Temptation is such a fickle thing, especially when it involves a married man and a troubled temptress. What happens if he gives in? He can lose everything he’s ever worked for, but he just can’t seem to get rid of her!

For the past half hour, Layla has been starring at her reflection, starring at her tired eyes, even assessing her choice of wardrobe. Soft familiar murmurs of distant voices danced around in her head, the sound of cars, boisterous teenage laughter, and the ringing of the various bells that she couldn't quite place. A palette of earthy green, blue and, red hues invaded her conscious state as if she should remember exactly what some a part of her might want to reminiscence.

She can almost recall an aroma of cinnamon and peppermint surrounding her, almost forcing her to think harder. She gripped the edge of the sink, looking at herself in the mirror trying to pinpoint where the start of her naivety truly began, and a variety of images of a man flashes through her mind... brown hair... denim jeans... kind eyes...

She looked up to see a man standing right in front of her with a boyish grin plastered on his face and his hands stuffed in his pockets.

She could see his lips moving, but the sound drowned out in front of her as unwanted memories began stirring in her. Layla squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath for what now awaited her.

"Nice to meet you too, I'm Layla..."

"Layla..." His voice dripped honey as her name rolled off the tip of his tongue. "Such a lovely name for such a beautiful girl..." the man settled himself next to her on the bench with the slight graze of their knees not going unnoticed.

She gritted her teeth as her impending headache started to return, she was now a prisoner to the unwanted memories that flowed freely throughout her at its own will, everything seemed heightened; touch, sight, and scent.

"Not to be rude or anything, but you seem a little old to be here... on campus... at a high school," Layla surveyed, eyeing him closely.

He playfully sighed, "You're right, I don't necessarily go here, but I'm just meeting up with some... acquaintances."

"You're associated to teenagers?" she raises a questioning brow.

"Skeptical, aren't you? I like that."

Layla blushed and turned her gaze at the high school students throwing a football back and forth on the grass. She closed her journal that was open on her lap, and set it down on the bench and returned her eyes on him.

"I actually graduated from university not too long ago."

"So I'm guessing you're around twenty-two?"

"Close, twenty-three."

His eyes never wavered as she absentmindedly fidgeted with her fingers, not knowing what else to say in fear of embarrassing herself.

"I fear I must go, Layla. It was a pleasure meeting you," he stated, standing up from the bench, "I hope I can see you again?"

"Uh, well, I uh-"

He carefully grabbed her small hand in his much larger one, placing a delicate kiss on top of it, smirking at her and then taking his leave.

The emotions filling Layla's heart as the flashback ended took a toll on her. Tears prickled her eyes, her face turning a deadly pale and all she wanted to do was go back in time where she never had the chance to meet him, allowing her to save herself from the broken heart.

But alas, the only thing left to do was put on the facade and live her life as a free woman.

"That bastard can no longer affect me... I won't allow it."

. . .

He had to end it.

Ever since it started, Nicholas knew it was practically suicide. How did he let her weasel her way into his subconscious? After all, he knew the end result, but could really you blame him? The bitch was a goddamn drug that he seemed to want more and more of, and evidently, if he continued, then he was ruined and he had a lot going for him and what awaited him when he went home was a wife and daughter, his own business, his reputation, respect and happiness. It would be easy to just kidnap and ship her off to Uruguay and never see her ass again.

If it was that simple, then tell him why he was going to see her once more for the third time this week?

Layla.

Has it never occurred to him that he could break it off with an effortless phone call?

He could conjure up an infinite amount of reasons to justify his actions; for one, he could say he didn't want to be rude and treat her like a typical whore. If anyone was with Layla, they'd know exactly why he started the arrangement to begin with.

The real excuse was that he just wanted to see her one last time. She was all he could think about while he was at work and wasn't able to get much progress done, the girl wouldn't escape his thoughts. Everything reminded him of her. When he saw coffee he thought of her alluring chestnut eyes, her dark long pin-straight hair. When he saw his secretary, he couldn't help but compare; Layla's legs were endless, they were a beautiful shade of olive that his mind couldn't let go of.

That's when he made up his mind and got in his car to head to where his little mistress was.

He needed to put a stop to this, but how?

One whiff of her and he was hooked. The way her skin felt when he caressed it, even when he kissed her, and he enjoyed the way she looked at him when she teased him to the point where it was unbearable. She understood how his body worked, more than his wife knew, quite frankly. She was like his own piece of heaven.

Don't get him wrong, he loved his wife with all his heart and soul and she was very good in bed, but as of late, she hasn't given him as much attention as she used too. Most of the time, she was out with friends enjoying her day and whatnot, and once he came home it was the constant 'I'm tired' and 'not now, maybe tomorrow', not even cuddling on the bed.

