I never thought I’d be the kind of woman who would crave something forbidden. But temptation has a way of finding you when you least expect it—and that night, it didn’t knock. It barged in and made itself at home.
It started innocently. Drinks with colleagues after a long Friday. Laughter over shared frustrations, that charged energy that brews when office politics and late nights blur personal boundaries. And him—my boss. Charming. Confident. Off-limits in every sense of the word.
I was in a black satin dress that clung too well. His eyes lingered a second longer than they should have, and I felt it—a pull—that magnetic, dangerous spark no HR policy can extinguish.
We ended up alone in the back of the bar. One too many whiskeys. One too many “harmless” compliments. And when he leaned in to whisper something completely inappropriate, I didn’t stop him. I let my lips meet his. Right there. Right then. My hands were around his neck. He is against the small of my back. Hungry. Reckless.
We didn’t make it to his place. The backseat of his car became our confessional, our chaos, our climax. It was rough. Fast. Real. And at that moment, it felt like everything I had secretly wanted but never dared to admit.
The guilt hit later. In the silence. In the reflection of my lipstick smeared across his collar. I haven’t told anyone. I can’t. But I think about it more than I should. About how good it felt to be wanted. To want.
They say confessions cleanse the soul, but mine makes me want to do it again.
—Anonymous
