It's all been said and done before.

His scent was intoxicating, an everlasting smell of lust that drew her in each time around. His hands were roaming her body, leaving a trail of kisses on her collarbone.

They'd done this too many times, it had become a twisted habit, a routine they would just snap back into each time. It wasn't meant to be like this, quick hard and heartless. But it was.

Each time they tried the same thing, a shot at normalcy. But the bottle of wine had spilled when she wrapped her arms around his torso; the movie they'd planned to watch was quickly muffled with his moans.

He loved the way her red hair sprawled on his couch, and the way her scent stayed onto his clothes for days after their secret encounters. But this wasn't the way he would've enjoyed having her, yet it was all that was offered to him.

They were now stumbling up the stairs, her fiddling with his zipper, him taking her shirt off and having no time to take her in. Because that would be too much. That would include them having to actually consider that what they're doing is wrong, that she's married and he's desperate for her.

"Bed?" Jackson huffs in between neck kisses, pulling back to seeing her intense gaze.

He was asking how she wanted this. Soft, in bed, or rough against the wall in a desperate attempt to forget them, forget this and forget everything.

But she shouldn't even be here. No, she should be home with her husband that loves her, cosy in their bed.

Instead she rakes her hands down his back, causing him to muster a dark lusting look.

"No." April answers, taking of his shirt and unbuckling his belt against the cold, hard wall.

It was hard to remember when exactly they'd started sneaking around, when she'd become unfaithful and cheated on not one but two men. Matthew loved her, they were married, and he should be the one pushing her against that wall. Making her feel the way she does.

But he's not.

Jackson quickly catches on the fact that tonight is about forgetting, and his heart pangs because he knows in an hour she'll be gone out of the door and into the life she chose for herself. She didn't chose him, she chose Matthew.

But for now, she's his.

If she didn't know him so well, the stiffening of his shoulders, the quick pause in between the nips at her neck would have been missed. But she does know him. Well. Too well. And her refusal to giving herself completely to him hurts because he's in love with her and this is all he'll ever get.

Jackson suddenly accepts the fact that she needs for this to be meaningless, hard, selfish… He rips away her clothes and takes his pants off, leaving them both half naked in the middle of the hallway.

So he can't help and look at her, take her in because she's gorgeous, and she's there and she's not all his because the ring at her finger keeps reminding him that soon enough she would leave him like she always does.

But the tenderness is quickly gone.

He slips inside of her, thrusting harder each time, earning moans from April that drives him insane because she's so absolutely beautiful and aggravating.

April's looking away. She doesn't want to accept the reality of what she's doing. She doesn't want to accept that she's that girl. That her husband is patiently waiting for her at home, that he has no idea she's sneaking around with the man who desperately tried to put a halt to their wedding. She doesn't want to enjoy this, she wishes, she prays, that this inevitable lust would go but it just grew every time she laid eyes on him.

"Look at me." Jackson firmly said in between breathy moans. His hands were holding her small frail body up close to his, but her hazel eyes were screwed shut, facing away.

She lets out a small moan of frustration when he stops thrusting, and she opens her eyes to face his desperate blue ones. They're the clearest ocean you could ever see; yet right now they're a storm.

She should stop. She should get dressed. She should leave; go be with her husband, the man she chose over the man standing naked with her in a dark hallway.

But they both know she won't.

He kisses her, slowly, and passionately. Here's the thing, April and Jackson don't kiss. It's a silent rule, it's something romantic that couples do. Something people don't do hard and rough against walls.

They're breaking so many rules which quickly seem to be forgotten when she's driven over the edge and he quickly follows her. For a few minutes he's the only thing holding her up from falling to the ground. They're panting, desperately trying to catch their breaths.

She doesn't want this to end. He doesn't want her to go.

So he leans in and kisses her once more, breaking the rules again. April doesn't have the heart to tell him no, so she kisses him back.

She showered and slipped back into her clothes, ready to leave, when he steps out of the bathroom. For a moment he just stares at the way her red curls effortlessly graze her pale shoulders.

From the corner of her eyes she can already see him sitting down on the bed, and from all the previous times she knows what he's going to say-

"Stay." Jackson says, and his tone is pleading. Just like that time he'd stood up and told her he loved her.

"I can't." She remembers Matthew, and dinner, and the fact that she changes her plans every time she's here. "I have plans."

"Change your plans." April doesn't want to look at him. She doesn't want to look at herself. She doesn't want to see the tears brim his eyes, or hear the knot that's forming in his throat.

So instead of leaving, instead of doing what's right, she takes off her jacket and approaches the bed, lying down next to him.

Jackson securely puts his arms around April because she's his for the night, and maybe, just maybe, when it's really late and he forgets to feel emotions this wouldn't feel like it was wrong and more like it's absolutely right.

"I love you." He whispers, barely audible.

April wants to not hear it. She wants him to not mean those words, to take them back and make this meaningless like it was intended to be. But he states it, almost like a nonchalant fact.

"I know."

His arms are warm and comforting and it's wrong and this is all bad yet all she wants and she once again wonders how she could be so stupid. And how she can't seem to give him the 3 simple words he would die to hear. Instead, she takes his hand and squeezes it, hoping the pain would be numbed by sleep.

This feels right for all the wrong reasons. His heart beat against hers, the way his breathing is ragged and overcome with sleep. She hopes it numbs the pain, and simply knows that it won't numb hers because it's not that simple.

She hates him. She hates him for making her feel that way. She hates him for ruining her wedding and making her question her faith a number of times. She hates him for telling her when it was too late. She hates him for trying to make this meaningful.

But most of all, she hates that she doesn't hate him.

Not even close.

Not even a little bit.

Not even at all.

Author's note:

So I have no idea what this was I was feeling angsty and moody so I wrote this. It'd be great if you could review and tell me what you thought.