up to think straight.

His apartment was sleek, modern, all glass and dark wood. The door barely clicked shut before we were on each other, hands frantic, mouths crashing. He lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist, and carried me to the bedroom. He set me down and peeled off my dress, his fingers deft and sure. I tugged at his shirt, revealing a chest sculpted with muscle, dark skin gleaming under the low light. My bra came off next, and he cupped my breasts, thumbs teasing my nipples into tight peaks. I gasped, arching into him.

"You're gorgeous," he murmured, his mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard. His tongue flicked against it, sending sparks straight to my core. I moaned, my hands sliding over his back, feeling the power in his frame.

He moved lower, kissing down my stomach, hooking his fingers into my panties and sliding them off. I lay back, legs parting, and he settled between them, his breath hot against my pussy. His tongue traced my slit, slow and deliberate, tasting me. I whimpered as he found my clit, circling it with maddening precision. He sucked gently, then harder, and I bucked against his mouth, my hands fisting in his hair.

"Oh God, Marcus," I gasped, already trembling.

He slid a finger inside me, then two, curling them to stroke that spot deep inside. My walls clenched around him, wet and desperate. He pumped his fingers, his tongue relentless on my clit, and I shattered, crying out as an orgasm ripped through me. My juices coated his hand, and he licked me through it, drawing out every shudder.

"Please," I panted when I could speak. "I need you."

He stood, stripping off his pants and boxers, and I stared, mouth dry. His cock was massive--nine inches, maybe more, thick and veined, the head glistening with precum. It was intimidating, but my pussy throbbed at the sight.

"Don't worry," he said, seeing my wide eyes. "We'll go slow."

He climbed over me, rubbing his cock against my slick folds. I was dripping, and he slid in easily at first, but as he pushed deeper, I felt stretched beyond anything I'd known. It hurt a little, a sharp sting, but it mingled with pleasure so intense I couldn't breathe.

"Fuck, you're big," I whimpered.

"Relax, baby," he soothed, kissing my neck. "You can take me."

He kept going, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt. I felt impaled, full in a way that made my head spin. He started moving, shallow thrusts at first, letting me adjust. The pain faded, replaced by a building ecstasy. I wrapped my legs around him, urging him deeper.

"Harder," I begged, and he obliged, his hips snapping against mine. Each thrust hit my cervix, a deep, primal jolt that made me moan louder. The bed creaked under us, the room filled with the sounds of our bodies--wet slaps, my gasps, his low groans.

He pulled out and flipped me onto my stomach, lifting my hips. He entered me from behind, and I screamed into the pillow as he drove even deeper. His hands gripped my ass, spreading me, and I felt exposed, owned. He pounded into me, relentless, and I came again, my pussy spasming around his cock.

"Ride me," he growled, lying back and pulling me on top.

I straddled him, guiding his cock back inside. It sank in easily now, my body molded to him. I rocked my hips, bouncing, feeling him hit every nerve. My breasts swayed, and he grabbed them, pinching my nipples. Another orgasm crashed over me, and I screamed his name.

He thrust up into me, his pace frantic, and then he grunted, pulling out at the last second. Hot cum splashed across my stomach, thick and white. We collapsed, sweaty and spent, my body humming with aftershocks.

"That was unreal," I whispered, curling against him.

"You're unreal," he replied, kissing my forehead.

But as we lay there, Sarah's face flashed in my mind--her trusting smile, her soft touch. Guilt crashed over me, heavy and suffocating. I'd cheated on her, crossed a line I couldn't uncross. Yet the memory of Marcus inside me, the pleasure he'd given me, kept the guilt at bay, at least for now.

"I should go," I said, sitting up.

"See you again?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, too quickly.

---

The next few weeks were a blur of stolen moments. I'd lie to Sarah--late meetings, client dinners--and meet Marcus at his place or a hotel. Each time, the sex was more addictive, more consuming. He'd bend me over tables, fuck me against walls, make me cum until I couldn't think. I'd suck his cock, gagging on its size, loving the way he groaned my name. He'd eat me out for ages, his tongue a weapon, leaving me a trembling mess. We used condoms sometimes, but often we didn't, the risk adding to the thrill.

