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Samantha drifted around the room. She served roast beef, vegetables, and mashed potatoes. Her hand brushed mine when she set my plate down. The contact was tentative, almost apologetic. I caught her fingers and squeezed gently, letting my thumb stroke the back of her hand. She smiled back, but it didn’t look sincere. She kept refilling water glasses that were already full, and her voice shook when she asked Luke to pass the salt.

I watched her across the table while I ate, following the pulse in her neck as she turned to listen to the boys. She was already coming apart, and she had no idea how thoroughly I planned to enjoy it. I complimented the meal and asked about her day at the art studio, playing the attentive husband to perfection. I laughed with the boys and occasionally glanced at Samantha, reinforcing the lie we were all living in.

Dinner stretched on with the comfortable family rhythm I had cultivated so carefully. I told a harmless story from the office that made them laugh. My attention remained fixed on Samantha. I wondered how much longer she could maintain the act before her fear exposed her.

After the boys were tucked in and the house grew quiet, Samantha cleaned the kitchen. Her nerves showed in her hands as she wiped the counters and loaded the dishwasher.

She opened the refrigerator, and the light spilled across her face. When she shut the door, she found me waiting behind it with a knife in my hand.

She screamed before she could stop herself.

“Shh,” I whispered, pressing a finger to my lips. “You’ll wake the boys.” I held the knife out to her, handle first. “You forgot to wash this.”

Her eyes darted between the blade and my face. Fear crossed her features before she managed to suppress it. She took the knife with shaking fingers, turned on the faucet, and placed the blade beneath the running water.

I stepped behind her, pressing my body flush against hers. My hands settled on her hips, fingers digging in enough to remind her who she belonged to.

“You’re shaking,” I breathed against her ear, my lips brushing the sensitive shell.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly.

I smiled against her skin and kissed the side of her neck. I trailed my mouth lower, sucking lightly at the spot that always made her weak. My hands slid under the hem of her shirt, pushing it above her breasts. I cupped them roughly, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened into tight peaks. With one hard tug, I ripped the crotch of her leggings open, exposing her completely. She gasped, gripping the edge of the sink.

Since she had betrayed me and planned to leave, I might as well indulge in fucking her tight cunt one last time.

I reached into the ice tray, popped a cube into my mouth, and let it begin to melt against my tongue. Then I dragged my cold lips down her spine, leaving a wet trail across her skin. She arched hard, pushing her ass back against me. I continued lower and dropped to my knees behind her. I spread her cheeks with both hands and buried my face between them.

The melting ice dripped onto her hot pussy as I licked her, taking my time. I pushed my tongue inside her, tasting her arousal as the cold water ran over her skin. I circled her clit, then dragged my tongue back to her tight hole and fucked her with it. She was soaked, her juices coating my chin. Her thighs trembled violently as she fought to stay quiet. I added two fingers, pumping them deep while my mouth worked her clit without giving her a break. When her legs started to buckle, I stood.

I freed my hard cock from my slacks. I pushed her forward over the sink and thrust into her in one brutal stroke, burying myself to the hilt in her dripping cunt. Her velvet heat tightened around me, giving me exactly what I wanted.

I fucked her hard against the counter. My hips slapped against her ass with every thrust. One hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back so I could growl low in her ear. The other reached around to rub her clit. Water continued running from the faucet over the forgotten knife.

For a long moment, I imagined shoving her face into the sink and holding her under while she struggled for air, her pussy spasming around my cock as I used her. The fantasy made me thrust even harder.

I didn’t do it.

Instead I kept pounding into her, grinding deep on every stroke, feeling her walls flutter and clench. She came first, biting back a cry as her body shook and her cunt squeezed me, flooding my shaft with fresh wetness. I didn’t slow down. I fucked her through it, drawing it out until she was whimpering. I thrust deep and held there as my cock swelled and erupted, flooding her with thick, hot spurts of cum.

How funny it would be if I got her pregnant again before she left me.

I stayed buried inside her, pulsing, draining every drop while the pleasure rolled through me.

When I finally pulled out, I watched my seed leak from her swollen, well-fucked pussy and run down her thighs onto the torn leggings.

I stroked her hair almost tenderly, kissed the back of her neck, and murmured, “Go clean up. I’ll finish in here.”

She had no idea the fire was already lit. No idea that her attempt to leave would cost her everything she thought she could save.

She was going to regret betraying me for the rest of her life.

Chapter 41

Samantha

It was October 31st, Seth’s eighth birthday.

The house was still dark beneath the gray predawn sky. The silence made everything feel tense. My fingers trembled as I pressed them to my eyes, trying to scrub away the night’s fractured dreams. Richard had haunted them, smiling from the shadows while blood covered the kitchen tiles. I had seen my father’s face too, exactly as he had looked the last time I saw him alive.