Dangerous Games

Chapter 3 - His Game

I never replied to my lover's text about meeting again. As much as my body ached for him, I tried to push it out of my mind, keeping myself busy preparing dinner for my husband. Chopping, stirring—anything to keep my hands moving and my mind off the temptation that still lingered.

The guilt weighed on me, pressing harder each passing minute. I needed to act normal and focus on my husband. Smoothing down the red dress I'd slipped into earlier, I felt the cool fabric brush against my bare skin, a reminder of the choice I'd made tonight: to wear nothing underneath. Seducing my husband felt like the only way to shake off this lingering weight and to feel something other than the heaviness suffocating me.

The door opened, and my husband stepped inside, his footsteps pulling me from my thoughts.

"You're early," I said, glancing up from the stove. "Dinner won't be ready for a few more minutes."

"That's fine," he said, moving toward the stairs. "I'll grab a quick shower before we eat. Oh, and I invited a friend over for dinner. That okay?"

I paused for a second, then nodded. I always made extra food, and honestly, after what I had done, how could I say no to anything he wanted?

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you want," I said, my voice softer than I intended.

While my husband showered, I set the table, arranging the soup and salads in the center. The rich smell of roasted chicken filled the kitchen as I moved, almost on autopilot, pouring wine into glasses. My thoughts were anywhere but here—they were wrapped around him. My lover. The feel of his hands on my skin, the warmth of his body pressing against mine, his scent still lingering like a ghostly reminder.

I took a steadying breath, glancing at the clock just as the water shut off upstairs. Then the doorbell rang.

"Honey, can you get that?" my husband called from upstairs. "I'm just finishing getting dressed."

I wiped my hands on a towel and walked to the door. When I opened it, my heart dropped. Standing there, a man in black jeans and a blue shirt, holding a bouquet of red roses, his piercing stare cutting right through me.

Those eyes. Those lips. My mind raced—no, it can't be him. My lover had worn a ski mask when he came over, never sending me a picture of his face. But now, standing in front of me, it felt like this man could be him. No, I told myself, it can't be.

"These are for you," he murmured, leaning in close, his breath warm against my ear. "Babe."

My nipples hardened instantly, pressing against the thin fabric of my dress. That voice. The way he said babe—the same way he'd called me when he fucked me.

I froze, my eyes locking onto his, and then I saw it. The grin. That familiar, smug grin that sent a chill down my spine. It was him—my masked lover, standing right in front of me.

"You really shouldn't have been ignoring my texts." His voice was soft, almost playful, but there was a sharpness beneath it that made my blood run cold.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. My throat felt like sandpaper, and all I could do was stand there, frozen.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

I flinched, my heart pounding as I tried to pull myself together. What is he going to do? My thoughts spiraled, but I couldn't find the words.

He chuckled, stepping past me as if it was the most natural thing in the world, his gaze lingering on me. "Don't worry," he said, his tone casual but ominous. "I'm not here to cause trouble... yet."