Sarah noticed something was off. I'd come home distracted, quieter than usual. "You okay, Em?" she'd ask, her blue eyes searching mine.

"Just stressed," I'd lie, hating myself.

One night, she pressed harder. "You're always 'working late.' Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No, babe, I promise," I said, kissing her forehead. She let it drop, but doubt lingered in her gaze.

Then came the weekend Sarah was supposed to be away on a business trip. "Friday to Sunday," she said, packing her suitcase. "You'll survive without me?"

"I'll miss you," I replied, already texting Marcus: *She's gone all weekend. Come over Friday night.*

He arrived at our apartment with a bottle of wine, and we cooked together--pasta, laughing over spilled sauce. After dinner, the tension snapped. I dragged him to the bedroom--our bedroom, Sarah's and mine--and we stripped each other bare.

Marcus kissed me hard, his tongue claiming mine. He sucked my nipples until they ached, then shoved me onto the bed. I spread my legs, and he dove in, licking my pussy with that same relentless hunger. His fingers fucked me, three now, stretching me wide. I came fast, soaking his face, and he grinned, licking his lips.

"Turn over," he ordered, and I obeyed, ass up. He spanked me lightly, the sting making me wetter, then plunged into me. His cock felt bigger every time, splitting me open. He gripped my hips, slamming into me, my ass jiggling with each thrust. I screamed into the mattress, cumming again, my body shaking.

He flipped me onto my back, spreading my legs wide. "Look at me," he said, and I did, watching his dark eyes as he fucked me. His cock glistened with my juices, sliding in and out, the sight obscene and intoxicating. I clawed at his back, leaving red marks, urging him faster.

"Cum in me," I moaned, the words spilling out. I wasn't on the pill--hadn't been consistent lately--but I didn't care. I wanted it, the ultimate taboo.

"You sure?" he panted, slowing.

"Yes, please, fill me," I begged, locking my legs around him.

He groaned, thrusting deep, and I felt it--hot jets of cum flooding my pussy. It pushed me over the edge, my orgasm ripping through me, my walls pulsing around him, milking every drop. He collapsed on me, still inside, our breaths ragged.

"Fuck, Emily," he muttered, pulling out. Cum dripped from me, thick and warm, pooling on the sheets.

I lay there, buzzing, but then I heard it--a creak, a gasp. I turned my head, and there was Sarah in the doorway, her suitcase at her feet, her face pale.

"Sarah!" I scrambled up, yanking the sheet over me.

Marcus grabbed his clothes, mumbling, "Shit, I'm sorry," and bolted, dressing as he went.

Sarah stepped inside, tears streaming down her cheeks. "What the fuck, Emily? In our bed?"

"I'm so sorry," I sobbed, reaching for her. "I didn't mean--"

"Didn't mean to?" she snapped, pulling away. "I came home early--trip got canceled--and I find you fucking him? Some black guy with a huge dick?"

I flinched, shame burning my face. "I love you, Sarah, I swear. I just... I messed up."

She sank onto the bed, burying her face in her hands. "I watched you," she whispered. "I heard noises, looked in, and I couldn't stop watching. You screaming, him pounding you--it hurt, but... it turned me on."

I stared, stunned. "You... liked it?"

She nodded, voice breaking. "I don't get it. I'm so mad, but seeing you like that, so lost in it--I touched myself. Came while you did."

The confession hung between us, raw and confusing. "Sarah, I--"

"I need time," she cut me off, standing. "I'm staying at Jen's tonight. Don't call me."

She grabbed her bag and left, the door slamming behind her. I sat there, alone, the air thick with the scent of sex--Marcus's cum, my sweat, our sin. My hand drifted to my stomach, feeling the warmth of him still inside me. Had he gotten me pregnant? The thought terrified me, but it also sent a twisted thrill through my core.

I lay back, staring at the ceiling. I'd betrayed Sarah, chased my darkest desires, and now everything was unraveling. If I was pregnant, what then? Tell her? Tell Marcus? Lose them both? Or keep it secret, let it grow, a piece of him inside me forever?

Sleep took me eventually, but it was restless, haunted by Sarah's tears and Marcus's touch. My life was a mess, and I had no idea how to fix it--or if I even wanted to.