Sure enough, Sean gets home the next morning. After he kisses me on the forehead, he goes to the kitchen, where he hums as he makes some coffee. He hasn’t hummed like that after a night with me in a long time.

As he makes breakfast, I wait in the sitting room, mulling over everything that has happened. Donnie is with his grandparents for another day, so we have the place to ourselves today. It’s good; a chance to decompress and come back together after all that has happened. Honestly, I’m not sure how to wrap my head around the fact that we both went on dates with other people, and that Sean seems to have had a better time than I did.

Yes, there’s some jealousy there. Of course there is. It would be strange if there wasn’t. I’ve been with this man for years, and knowing that he has been with someone else is… bizarre, to say the least. I wonder if I can still smell a little of her perfume on his skin, a reminder of where he has been. It’s a strange contrast, seeing him standing in our kitchen like always but knowing that he has come from a hook-up with another woman.

I have to admit, it was kind of odd for me when I woke up the next morning. I’m not used to the bed being empty, or to thinking about my husband in a different bed with another woman, maybe cuddling her or going for another round of sex.

I was prepared for some strangeness, but I’m still trying to navigate the emotions in my head. I like thinking of Sean being so attractive that another woman wants him, but we’ve been monogamous for so long that it feels like it goes against some fundamental truth. I know it’s going to take a while to shake off that sensation, and I hope I can soon – because I am already craving another date. One that doesn’t end in me going home alone.

I want what Sean is clearly still enjoying the memory of: a night of wild sex with a stranger.

“Good night with Meghan?” I ask as I come into the kitchen. He grins at me and nods.

“Are you jealous?” he asks.

I laugh. “Oh, no,” I reply at once, fronting quickly. “Just glad to see you’re so happy, that’s all.”

It’s true, I am. I’m glad that he had a good time with his first conquest in this club, but I am wondering if I’m going to have to quench this rise of jealousy every time.

We agreed not to share the details of our time with other people – no specifics. But honestly, I really want to know. What did he do with her? How good was it? Is she better in bed than me? Does she have a better body?

I suppose that it’s natural, to feel this sprig of jealousy inside me at the thought of all that he could have done with this other woman. It’s not as though I have done a great deal to keep him sexually satisfied these past few months. We haven’t had a lot of sex, and most of the time we’ve spent together hasn’t been high quality, given that I am usually moaning about my clients instead of moaning underneath him.

“Do you want to process everything you’re feeling?” he asks.

“Maybe later,” I say. “For now, I think I want to go to the gym.”

“Alright. But Jazz?” He catches my wrist as I head towards the door. I turn back and look at him.

“Yeah?”

“I love you, okay? Only you.”

And I believe him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t need to make sure it stays that way. And after I return from the gym, I’ve made up my mind that I’m going to give him a night to remember. I can’t recall the last time I really went all-out for him, and maybe it’s just because I have some competition now, but I feel like I have a point to prove.

I spend the afternoon cleaning, and after he heads out in the early evening to meet a friend for drinks, I go to the market to grab a couple of his favourite beers and the ingredients for his favourite dish, Pad Thai. As I head back to the house, I feel a little flutter in my chest. We haven’t had a romantic night in a while, and I feel nervous. In a good way. It reminds me of the nerves I had when we were first dating.

I put the food on for when he gets back, knowing that there’s a match tonight that he wants to watch. Usually, I would take that time to work, but instead, I focus on how to lavish Sean with attention. I dig around in my drawers until I find the outfit that I know is perfect for what I have planned – a red dress, tight around the waist and low-cut around the cleavage. The very same one that I wore on our first date, when we snogged down a side street across from the bar he had taken me to. I make sure to leave my bra off, to give him a generous glimpse of cleavage each and every time I move. I hope he enjoys it as much as I do.

By the time he gets back, I have slicked on some red lipstick to match the dress and am feeling every bit the vixen I know I can be. He raises his eyebrows as he looks me up and down slowly.

“Well, don’t you look good?” he murmurs. He takes a step towards me, hand on my hip. “What’s this in aid of?”

“We have the night to ourselves,” I remark, a little coyly. “Thought you might want to make the most of it…”

I lead him to the couch, where I already have a beer laid out for him and the match tuned in on the television. He sinks into his favourite seat, and I can tell from the way he’s carrying himself that he already feels like a damn king. That’s just what I want. To remind him why he comes back to me no matter what else that other woman might have done for him.

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He reaches for his beer, and I can tell that he is expecting me to head off and take care of work as I usually do – but this time, I have something else entirely in mind. I sink down to my knees in front of him and run my hands up the inside of his thighs, biting my lip as I look up at him. See, I am trying to say. I remember how to be a sex kitten, how to turn you on…

I reach his crotch and rub my hand over the swiftly-swelling hardness of his cock beneath his trousers. He groans, and I slowly unzip him and shift a little forward, making sure that he can get a good view of my bare tits as I lower my mouth to the head of his cock.

