2. If You Weren't?

Raelyn’s pov

Once Torin left, I noticed Dylan was looking around for me, and I quickly ordered him a drink and myself a Coke. Not that I needed the caffeine; I was already wide awake and very flustered.

“You took your sweet time, Lyn. Have you seen Mr. Vilkas?” Dylan asked me when I handed him the drink. “He left in the middle of our conversation to go to the bar.”

“I did see him at the bar,” I admitted.

His eyes stared daggers at me, “I told you this was an important night for me. You can’t even order drinks like a normal fucking person, and you ruined my chances of speaking to Mr. Vilkas.”

“He said he needed to leave,” I quickly replied.

“When?”

I swallowed and chose my words carefully, “Just before I came here.”

Dylan breathed out heavily, his jaw clenched, and drank his whiskey in one go. “This was my chance, Lyn. You probably did something to scare him away. He never attends these parties, and you just fucking blew it for me.”

“You don’t know that, Dylan. Maybe, -“  I tried, but Dylan cut me off, “I don’t need to hear anything from you right now except an apology.”

I quickly apologized and tried my best to salvage the rest of the night. But since Torin had left, Dylan felt it wasn’t needed to stay until the end.

So we went home early.

The car ride was tense. Despite my offer to drive, Dylan chose to do so. I held onto the car seat with every sharp turn, hoping the cops wouldn’t stop us or Dylan wouldn’t crash the car.

When we got into the house, I expected the worst. Maybe I deserved it.

I could have presented myself better. I shouldn’t have taken so long with the drinks and, well, most importantly, I shouldn’t have talked with Torin. I’m married, and it felt wrong to even admire the man, let alone flirt with him.

Did I flirt?

He was clearly flirting with me, though. Calling me dimples…

Grandma used to love my dimples when I smiled.

“Lyn?! Do you even hear me?”

I hadn’t heard a thing. I had been thinking—overthinking—about tonight. Replaying my conversation with Torin. Thinking about how he smelled, how he sounded…

My face turned red, thinking about how my body reacted to his.

“I’m sorry, Dylan. I’m just tired, I guess.” I said, making myself small. This was supposed to be a good night for us. Like a date night. We hadn’t had one of those in a while.

Dylan sighed and smiled at me, “it’s fine. I mean, I should have expected it, I guess. I just need to admit to myself that you’re not like those other wives, and that is fine, you know. I should have known you would disappoint me.”

I looked down at my fake nails, fidgeting with them nervously.

“And the night wasn’t a total waste. I did get his number.” Dylan added.

I smiled shyly at Dylan, “that’s good.”

“By the way, what else did you two talk about?” Dylan suddenly asked. He sounded so casual, but I knew there was more to it.

“Who?”

“You and Mr. Vilkas, of course. You said he told you he was leaving. You met at the bar…?” Dylan’s smile turned into something more sinister. He could get so jealous sometimes.

He always said it was just because he was insecure and because he loved me so much.

That's why he offered me the opportunity to quit my job and focus on taking care of the household. He didn't like the idea of me working with other men. Dylan had said that eventually I would have stopped working anyway to raise our kids one day. So why not stop now?

At the time, it made sense.

I didn’t think I’d feel this lonely, though.

“Yeah, he just said we’re a lovely couple.” I lied. I so badly lied. I’m usually better at lying, but there was no bit of the conversation that I could repeat without it coming off wrong.

Dylan walked towards the sofa I sat on, towering over me. “Lyn, you know I hate it when you lie.”

“He just, um, he complimented my dress. That’s all.” I didn’t know where to look or what to do. It felt like living with a time bomb sometimes. The clock kept ticking, and I wasn’t sure when Dylan would explode. One thing was sure, though; sooner or later, the bomb would go off, and I'd get hurt.

“He likes you.” He sneered.

I shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe. I told him I’m married.”

“And if you weren’t?” Dylan asked.

I laughed nervously, “but I am.”

Dylan got on his knees in front of the sofa, “but if you weren’t?”

I shook my head, “I don’t like playing this game, Dylan. I’m with you. I would never cheat on you.”

He pushed my dress up, exposing my underwear. “Nobody can love you the way I love you.”

“I know,” I said, as his fingers brushed past my underwear.

He hooked his fingers in the band of my thong, pulling it down. “Show me how much you love me, Lyn. Let me feel it.”

His fingers rubbed between my folds and entered me violently.

“See how wet you are. Only I can make you feel like this.” Dylan said, before kissing me.

Dylan could never know the reason I was wet had nothing to do with him, but everything to do with his boss.

The moment I closed my eyes and kissed him back, I saw the eyes of Torin staring back at me.

I tried not to think of him, but it felt impossible not to. It was like I had no choice.

When Dylan pulled me forward and pushed himself inside of me, kissing me aggressively, I imagined Torin between my legs.

Torin’s eyes locked on mine as he made love to me.

And when I shuddered from my orgasm, it was Torin’s face I pictured, smirking at me.

When I opened my eyes, Dylan looked at me, “see, only I can make you cum like this.”

It was like an ice bath, hearing and seeing Dylan. Dylan's grunts were distracting, and his scent nauseated me. It felt wrong.

Dylan grabbed my throat, staring at me, and I tried to pretend I liked it, hoping he would be done soon.

Dylan applied pressure to my throat, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. He grunted one last time and pulled out, ejaculating over my new dress.

“Next time, I’m not pulling out. I want a baby in that belly of yours.” Dylan said as he hobbled to the bathroom, leaving me confused on the sofa.

I felt so many things. Guilty for thinking of another man. Dirty. Annoyed that he ruined my new dress.

Dylan claimed he alone could make me orgasm, but he didn't realize it was my first in months. Every time we have sex, he barely spends time on foreplay.

Oftentimes I’m already half asleep when he enters the bed, and he just wants a quick fuck, and that’s it. He doesn't care about my pleasure.

It's made me not want intimacy at all. I just wish he'd care how I felt. I just wish he would want me to feel good too. Like he used to.

But I can’t tell Dylan any of that.

I can’t tell him I’ve been thinking about leaving. I have a to-go bag ready and am saving up money. I'm not sure I'll leave, but I need a plan just in case it gets really bad next time he gets angry.

I can't tell Dylan that I don't recognize myself anymore, and I feel scared and nervous all the time.

I can’t tell Dylan that I don’t want to have a baby with him, because the thought of being tied to him for the next eighteen years terrifies me.

And I really can’t tell Dylan that if I wasn’t married to him, I would have gone home with Torin in a heartbeat.