Betrayal Sex

Five Years Ago in Greece

The heat of Athens pressed against my skin as I stepped out into the night. I had been looking forward to this for weeks—late-night calls, teasing messages, carefully framed photos that had me imagining everything I would do to her. She had promised something unforgettable.

Then I saw her.

A cold wave of disappointment crashed over me. She wasn’t just different from her pictures—she was unrecognizable. The youthful glow, the toned body, the sharp features I had been drawn to? Gone. She had let time and filters do all the talking.

I clenched my jaw, forcing a smile. I could have walked away. Maybe I should have. But something in me burned at the deception. If she thought she could lie her way into my bed, then I’d make sure she felt the weight of that mistake.

Dinner was strained. She talked, laughed, flirted, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside me. I barely listened. My mind was elsewhere, already deciding how this night would go. She thought she had won, that I was still enchanted by the fantasy she had sold me.

She had no idea what was coming.

Back at the hotel, I pushed her against the door before it even closed. The surprise in her eyes turned to hunger, then desperation. I didn’t give her time to think. My disappointment morphed into something rough, something primal. Every touch, every movement carried the weight of the frustration she had built inside me.

She wasn’t prepared. I could see it in the way her body tensed, the way she gasped, the way she clung to me, calling me darling between ragged breaths. The shift was instant—what started as her playing the seductress turned into pure need. She wanted more. She wanted all of me.

But when the sun rose, reality returned. The anger had burned out, and all that remained was the fact that she had lied to me. No amount of pleasure could erase that betrayal.

She didn’t see it coming.

When she woke up, reaching for me, I was already dressed, already leaving. No goodbyes. No promises. Just silence.

The messages started immediately. First casual, then needy. She told me she missed me. That she wanted to see me again. That no one had ever made her feel like I did.

I ignored every word.

Years passed. She never stopped. Every few months, another message, another invitation. She still wants me to meet her. Maybe she still thinks she has a chance.

She doesn’t.