A/N: You sordid, cheeky bitches!

At the end of the day, it is only the darkness that matters. The visions and images of the day are lost in the slumber that night brings.

It is the polar opposite for me.

Night is the moment that the world comes alive. Everything before that is just the pale imitation of what those moments can offer. I indecently yearn for those stolen sensations from him.

…….

The nothingness of the empty room envelops me in its claustrophobic embrace. I sit in my armchair and reach for my next cigarette, the next in a long line of many, in these so few minutes. I had given up on pacing and have ended up sitting here in the dark, defeated. Waiting. Always waiting. I am the one who waits nowadays, who anticipates, who wants, who needs. I am doing the things that she has already broken free from.

The room is cold, but I sit here still. It has been four months since our first encounter. They were frequent at first, almost scheduled - yet still maintaining an air of spontaneity – so as to avoid any suspicion from Ella's behalf. My beautiful Ella. Soon we became more daring, more risqué to use the word. Spontaneous occasions in places where there was a high and likely chance that we would be caught. It only added to the excitement and forbidden nature of what we were doing.

I had never cheated on Ella before this. I cannot fully explain why I am doing this now and with her. This has nothing to do with her. She is not particularly beautiful or distinguishable from the rest. She has nothing to offer me besides the obvious, and even that I am sure I can get it better from the myriad of other women available to me. I see the way they look at me and know that I only have to show an iota of interest back, to get them into bed. But she was there and willing at the right time and place. It was all I needed.

I love Ella with the same intensity and passion as when we first got married. Nothing has changed between her and I. It is just that lately, I have been bored with life. Discontent. Always looking for the next best thing around the corner. Life is a series of explorations and discoveries. This is just the next one.

I get up and decide that I am the one who has to make the move tonight. For she will not be coming to my door. Again. I knock on her door and she answers it almost straightaway. At first, she looks surprised and scared. Always scared. But at what I am not quite clear on. Her expression becomes resigned, but she steps back to let me in nonetheless. I study her openly, a trait that disconcerts most others, and she is no exception. She rarely, if ever, looks up into my eyes and when she does, flinches. I wonder what she sees and finds in them that makes her react in such a way. What does she see in my soul that repulses her so?

As I close the door behind us, she moves to close the curtains around the place, but I quickly come up behind her. She is the one who is enclosing us in this room, to prevent any sign of our indiscretion from inadvertently leaking out. She is the one who cocoons us in our own little, sordid world. She is surprised and startled when I envelop her tiny body with my arms and kiss her neck. After all this time, she is still as responsive to my caresses as ever. I smirk into the delicate curve of her shoulder as she tries to move away, pushing my arms away from around her waist, but without much conviction. I gently lead her to the bedroom and she struggles from me to shut off the lights. I look into her eyes wonderingly, but she avoids my gaze, mumbling that she wants it this way. I accede to this small request, but it hurts a large part of me to know that she doesn't want this to be with me anymore. The irony is that I don't want this to be with her either.

Our encounter is quick, hard and almost animalistic. It is only during these times that the fearful mask drops from her face, contorted as it is with equal parts pain and pleasure, screaming incoherently, my name making repeated appearances in these vocalisations.

She gets up to get dressed almost as soon as we have finished, wanting to sever any connection that might arise between us. It is an effective tactic that works, and I both commend and hate her for it.

She leaves for the bathroom, expecting me to be gone by the time she emerges. I comply wholeheartedly.

As I take a shower in my own bathroom, I scrub to erase the feel of her on me. The light, feathery, hesitating touches of those soft fingertips of hers. Try as I might, as hard and best I can, I cannot do it. Her inexperience, and innocence; her expressions, the sounds she makes, even the way she smells – all of this cannot be erased away. It is now a part of me as much as ever.

I can't stop. I want to stop, but I know I won't or can't. It is a weakness that for now, I am willing to abide by.

Come on…review me, you know you want to.