Chapter 3 003

EMILY

Ryan moved closer to me, slow and careful, like I might shatter if he breathed wrong. He cupped my face with both hands and his thumbs brushed my cheeks. His eyes were red. His voice was quiet. “You hurt me, Emily, and I do not know if I can forgive you.”

My chest caved in. I nodded fast because words felt impossible. Tears came hard and fast, blurring everything. “I know,” I whispered. “I understand, Ry. I really do.” 

He wiped my tears with his thumb, gentle like he always was. I could see him fighting his own tears, his jaw tight, his breath uneven. That broke me completely. I started crying again, loud and messy, the kind that comes from somewhere deep and ugly. “Hey,” he said softly, pulling me into his chest. 

He wrapped his arms around me, tight, like he was afraid I would disappear. “Do not cry. Please do not cry.” 

“I am sorry,” I sobbed into his shirt. “I am so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted this.” 

“I know,” he murmured, even though I was not sure he did. His hand moved up and down my back, slow and steady. “I know.” 

I pulled back, just a little, needing to look at him. My hands shook as I touched his arms. “Ryan, we should talk. We should really talk about everything. I do not want to pretend this did not happen.” 

He looked at me for a long moment. His eyes were heavy with pain and love and confusion all mixed together. “I cannot do that right now,” he said honestly. “If I start talking, I might say things I cannot take back.” 

I swallowed. “I deserve whatever you say.” 

“Maybe,” he replied. “But I still love you. That is the problem.” Those words hit me harder than anger ever could. 

“I love you too,” I said, my voice breaking. “I have always loved you.” 

He reached up and wiped my tears again, slower this time. “You always cry like this,” he said quietly. “You get these hiccups when you cannot breathe.” 

I let out a weak, broken laugh. “You still notice.” 

“I always notice,” he said. 

I leaned forward and rested my forehead against his chest. His heartbeat was so fast. It felt like home. “I am scared,” I admitted. “I am scared you will leave me.” 

He tipped my chin up so I had to look at him. “I am scared too,” he said. “Scared of staying. Scared of leaving. Scared of what this means for us.” 

I nodded, tears spilling again. “I will do anything to fix this.”

“I do not need promises tonight,” he said gently. “I just need you to be here.” 

“I am here,” I whispered. “I am not going anywhere.” 

He kissed my forehead first, slow and careful. Then he pulled back like he was reconsidering something. I opened my mouth to speak, to stop him, to say we needed space, but he leaned in and kissed me softly. 

The kiss was not hungry or rushed. It was familiar and aching and full of everything we could not say. I wanted to pull away so we could talk, so we could make sense of the mess we were standing in, but his arms tightened around me, holding me there. 

He lifted me suddenly, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. I gasped softly and wrapped my arms around his neck without thinking. He carried me upstairs to our room, holding me close, like he was afraid to let me touch the ground. 

“Ry…” The word slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. My voice sounded small and broken, like it belonged to someone else. 

“Shh,” he said quietly. “Don’t say anything.” 

I nodded, tears already burning my eyes. I stood up slowly after he laid me on the bed, my legs shaky under me. My skirt was bunched around my waist, my blouse half unbuttoned. I didn’t bother fixing anything. I just peeled it all off. 

The skirt slid down my thighs, the panties followed, the bra unhooked and dropped to the floor. I stood there naked in front of him, heart hammering. I lay back on the bed. The mattress felt cool against my skin. I spread my legs a little, waiting, hoping somehow this would make things right. 

Ryan’s eyes moved over me slowly. There was something almost loving in his gaze. It hurt more than anger ever could. He stepped closer, voice rough. “Did he… has he ever fucked you?” 

I shook my head immediately. “No. I swear.” He took in a sharp breath, like the words punched him hard. 

His face twisted with pain. He looked away for a second, then back at me. “Turn around.” 

I did. I knew he didn’t want to see my face. Not right now. Not like this. I heard his belt buckle, the slow unzip of his pants. He stepped up behind me. His hands were gentle at first, sliding over my hips, guiding himself to me. He pushed in slowly. It was a little rough. 

I wasn’t ready, not really, but my body remembered him. I became wet in an instant, slick and warm, pulling him in. 

He groaned hard. He stayed still for a moment, buried deep, letting me feel him. Then he started moving. Slow at first, careful thrusts that made my breath catch. His hands roamed my back, tracing my spine, then down to my hips again. 

“Ry,” I whispered. He didn’t answer. He just kept going, picking up speed little by little. His hands came around to my breasts, cupping them, squeezing gently. 

His thumbs brushed my nipples, teasing them until they were hard. I arched my back, pushing into him, needing more. He leaned over me, chest pressing against my back. His breath was hot on my neck. He thrust deeper, harder now, each movement steady and fast. 

I gripped the bedsheet hard, nails digging into the soft cotton. Tears slipped down my cheeks, softly at first, then faster. They fell freely, and I didn’t wipe them away. He fucked me hard, like he needed to feel every inch of me, like he was claiming what was still his. 

His pace quickened, hips snapping against mine. One hand slid down between my legs, fingers finding my clit, rubbing slow circles that matched his thrusts. 

The pressure built fast, too fast. My body trembled. “Ry… please,” I gasped. He didn’t slow down. He thrust harder, deeper, fingers working me perfectly. 

I came hard, shaking, crying out his name in a broken sob. Waves of pleasure crashed through me, mixing with the ache in my chest. 

He kept going, drawing out my release, making me ride it until I was whimpering. Only then did he let himself go. He thrust deep one last time and spilled inside me, groaning my name against my shoulder. He stayed there, buried, breathing heavy against my back. His arms wrapped around me for a moment, holding me close. Then he pulled out slowly. 

I heard the rustle of his clothes. The zipper. The belt. I didn’t turn around. I stayed bent, still naked, tears still falling. 

I felt his eyes on me. He looked at me over and over again. I could feel it. Then the door opened. Closed. He was gone. 

I think I spoiled my marriage.