Caught in My Own Web

I've been working as a barista at the local cafe for about two years now. From day one, there was this customer who always ordered a double espresso and would linger around the counter while sipping it. His name is Alex, early thirties, with short dark hair and intense blue eyes that seem to see right through you. We got along well from the start; he's charming, funny, and has an easy smile that makes it hard not to chat him up whenever he visits. One day after work, I found myself sitting next to him at a coffee shop down the street, just chatting over drinks like old friends do. It was natural for me, but looking back now, I think I enjoyed seeing how our conversations could evolve outside of work. My marriage is good overall, but it’s been lacking in the bedroom department lately. My husband and I haven’t really rekindled that spark since we had kids a few years ago. We still love each other deeply, but intimacy feels more routine than thrilling these days. Enter Alex... A couple of weeks after our coffee shop encounter, he texted me an offer to go for drinks again. This time, instead of just being friends, I felt drawn to something else, a desire that I hadn't acknowledged in myself since before we had kids. We ended up talking late into the night and somehow found ourselves back at my place. It started with a quick kiss and progressed from there. Our bodies seemed to have their own memories and desires unacknowledged for so long; they responded to each other without hesitation or restraint. His hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of me as if he couldn’t get enough. I was caught up in the moment too, every touch sent shivers down my spine, every kiss made my heart race. The physicality was intense and raw, a reminder of how long it had been since such unbridled passion had filled my life. We moved together like we were the only two people in the world, losing ourselves in each other’s bodies until there was nothing left but an overwhelming sense of connection and need satisfied. Now I’m here, writing this confession, feeling both relieved and terrified by what happened between us. Should I tell my husband? Am I being unfair to him? But also, is it really fair to deny myself the chance for a bit of true physical release when it’s been so long since I felt anything like that? What does anyone think in situations like this? I don't know what to do, keeping this secret from my spouse feels wrong, but admitting to it might break something irrevocably. Can any of you relate, or am I truly the asshole here?