My Forbidden Nighttime Secret

I never thought I'd admit this out loud, but it's eating me alive, so here goes. Late one night, in the quiet of the house, I crossed a line that still haunts me; I let things happen with someone I should never have touched. It was dark, the kind of darkness that hides everything except the raw need pulsing through me. Her hands, experienced and knowing, wrapped around me, pulling me into a whirlwind of heat and shame that I couldn't resist. God, the way it felt – no, the way it consumed me, every stroke building until I was lost in a haze of forbidden pleasure that left me breathless and guilty as hell. I know it's wrong, twisted even, but in that moment, all I could think about was how good it was, how it made my body ache in ways I'd never felt before. Now, I'm torn between the thrill that lingers and the disgust that follows, wondering if I'll ever shake this off. It's like a shadow I carry, making me question everything about desire and family ties. I didn't plan it; it just happened, fueled by secrets and late-night whispers, and now I'm left replaying it in my mind, half-horrified, half-craving more. People might judge, hell, I judge myself, but that's the messed-up truth of it – raw, unfiltered, and utterly real.