Nearing the stroke of midnight, I slipped out the back door of the party seemingly unnoticed. I knew that if I was not home by 12:30 my husband was going to kill me. I did not see the man standing there nor did I hear his footsteps behind me.
I could feel the champagne warming my body as I drank from the glass you poured for me. We celebrated your return to me that weekend with a clink of our glasses as I leaned into you with a long, tender kiss, setting our drinks aside when that kiss grew more hungry. You'd been gone too long this time and I couldn't wait another second to feel your lips everywhere---anywhere---on my body. I pressed against you and my hair, slightly damp and smelling of shampoo, fell across your face as our lips and tongues hungrily explored one another's.