The second time was on purpose.

I looked for him. Searched for him. At the bar … I stayed at the bar for hours and hours until it emptied and closed. The bartender did not recognize me. I'm sure that mine is not a face meant to be memorable. He smiled at me softly, knowing that I was not drunk and sensing that I was just lonely, so I left my money on the counter for him, grateful for the smile and the fact that he did not remember from the last time. I stood and left the bar, down the long street with the tall street lights that turned his hair from silver to gold and back again.

I walked until I reached a building. It stood tall in the darkness, a pillar of security with its heavy doors and state of the art security system. I stood outside of the building feeling lesser of myself as the minutes passed by as I waited for something to happen. Anything. For him to sense me there and come to me.

Finally, a man staggered out of the shadows from around the block and went through those heavy glass doors. I watched silently as he fumbled with himself, stuffing his hands into his pockets and pushing them through his hair and keeping them moving no matter what. Eventually, he retrieved a key and managed to punch a few numbers into a keypad and was through the door. My body was already moving before my mind was made up. I was in the building, holding onto the door and glancing nervously at the sleeping form of the silver-haired security guard at the front desk.

I jerked violently at a cough from the drunken man as he disappeared into the darkness of a hallway and I swallowed, gulped really as I carefully made my way to the elevator.

It opened immediately; I stood in it and hesitated to push a button even as the doors closed.

I had a meeting sometime in the afternoon. I was to meet with a man that was willing to advertise for my London-based security company here in Ireland. I had spent the entire morning of the previous day on the phone with him discussing our plans for the next day. This day. But it was still early morning. No light outside. Dawn was hours away. And he was just upstairs.

I pushed the button.

The hallway was longer and brighter than I remembered it to be, perhaps because I did not have the distraction of him with me. I found his door and I stood before it, my hand lifted, my heart beating fiercely. My mouth was dry, I didn't think I was breathing and I knocked.

The knock was soft, giving me the chance to bolt if he didn't answer, but – even as I began to back away – I heard shuffling behind the door and fixed my gaze to the peephole where I knew he was looking. The door swung open and he stood before; an angel in a white sheet … Just as I had left him.

In the light, his hair was blond and his eyes were grey and his skin was a pale as the sheet he clutched around his naked body, but his thin lips were red, dark red. Like the mark on his neck.

"Harry," he whispered softly, his eyes looking me up and down as if I really was not myself and just a figment of one of our imaginations. "You came back."

"Yes," I replied softly, my hands twitching where I left them to hang awkwardly at my sides. He turned his head slightly so that half of his face was incased in the darkness of his apartment, his angelic features sliding so easily into the exotic demon I had originally idealized him as.

"Do you … Come in," he whispered, stepping back from the door and letting me pass him. His place, large and filled with muted colors and tasteful furniture, was only lit by the moonlight that the blinds filtered in and it did not smell as it did when I was there last. I sat on a long white couch and stared at him as he looked at me strangely from the doorway. His expression turned stony for a moment before he turned to close the door. Before the lighting changed from his actions, however, I noticed a leather coat on the couch opposite from mine. He noticed where my eyes were and wrapped the sheet tighter around himself. "I'll tell him to leave."

"You don't have to if you don't w –"

"I do," he said sharply. "I do … Wait."

He disappeared into the back of his apartment, his bedroom and I sat and waited. He arrived in less than a minute, followed by a tall man with skin as dark as the shadows surrounding us. He glared at me before snatching his coat from the back of the couch and marching out the apartment; his only farewell was the slamming of the door behind him.

My demon huffed softly before dropping down, listlessly, onto the couch opposite from the one I occupied. He stared down at his hands. "Do you want a drink?"

"No."

"Chocolate?" he asked softly and I could feel his soft smile through the darkness.

"No," I replied softly and he chuckled to himself.

"Anything?"

"Music?"

He stood and crossed behind the couch swiftly, the light sheets twirling around him, making him look ghostly. Soft music filled the room; the throaty, tormented song from the first time I was in this place.

"You like this song?"

"It makes me think of you, Harry."

"Do you listen to it often?"

He turned to me and stared at me, his demon eyes catching the scarce light from the outside and glowing at me. He moved back around the couch and walked to me. His sheet dropped to the ground and he straddled my lap.

The kiss was not gentle by any means. I'm sure it hurt his mouth as much as it hurt mine, but it did not stop him from gripping my jacket with strong fingers or whimpering in the sweet way in which he was inclined to. It did not stop me from running my hands down his naked back and cupping his behind. It did not stop us from seeking out deeper kisses.