He never knew the reason of why his marriage was on the rocks. They've always been able to communicate their problems with ease. The only thought that came to his mind was that their wasn't any spark. Maybe if he considered having another woman on the sideline, then he could have the best of both worlds—love and pleasure.

Luckily, New York was big enough to sneak around without being caught driving to the Plaza Hotel just to have two hours of utter bliss.

As he drove in his black Tesla, he constantly thought of the consequences like he has been doing from the get-go.

What if Genevieve found out and divorced him? It was a mistake that he prayed was all a dream. There was no way he'd ever see himself in this situation.

What would happen if it got out to the media? His family name would be tainted, everyone would know him as for what he now was; a cheating man. And for what? His own pleasure?

Well it sure as hell was worth it.

As he sped down the road, he gripped the wheel firmly looking the road ahead of him. All that was visible were screens omitting bright lights on skyscrapers, drivers honking their horns all over the busy streets and the bright colors of yellow taxis popping out, scattering the road. Store logos were attached to towering buildings that lit the place perfectly, giving off a glow that complimented the midnight sky, and from his peripheral vision, he saw the hotel come into view.

Once parked, he made his way into the hotel and looked around for any familiar faces. Though everyone knew who he was, he had to make sure anybody he knew personally didn't know about his whereabouts.

People pushed past him in a hurry, bustling along and attempting to squeeze through the crowd of people.

As he made it to the elevator, he pondered the many possibilities he could think of to how Layla would greet him. She may be wearing a silky bra and matching boy shorts panties, or even a dark trench coat covering her just like she did when they had their first private session. Gripping the railings in the elevator shaft, he hoped she was prancing around in her birthday suit, of all things. He yearned to touch her again, make her feel what he hasn't been able to experience with any other woman in forever. The intimacy is what he craved at first then it suddenly took a one-eighty and ended up being a... fixation.

He found himself in a predicament where he didn't want it to end. If anything, he expected it to be a wham bam thank you ma'am type of ordeal, not an oh sweet Jesus, I need more.

What they were doing wasn't going to last and he knew it. At least he was going to end it before it got out of hand, right? He had to end it at all costs. It was way too risky, and he didn't do risky when it was a rich or broke situation. He loved his lifestyle and this girl couldn't be in it.

Simple as that.

Just as the elevator opened to the fifteenth floor, Nicholas made his way to their usual room. He contemplated various scenarios on how this would end. There were parts of him that thought he could let it down easy and walk away with no regrets. Other parts of him never wanted to leave her sight. It was hard to leave her considering the affect she had on him.

He didn't care if what they were doing was scandalous and the most exhilarating thing he'd done since he was her age, it would never end well. It was a constant mantra replaying in his head, trying to convince himself that it wasn't going to end well for the sake of his anatomy's well-being. No matter how tempting she can be, he will not let her take control of the situation. All he had to do was rip the proverbial bandage and leave.

Easy peasy.

Right as he was about to barge through the door, he willed himself to stop. His palms became sweaty, anxiety curled around in his stomach eating away at his insides. Every second he stayed in the hallway the more it appeared to be closing him into a confined space, almost forcing him to hurry up and enter the one place he dreaded.

With every breath exhaled, he had been so sure of himself that this would've been over in a heartbeat, but once he was in front of the door, he just couldn't. Doubt coursed through his veins when he looked at the door handle, praying that whatever deity that existed would assist him on this daunting burden of his.

He evened out his breaths and feigned indifference. Extending his hand out to the brass door knob, refusing to prolong the foreseeable future, he opened the door.

May the odds be ever in his favor.

He entered a massively beautiful room that greeted him with a wave of lavender invading his nostrils as he closed the door. The walls were painted peach with light coffee-colored carpet and the pattern's gentle nod to traditional ornamentation, feeling like a cloud when his feet padded into the living room.

He placed his car keys on the glass coffee table surrounded by several leather love seats and a flat screen TV mounted to the wall. Going down the wide hallway and into the bedroom, laid the same four poster king sized bed alongside the silky beige and black sheets with two identical sleek unpretentious mahogany nightstands on both sides of the bed, both engraved with the name of the hotel on the edges and cross the room, hung a huge oval-shaped mirror just above the wooden armoire.

On top, an acorn leaded glass lampshade on a bronze bulbous urn-shaped, footed base, featured a light green design on a field of radiance to more brilliant yellow tones where all the glass rippled. The floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the sparkling lights of the stars and the glowing moon, illuminating the room exceptionally and showing the balcony with a potted plant seated on a little ceramic table.

He cautiously made his way further in the room only to suddenly be stopped by a gorgeous figure leaning upright against the bathroom door with one leg across the other.

"At long last, Mr. Santana," a voice purred. "For a second, I thought you weren't going to show up."