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Chapter 3 The hours after they got home were a special kind of hell. A quiet, domestic hell filled with the soft sounds of a life that suddenly felt like a costume. The hum of the refrigerator, the creak of the floorboards, the gentle rustle of Lily moving through the apartment.

She had played her part perfectly in the car, selling the lie of her humiliation with a few well-placed tears and a story of telling Barry off that was so perfectly tailored to Jake's ego it was a work of art. He had played his part, too, feigning anger and protective concern, all while the raw, filthy truth of what he'd witnessed pulsed behind his eyes. They were two actors in a play only one of them had the full script for.

Now, hours later, the silence in their bedroom was heavier than any argument could ever be. A single, pale bar of moonlight cut across the pristine white sheets, illuminating Lily's pale small bare shoulder as she slept. Her breathing was soft, even. Anyone looking at her would see his Lily—the sweet, talented dancer who loved her husband with a fierce and innocent passion.

But he couldn't see that anymore. Not really. All he could see was the woman he'd watched from a dark closet. The woman on her knees on that dusty community hall floor, face smeared with another man's cum, a look of bewildered ecstasy and wanton lust in her eyes, mascara running down her face. That was the woman he needed to find again. That was the woman who had given him the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life. And tonight, lying beside her in the safety of their bed, he was going to hunt for her.

His hunt began not with a kiss, but with a calculated, possessive touch. His hand found her ankle, the skin cool against his palm. He let his fingers wrap around it, feeling the delicate bones beneath the skin before he began a slow, deliberate slide upward. Over the subtle, powerful curve of her calf muscle, a testament to thousands of hours of dance. Up to the sensitive, hollow space behind her knee. It wasn't a lover's caress. It was an assessment. A claim.

She stirred, a soft murmur escaping her lips as she shifted in her sleep. She was still pliant, still trusting. Still his. Her body responded to his touch with the ingrained familiarity of their marriage, turning slightly toward him, an unconscious invitation.

"Mmm... Jake?" Her voice was thick with sleep, warm and unsuspecting. She rolled onto her back, her eyes fluttering open in the dim light. A sleepy, gentle smile touched her lips. "Can't sleep?"

"No," he said, his voice a low rasp that felt foreign even to him.

He didn't give her time to process the shift in the atmosphere. Before her sleepy confusion could sharpen into a real question, he moved. With a fluid, undeniable strength, he took hold of her shoulders and turned her over, pressing her face-down into the soft pillows. His hands settled on her hips, large and firm, pinning her in place. The gesture was not one of passion but of possession.

Lily gasped, the sound muffled by the downy cotton. A thrill, sharp and electric, shot through her. This was new. Jake could be dominant, but this felt different. It was colder, more methodical. She thought it was a game, a thrilling one, and her body responded instantly, her hips lifting instinctively toward his touch.

"Arch your back," he commanded, his voice a low growl right next to her ear.

A happy, compliant sigh escaped her. "Mmm, okay..." She did as she was told, pushing her ass up into the air, presenting herself for him.

That wasn't it, Jake thought, a wave of frustration already beginning to build. There was no hesitation, no flicker of fear in her response. Only eager, loving submission. He gritted his teeth. He had to push harder.

"More," he demanded. "Show me how a good girl shows off her ass when she's told to." The words were crude, designed to strip away the

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