Eventually, the kisses became gentle and, eventually, they stopped all together, leaving us staring in wonder at one another.

"Harry …" I did not reply, but I don't believe that he wanted me to. He merely licked his lips and lifted a hand to push the hair from my face. The look in his eyes was sentimental as he stared at me; my nose, my eyes, my lips, my scar. After tucking a lock behind my ear, his fingers fond my scar and traced it. "I never noticed it."

"I usually hide it."

"Mmm," he hummed before pushing himself forward, his naked chest pressed firmly to the front of my shirt, his heat seeping through the fabric. I felt his lips brush against my scar and I closed my eyes. He pulled back slightly, giving himself enough room to take off my glasses, and kissed the scar again. His kisses lowered down my face until he reached my mouth. His arms wrapped around my neck loosely, I could feel the frames of my glasses pressing against my neck as my mouth worked against his. His arms tightened with each whimper or moan he gave me until he was pulling me against him. My back was no longer pressed against the back of the couch and somehow his legs had gotten around my waist and he squeezed those tightly, as well.

My fingers traced the crease of his behind. A finger dipped into him. He groaned and rolled his hips so I pushed it deeper. He was slick and already stretched. I pushed two more fingers into him.

"God!" he said. "God!" he cried out. "God," he whispered.

He reached between us, past where he was wet for me. His hands were on my belt buckle and, deftly, he released me. He rocked slowly back and forth between my fingers and my need, his demon eyes clenched tightly as his breathing picked up.

"Please, Harry."

My hand, the one not inside of him, fumbled to press into my pocket and pull out the foil packet I had placed inside earlier. He took the packet I held up and ripped it open with his teeth. He quickly, efficiently, covered me, stroking me appreciatively as he did.

"Now, Harry."

"Lift up." He arched his back, pressing himself against my stomach, skimming his wet tip up from my navel.

"Harry."

My fingers slipped from him and I gripped myself, held myself still until I could position him. He lowered onto me slowly, his face a range of expressions, but those demon eyes closed off from me. Finally, thankfully, when we were as close as we could possibly get, his eyes opened. He kissed me softly and leaned away before I could deepen it. His hands found a place on each of my knees and he leveraged himself forward and up. He dropped with a moan and repeated the action, leaving me to watch over and over as his heat devoured me over and over again.

He threw his head back and moaned my name into the darkness. He almost bucked off of me several times. I lifted my hands to his waist, lowered them slightly until I was gripping his hips as if my life depended on it. His legs, which had been hanging loosely around my waist lifted until his feet were pressing the back of the couch, helping him to push away from me as the hands on my knees helped him to push back into me.

"Harry!"

I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of his voice, the pitch of his growing cries, as I pressed into him over and over again. He was so gloriously hot. So beautifully tight. Utter perfection as we moved against one another faster and harder as we further lost seconds of time with one another.

"Harry! GOD! HARRY!" he screamed, literally screamed. I opened my eyes to see his Adam's apple jerk violently in his throat. His head was still thrown back and he blindly lifted one hand from my knee to grip the forearm of one of the hands that was gripping his hip. He bellowed his pleasure into the room, his voice echoing either through the apartment or through my mind and he jerked backwards so suddenly, I barely caught him in time.

Soft growls escaped the back of his throat as his arms went around me. His face, wet with sweat, tears, I'm not sure, pressed into my neck as he begged me not to stop yet. I pressed into him over and over again, kissing his temple, moaning into his silver hair. He was trembling all over and whispering all the while, "Harry. Harry. Harry."

*

The sun was rising and I was still there.

I faced the window, on my side, as a slight breeze entered the open frame as the sunshine would soon threaten to. The sky was still a combination of black and blue, but in the bruised sky floated clouds of the purest white warmed underneath by amber rays of the morning sun. The higher I looked, the more the night retreated and the shorter the time I got to just lay there beside him became.

I sat up and swung my legs over the bed, settling my feet on the soft, pale carpet and staring down at the space between them. My wedding ring caught the light and I frowned at it. We had sex twice this night; the second time in his bed. It was less rushed, more exploring, and the climax was not as amazing as the first … But it was still so much better than anything I had ever had. I spun the gold band around my finger with my thumb and thought back to that second time. He seemed as if he wanted to know every part of me. I still don't know his name. He took a long time examining my hands, tracing them with him long, slender fingers, testing how they felt on certain body parts of his. When his fingers had traced over my wedding band, my heart leapt up into my throat and his eyes closed and I expected … something, but got nothing. He kissed the back of my hand and moved on.

