His arms wrapped around me, strong and unyielding, holding me in place. All I could see were his eyes—dark, stormy, unrelenting—and his lips, slightly parted, as if daring me to question him. I could hear his heartbeat pounding against my ear, echoing in my chest.

This is a married man. With a child. What am I doing? The thought crossed my mind twice, but the feeling of belonging was too overwhelming, too intoxicating. Too good. I knew one thing for certain: he loves me. Maybe not love in the conventional sense, but the closest I’d ever felt to being loved.