My Beloved Cheating Husband

Chapter 3

Sarah POV

I stepped out of the closet, tugging at the hem of the red dress Ryan had forced on me. It was too short, too tight, clinging to me like a second skin. Every time I tried pulling it down to cover my thighs, my breasts spilled out further. Every time I pulled it up to hide my chest, it rode higher over my legs. There was no winning with this dress.

Ryan’s eyes landed on me instantly, roaming over me like a hunter staring at prey. That hungry look on his face made my stomach twist.

“Ryan…” I whispered, my voice unsteady. “This dress isn’t appropriate for dinner. It wouldn’t look good—”

His jaw flexed. He cut me off with a roar. “Don’t teach me what will work or not! Just do your job and sit there like a pretty doll.”

His voice dripped with disdain as he muttered, almost to himself, “That’s all you’re good for anyway.”

The words pierced, but I didn’t react. I had heard them too many times before. Trophy wife. Decoration. That was what I was to him. Two years into our marriage, he had forced me to leave my job, insisting I didn’t need to work. I still remembered his words, sweet at the time, poisonous now.

“Sarah, baby… I’m here, na? Just give me your commands and I’ll do everything for you. You don’t need to work. It makes my heart ache seeing you struggle so much.”

And like a fool, I had believed him. Believed he was being sincere. Now I saw it for what it was — a cage.

I stayed quiet, staring at the floor. Silence was safer.

He closed the distance between us, cupping my face roughly, forcing me to look into his eyes. His tone shifted, softer on the surface, but sharp underneath. “Sarah darling… I’m doing everything for us. You understand, right? I have to leave a good impression on my boss tonight.”

I nodded, because what else could I do?

His smile flickered across his lips, but then his eyes dropped lower, locking on my chest where the fabric barely held. My hands flew up, tugging the dress upward to hide myself, but his hand slid down and grabbed a handful of my ass, squeezing hard enough to make me stumble forward.

“You look so fuckable, Sarah.” His voice was low, husky, mocking.

I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. His mouth pressed against my neck, his kisses hot and possessive, until he whispered, “After this dinner, let’s spend some time together. Like the old days.”

For a fleeting second, my heart stuttered. Time together. Did he mean it? Did he really want us to… connect? Like before, when things were different? I bit my lip and whispered, “Yeah… that would be good.” I forced a smile. He seemed pleased with my answer.

But then his hand slid under my skirt.

“We have time for a quickie though…” His voice was rough now, urgent.

My body stiffened. “Ryan… the guests will be here soon. It’s almost time—”

“Come on. I’ll be quick.” His tone was final, not a request.

I shifted uncomfortably. Resistance would only make it worse. I nodded reluctantly.

“That’s my good wife.” His grin widened. In one tug, my skirt was bunched at my waist, my panties pulled down. The cold air made me flinch. He slapped my c**t with the flat of his hand, a sharp sting shooting through me.

“Ah—” I gasped, my thighs clenching.

“Turn around.” His voice was commanding. “Bend over.”

I obeyed slowly, every movement mechanical. My hands braced against the cupboard, my ass exposed, trembling.

Behind me, I heard the jingle of his belt. The rasp of leather sliding free. My heart hammered. His hand stroked his length, and then he pressed it against me, sliding over my c**t.

“You look good like this, Sarah. Such a nice view.”

He slapped my ass, hard. The sting burned, tears pricked my eyes. “It hurts…” I whispered.

He didn’t listen.

With no warning, he shoved himself inside me. The pain was instant, sharp, tearing.

“Ahhh!” I screamed, gripping the cupboard until my knuckles turned white. “Ryan, it hurts!”

“Shut up and take me like the good slut you are,” he growled. Another slap landed on my ass, harder this time, making me cry out.

His thrusts were brutal, relentless. He hooked one of my thighs up, spreading me open further, and pounded into me faster. The sound of his skin hitting mine echoed in the room, vulgar and loud.

I forced out moans, practiced and fake, because the truth was unbearable. It hurts. It hurts like hell.

He fisted a handful of my hair, yanking my head back so hard my scalp screamed. My tears spilled down my face as he groaned into my ear.

“f**k, Sarah. Your body is so damn fuckable. Such a good w***e…”

One final thrust, deeper than the rest, and he came inside me, groaning his satisfaction. My body went limp. He let go of my hair, stepping back, and I collapsed onto the floor, trembling, my legs refusing to hold me.

His c*m dripped out of me, sliding down my thighs, pooling beneath me. I looked up at him, dazed. He stood there proudly, tucking himself back in, his length still glistening.

“I’m going to get ready,” he said casually, as though nothing had happened. “Clean up. The guests will be here soon.”

I wiped at my wet eyes and nodded weakly. He disappeared into the closet, humming under his breath.

I gathered myself, dragging my sore body toward the washroom. My stomach ached, my lower body throbbed. I cleaned quickly, splashing water on my face, washing away the mess, erasing the tears. Then I sat back down at the mirror, fixing my hair to fall forward, covering my bare shoulders and chest. I reapplied my makeup with trembling hands, making it neat, perfect, flawless. I clasped a simple necklace around my throat.

By the time Ryan emerged in his cream-colored three-piece suit, polished and composed, the room looked almost normal. He looked good. Perfect. Like a man no one would ever suspect.

A knock sounded. The servant bowed at the door. “Sir, the guests have arrived.”

Ryan adjusted his cufflinks and glanced at me. “Hurry up.”

I nodded quickly, gathering the scattered clothes into a pile. I bent to pick up his coat, but as I shook it out, something small fell from the pocket.

Clink.

I frowned, picking it up. A pearl earring. Delicate. Expensive. But not mine.

I stared at it, confusion buzzing in my chest. Whose was this? Why was it in Ryan’s coat pocket?

Before I could think further, the servant reappeared. “Madam, sir is calling you downstairs.”

I slipped the earring back into the pocket. Ryan hated it when I touched his things. Hated it when I asked too many questions.

I would ask him about it later. After dinner.

For now, I had to smile.