Before long, I found myself standing, naked, before the open window. I stared out at the river Liffey and the rising sun that mocked the time I ached to keep. Then I closed the window and pressed my forehead to the glass.

And soon, I felt his chest against my back. And his lips against my neck.

And his hands spread like his fingers were wildfire and my body was the submissive, giving brush and I leaned back into him and wished to forget everything.

"Do you want to forget me, too?" he asked as his nose rubbed against the hair at the nape of my neck.

"Never." His kisses migrated to the back of my ear, his lips surrounded my earlobe, sucked at it. I threw myself at his mercy. I wanted nothing more than his touch. Nothing more that to know that he wanted me almost as much as I wanted him. I wanted to cry when he placed his fingers against my entrance.

My eyes opened and widened and stared into his and his stared into mine in the reflection of the window. He pulled away and returned to where he left me, placing on the sill a tube and a foil packet and I nodded and his fingers returned. I pressed my forehead against the window once more as he pressed his own between my shoulder blades.

"We have to take it slowly, Harry," he whispered into my skin. "I don't want to hurt you … or scare you … It feels so right, so good … I'll make you feel good."

I was already feeling good; my body was on fire, trembling with pleasure just from the knowledge of where his fingers were. They traced me slowly, circling the ridge until every stimulating touch resulted in my gasp of air. One finger sunk into me and I never shall forget the feeling … so strange, so intriguing. I wanted more and I pushed this fear of something new out of my mind in order to grasp what I wanted. I would never be scared of this man … at least not in this way. Not physically.

"Four fingers," he whispered in wonder to my neck a bit later, his warm breath brushing against the skin and the raised hair. Those four fingers felt so much better than the three he had announced and the two and the one. His slick hand sunk into me, taking to a plane I had never known existed and it felt so … good. A whimper hit the air as he prodded that spot, the one that seemed so deep inside me … the one that made me want to arch up yet collapse at the same time … the one that had me leaking.

His fingers then left me and I watched the slickened digits reach around me and take the foil packet from the sill. I pressed my face against the cool window once more and caught sight of light bouncing, shimmering off of glittering water before I closed my eyes and allowed him to show me light once more.

I didn't ask for a name to cry out.

*

Afterward, I both wanted to stay forever and I wanted to leave.

One would think it was bittersweet, this adultery thing, but it varies from day to day. It still felt amazing in this moment. It still tasted delicious and I was ravenous for it. Perhaps, a week from now, this taste would spoil in my mouth and the guilt would eat at me and I would purge this from my mind only to remember it wistfully during a drive to work … or at a dinner party … or while making love to my wife.

He tasted like chocolate once more as I kissed him for which I both loathed to be and wished to be the last time. I felt so ugly as I kissed him … and exposed. His arms wrapped around my neck to pull me closer and I felt wonderful.

He was still naked and was standing bare before me in his living room, forgoing the pretense of needing to wear even a sheet. I stroked my hands down his sides, enjoyed his shivers for a bit, and finally dragged myself away to open the door. The bright light of the hall burst into the room, hard and cruel, unlike the soft morning light that filtered through the dressed windows. I turned away from the harsh light and looked at him. I froze as I took every inch of him in; his face was angelic and beautiful, but his body was covered in my marks, revealing both his demonic nature and mine into the light. I turned away from him. I wanted to further move, but I didn't.

So I stood there, his questioning demon eyes only building upon the weight on my back as I stood, poised, in the doorway, half in the darkness and half in the light. I turned my head in his direction, but did not look at him, but past him, towards the sunrise muted by his thick, sheer curtains. He wanted me to stay. He refused to ask me to. Absolutely refused, but the question still hung in the air along with the scent, the musk of the events of hours prior. I finally turned my gaze to him and saw that he was looking past me.

To the hall.

I looked down; I was literally standing with one foot in and one out and my decision could either change everything or effect nothing and I thought of her ... but I looked at him ... and I closed my eyes.

After a final, deep breath, I made my move and shut the door behind myself.

*

Author's Note: This story is listed under complete because, in a way, it is. However, I may continue adding more chapters to it. It's just one of those kinds of stories, you know? -DMH