Secrets in the City Bar

**Chapter 1: A Dangerous Embrace**

I never thought I’d be the kind of woman to sneak around, to lie with a smile on my face. But here I am, sitting across from Mike at the City Bar, the dim lights casting shadows over his rugged jawline as he talks about his parents’ declining health. His voice cracks, and I can see the weight of it all in his hazel eyes. We’ve been meeting like this for months—every time he’s in town, under the guise of catching up with old school friends. My husband, RJ, buys it every time. 'Go have fun with your crew,' he says, waving me off. If only he knew it’s just Mike. Always Mike.

'You don’t have to carry this alone,' I say, reaching across the sticky bar table to squeeze his hand. My tone is firm, not pitying—I’m not here to baby him. 'I’m here, okay?'

Mike looks up, his gaze raw and unguarded. 'Penny, you’re the only one who gets it. Everyone else just… they don’t know what to say.' He laughs bitterly. 'Hell, I don’t even know what to say.'

I smirk, leaning back in my chair. 'Well, lucky for you, I’ve got a black belt in bullshit. Lay it on me.'

He chuckles, but it’s short-lived. His shoulders slump, and before I can stop myself, I’m out of my seat, pulling him into a hug. His arms wrap around me, tight and desperate, and I feel the heat of his breath on my neck. It’s just a hug—until it’s not. His lips brush my ear, then my cheek, and suddenly we’re kissing, right there in the corner of the bar. It’s hungry, reckless, and I don’t pull away. I *can’t*.

'This is a bad idea,' I mutter against his mouth, even as my fingers curl into his shirt.

'The worst,' he agrees, his voice low and rough. 'Wanna make it worse? My hotel’s right next door. We can… talk. Privately.'

I raise an eyebrow, my heart pounding. 'Talk, huh? That what we’re calling it now?'

He grins, a wicked edge to it. 'Unless you’ve got a better word.'

I don’t. I shouldn’t. But I nod anyway. 'Fine. Let’s grab some beer on the way. I’m not doing this sober.'

Minutes later, we’re in his hotel room, the door barely shut before the beer cans hit the table and his hands are on me again. I push back just as hard, my nails digging into his shoulders as we stumble toward the bed. 'You’re a mess, Mike,' I tease, my voice sharp even as my breath hitches. 'Crying one minute, trying to get in my pants the next.'

'Oh, come on, Penny,' he shoots back, his hands sliding under my shirt. 'You’re not exactly playing hard to get.'

'Never said I was,' I retort, shoving him down onto the mattress. I straddle him, feeling the heat of him through our clothes, and damn if it doesn’t make me ache. I’m not some wilting flower—I know what I want, and right now, it’s him. 'Just don’t think this means I’m gonna hold your hand through every sob story.'

He laughs, his hands gripping my hips. 'Deal. Now shut up and kiss me.'

Our clothes come off in a frenzy, and soon I’m staring down at him, his body hard and ready beneath me. My pulse races as I lower myself, guiding him in, and the first thrust of his cock steals my breath. It’s thick, stretching me in a way that’s almost too much, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning too loud. *God, this is wrong,* I think, but the guilt only sharpens the edge of my desire. I’m dripping wet, my body betraying every ounce of sense I have left, and as he moves inside me, I can’t stop the heat building in my core.

'Fuck, Penny,' he groans, his hands tight on my ass. 'You feel so good.'

'Less talking, more moving,' I snap, rolling my hips to take him deeper. I’m sweating now, panting, and so damn horny I can barely think straight. I ride him hard, chasing that edge, until his grip tightens and I feel him tense beneath me. When he cums, it’s with a guttural sound that sends a shiver down my spine, and the hot rush inside me is both thrilling and terrifying. *He’s in me, marking me,* I think, a mix of panic and raw satisfaction washing over me. I collapse against his chest, our breaths ragged, knowing I’ve just crossed a line I can’t uncross.

But the night’s not over. I’ve still got to face RJ when I get home—drunk, disheveled, and carrying the weight of this secret. And I know he’ll want me. He always does when I’ve had a few. How the hell am I going to keep this from blowing up in my face?