Elena Cheats With Her Husband's Bull

The scent of lilies and damp soil clung to the warm afternoon air as Elena trimmed stems behind the counter of her flower shop. At thirty-two, she moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who had built her life around beauty and routine. Her sundress, a soft yellow cotton that clung to the swell of her breasts and the flare of her hips, was already sticking to her skin from the greenhouse heat. Her husband, David, had left three days ago for a week-long assignment in the mountains, leaving her alone with the shop and the adjoining photography studio that had once belonged to both him and his old partner.

The bell above the door hadn’t rung in over an hour. She was grateful for the silence until she felt it, that prickling awareness at the back of her neck. The darkroom door was cracked open just enough. Red light spilled out in a narrow blade across the floorboards. And in that crimson slit, she saw him watching her.

Marcus.

He leaned against the doorframe inside the darkroom, arms folded, the top three buttons of his black shirt undone. Even from across the room she could see the arrogant tilt of his mouth, the way his dark eyes dragged over her body like he had every right. He had always looked at her like that, since the day David had introduced them twelve years ago. Back then Marcus had been the wild, brilliant half of the photography duo, the one who took risks David never would. The one who made her thighs clench with a single mocking smile before she’d shoved the feeling down deep and married his best friend.

Now he was here, developing old film rolls while David was gone. The tension between them had never been spoken aloud, but it had thickened for years, growing heavier every time their eyes met over dinner parties and holidays. She pretended not to notice him now, focusing on the white roses in her hands, but her nipples had already tightened into aching points against the thin fabric of her dress.

Marcus didn’t move. He simply watched her arrange the flowers, his gaze hot enough to brand her. Elena’s breath grew shallow. She knew he could see the flush rising on her chest. She knew he was hard. The knowledge sent a rush of slick heat between her legs.

When she finally looked up, their eyes locked through the narrow opening. Neither smiled. The air felt charged, dangerous. Years of suppressed lust crackled between them like static before a storm.

Marcus stepped out of the darkroom.

His shirt hung open now, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the dark trail of hair that disappeared into his jeans. The red safelight painted his skin in sinful tones. He moved like he owned the place, like he owned her, stopping just on the other side of the counter.

“I need your help finding the acetic acid,” he said, voice low and rough. “Can’t remember where David keeps the fucking bottles.”