The next morning after our obligatory encounter, my satisfaction comes from driving with him. His hand on the steering wheel seeks my heat. Between caregiving duties, I fall into my brother-in-law's arms. Though I fear the taboo, my body aches sweetly. My elderly husband can't make me feel this way. The warmth of his examining hands is my best medicine. Every time we meet, I whisper, "Hold me"—that's our signal. He's an acquaintance, a friend of my husband. That's why I let my guard down. The moment the car door closes, a sweet trap awaits.