He is already hard by the time I seal my lips around him, and the sound that he makes as I swirl my tongue thrills me. I can’t remember the last time I got him to make that noise, the last time I heard him so given over to the sheer intensity of the chemistry between us.

I move my mouth down a little farther, taking my time, enveloping as much of his shaft as I can between my lips. At the base, I wrap my fingers around him and squeeze softly. My other hand moves to his balls, and I massage them gently, listening to the way his breathing seems to tighten. It’s been a while since I last blew him, but it’s all coming back to me now. Just like riding a bike. Or riding a…

I moan softly as his member hits the back of my throat. I begin to squeeze his balls lightly, bobbing my head up and down, taking my time, letting him luxuriate in the feeling of my lips and tongue worshipping his cock…

Eventually, I have to pull back to catch my breath. He is staring down at me as though I am the sexiest fucking thing he’s ever seen, and he seems hardly able to focus on the football or the beer that I brought him.

“Pull your dress down,” he orders. I do as I am told at once – shifting so that my cleavage is visible, my tits are out. And then, I start to blow him again, this time going a little harder than before, the saliva from the last time making it even easier to take him deeper and faster.

It doesn’t take long until I can feel him stiffening between my lips, a sure sign that he is getting close to the edge. I am determined to push him right over and into the release he is craving so badly. It doesn’t take much more. I begin to move my hand up and down at the same pace as my mouth, and soon enough, I feel the first jet of his cum hit the back of my throat.

“Fuck,” he groans. I look up at him, my husband, his face so written with want and lust for me that he can hardly take it. He pushes himself a little deeper into my throat and holds himself there as he finishes, and I don’t take my eyes off of him until I have milked the last drops of semen from his cock.

I thought he would be done after that, but no, he seems to have forgotten about the match and the beer entirely. He practically springs me through to the bedroom, stripping off my dress and tossing it aside before he does the same with his own clothes. There is such lust written on his face, such desire, that it makes my head spin. I can’t remember the last time I saw it aimed at me. But now that it is, I can feel that familiar addiction to it starting to rise.

He moves on top of me, kissing my neck, my breasts, drawing my nipples into his mouth and sucking on them softly as his cock stirs back to life again. When he is hard again, he wraps his arms around me and pushes inside me. I cry out, gripping the small of his back, pushing him deeper inside. Needing him. Needing to feel each and every second of this that I can.

I hook my ankles behind his back and pull him inside me, and I begin to rock against him, not taking my eyes off of him the entire time. He goes slow, in no rush, not frantic. He has already cum once, so I know that he is going to last, and the delicious feeling of him spreading me is almost more than I can take. I don’t want it to end. I don’t ever want it to end…

It doesn’t take long until I feel the orgasm starting to bloom inside me, that overheated sensation that takes me right to the edge and teeters me there for a long time before I finally feel myself start to crest. I grind against him harder, moving my hips this way and that, taking him deeper and deeper inside me. His breath starts to become ragged against my ear.

“I want to feel you cum inside me,” I breathe into his ear, and I mean it. I can’t think of anything more intimate, more erotic, than the thought of him finishing inside me. He thrusts himself deep, hard, our bodies coming together so intently that it’s the only thing I can hear in the room around us – and then, I feel it, his cock thickening again in the split second before he cums, and then the way he seems to soften into me as he finishes.

The warmth of his seed inside me is all that it takes to push me over the edge, and I cum hard, squeezing my thighs tight around him to hold him in place as my body convulses. His lips find mine and he kisses me, softly, slowly, taking his time, holding me there for a long moment before he pulls back and slides onto the bed beside me.

“That was…” he murmurs. I smile, turning to him.

“Oh, I know,” I reply. I glance past him at the clock on the bedside table. “Holy shit, we were at that for nearly an hour!”

“Damn,” he says with a laugh. “Been a while since we’ve just let it happen like that, huh?”

“It really has,” I agree, and I turn and plant a hand on his chest, admiring the shape of his body next to mine. It’s like I am seeing him again for the first time, this man who I have loved for so long that I have almost forgotten what it is like not to.

“I’m sorry it’s… I mean, I feel sometimes like it’s my fault,” I blurt out.

“It isn’t,” he murmurs, covering my hand with his. “It’s just a long term relationship.” I can feel his heart beating, coming down from the high that we were both just on, and I know that I want to go there again with him. And again, and again.

“It was the thought of you with her,” I confess. “It… made me realise that I still want to be your favourite. And that I’m going to have to start putting in some more effort to do that.”

“You’re always going to be my favourite,” he assures me. He brings my hand to his lips and plants a kiss on each of my fingers. “You know that, right?”

“I do. But I’d… like to be reminded of it more. You know what I mean?”

“And how do we do that?” he asks.

“I guess that we keep at the Club,” I reply. “It was the thought of you, with her… I think I want that again. To think of you like that, I mean.”

“Okay,” he replies. He reaches over to the side of the bed and fishes out his phone from his pocket.

“What are you doing?” I ask curiously.

“I’m going to start looking for my next match. I think you just proved to me how perfect this Weekend Club thing really is.”