Chapter 3 Her Husband, My Sin (3)

The drive to Hunter’s apartment felt like a blur. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

Even with the air conditioning blasting, the heat in my skin wouldn’t fade. Every time I shifted gears, I felt the phantom weight of Dave’s hands on my hips.

I hated it. I hated how much I wanted a man who was supposed to be my father figure.

Hunter’s place was a small, messy studio near the college campus. When I pulled up, he was already waiting at the door, leaning against the frame with a hopeful smile.

Hunter was handsome in a safe way—blonde hair, blue eyes, and a lean build. He was the kind of guy you brought home to meet your mother.

But he wasn’t Dave.

“Snow! You’re actually here,” Hunter said, pulling me into a hug as soon as I walked towards him.

He smelled of laundry detergent and cheap body spray. It was a clean smell, but it didn’t make my blood boil the way Dave’s scent did.

I forced a smile and leaned into him, desperate to feel something, anything, that would wash away the memory of the bathroom floor.

“I told you I’d come,” I whispered, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears as we walked inside.

“I’ve missed you so much. You’ve been so distant lately,” Hunter muttered, his hands sliding down to my waist. He started kissing my neck, his lips soft and hesitant.

I closed my eyes, trying to pretend. I tried to imagine that the hands on my waist were larger and rougher. I tried to imagine that the chest I was pressed against was broad and hairy.

“Let’s go to the bed,” I stated, cutting him off. I didn’t want to talk. If we talked, I’d have to think, and if I thought, I’d see Dave’s face again.

Hunter looked surprised by my bluntness, but he didn’t complain. He led me to the bed and started undressing me.

As my clothes hit the floor, I felt a wave of shame, but the hunger in my gut was stronger. I needed to be touched. I needed to be filled so I could forget the man sitting at my mother’s breakfast table.

We got under the covers, and Hunter began to move over me. He was gentle, always checking in to see if I was okay.

“Is this good, Snow?” he whispered, his voice full of affection.

“Yes, Hunter. Just... keep going,” I urged him.

But as he entered me, a wave of disappointment washed over me. Hunter was average. He wasn’t him. He moved with a steady, predictable rhythm that felt like a chore.

He didn’t dominate me; he didn’t make me feel like I was being “destroyed” or “ruined” the way I had imagined in the shower.

I closed my eyes tight, trying to summon the fantasy again. Think of Dave. Think of the way he looked at me. Think of how thick and big he was. “Oh, Dave,” I accidentally breathed out, the name catching in my throat.

“What?” Hunter paused, his brow furrowed.

“Nothing! I said... ‘Faster, babe,’” I lied quickly, my heart racing.

Hunter bought it. He picked up the pace, his breathing becoming heavy. He was trying his best, I could tell.

He was sweating, his face turning red as he pushed himself to give me what he thought I wanted.

I thrashed beneath him, making all the right noises, arching my back and digging my nails into his shoulders. I wanted to come. I needed the release to clear my head.

Finally, Hunter let out a groan and collapsed against me, his chest heaving. He held me tight, kissing my forehead.

“That was amazing,” he panted. “I’ve missed this so much.”

I lay there, staring at the peeling paint on his ceiling. My body felt heavy, but the fire inside me hadn’t been put out.

If anything, it was burning hotter. I felt empty. Despite the physical act, I wasn’t satisfied at all. Hunter had been inside me, but he hadn’t touched the itch that Dave had created.

I felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. Hunter loved me, and here I was, using him like a tool to try to fix a broken obsession.

“I have to go,” I said abruptly, pushing him off me.

“Already? But you just got here. We can watch a movie or get some food...”

“I have a lot of assignments, Hunter. I’m sorry. I just... I needed to see you, but I have to go,” I lied, grabbing my dress from the floor and pulling it on with trembling hands.

“Is everything okay, Snow? You seem... different.”

“I’m just stressed. College is hard this semester,” I responded, not looking him in the eye. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. “I’ll call you later.”

I practically ran to my car. As I drove away, the silence of the cabin felt heavy. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. My hair was a mess, and my lipstick was smudged.

I looked like a girl who had just been fucked, but I didn’t feel like it.

I felt hollow.

Hunter’s touch had been like a light drizzle when I was dying for a thunderstorm. He was too nice and soft. He didn’t have the darkness that Dave carried in his eyes. He didn’t have the power that made me feel small and owned.

As I drove back toward the mansion, the sun began to set, casting long, orange shadows across the road. My mind drifted back to the breakfast table.

Dave’s silence. The way he wouldn’t look at me. Was it because he was disgusted? Or was it because he was holding back the same fire that was consuming me?

I pulled into the long driveway of the mansion. The house looked imposing in the twilight, a grand structure full of secrets. I parked the car and sat there for a moment, my heart thumping against my ribs.

I didn’t want to go inside. I was afraid of what I might do, or what I might see. But I had nowhere else to go.

I walked through the front door. The house was quiet. I could hear the distant sound of the TV in the living room—likely my mother watching her evening dramas.

I headed for the kitchen to grab a glass of water, hoping to slip upstairs unnoticed. But as I turned the corner, I stopped dead.

Dave was standing at the kitchen island, his back to me. He was wearing a tight black t-shirt that showed off the muscles of his back and shoulders.

He was pouring himself a drink, the amber liquid clinking against the glass.

I tried to turn around and leave, but my feet wouldn’t move. I just stood there, watching him.

He didn’t turn around, but his voice broke the silence.

“You’re home late, Snow,” he said. His voice was deep, smooth, and sent a shiver of electricity straight to my core.

“I was with Hunter,” I replied, my voice bolder than I felt.

Dave finally turned around. He leaned against the counter, taking a slow sip of his drink.

His eyes raked over me, taking in my messy hair and my rumpled dress. He looked at me with a cold, knowing smirk that made my blood run cold.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

I swallowed hard. I could smell the whiskey on his breath from across the room. I could see the way his shirt strained against his chest.

“Yes,” I lied, stepping closer. “It was great.”

Dave laughed, a short, dark sound that didn’t reach his eyes. He set his glass down on the counter and took a step toward me.

“You’re a terrible liar, Snow,” he whispered, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. “You smell like him. But you look like a girl who is still starving.”

My breath hitched. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. He knew. He knew exactly what I was feeling.

“What do you want, Dave?” I breathed, my heart hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

He reached out, his large, warm hand cupping my jaw. His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, dragging it down.

“I want you to stop playing games,” he growled. “And I want you to tell me what you were doing outside our bedroom door last night.”