The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage - Chapter 11: Chapter 11
You are reading The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage, Chapter 11: Chapter 11. Read more chapters of The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage.
Like all forbidden encounters, we sought out hidden corners—a members-only club where we could escape curious glances.
The attraction was instant. His gaze burned with hunger, the kind that made it obvious he wanted to strip me bare right there. Even the most polished men are slaves to their instincts.
Dinner conversation flowed, but my thoughts kept drifting—nerves, anticipation, maybe even dread. He was smooth, always one step ahead, so he poured the wine.
Half a bottle in, the overthinking faded. What was there to lose? If this ended with me in his bed, so be it. I was already in too deep.
And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Chances like this didn't come around often.
Then I said it: "I've made up my mind."
"About what?" he asked, feigning innocence.
"Don't play dumb. They say men 'figure it out,' and women 'open up.' So, have you figured it out?"
He went still. I almost wished I'd said it while he was mid-sip—maybe he'd have choked. Instead, he laughed, loud and unguarded.
"Christ, you're something else. Is this how intellectuals flirt? Such filthy talk from such a sweet face—didn't see that coming."
"You asshole! You have no idea how much I've wrestled with this. All you do is call, take me to dinner, drag me to karaoke. Do you even care that I have a family? That this isn't easy for me?" My voice cracked, tears spilling before I could stop them.
He startled, sliding over to pull me against him. "Hey, hey—this isn't you. You're always so controlled. I thought you needed time. That's why I held back. I didn't want to push you away."
"I wanted you to know me. To want me for more than just… this. Yeah, I'm dying for you, but if it ruins us, I'd rather keep you as a friend."
"Understand? Then why make me cry?" I wasn't really angry at him—just furious at myself for caving so fast. I'd practically handed myself over.
God, how pathetic.
The truth was, that wicked old man had cracked me open. Part of me wished I'd met him first—maybe then my memories wouldn't taste so bitter.
"I'm sorry. I'm a moron. Here—" He wrinkled his nose, puckered his lips, and let out a perfect pig snort. A grown man, nearly forty, oinking like a farm animal. I burst out laughing.
Then I realized his arms were still around me. I tried to wiggle free, but he held firm. "Let me tell you something—I've known from the start. If I'd realized you were this impatient, I'd have had you that very first night."
The attraction was instant. His gaze burned with hunger, the kind that made it obvious he wanted to strip me bare right there. Even the most polished men are slaves to their instincts.
Dinner conversation flowed, but my thoughts kept drifting—nerves, anticipation, maybe even dread. He was smooth, always one step ahead, so he poured the wine.
Half a bottle in, the overthinking faded. What was there to lose? If this ended with me in his bed, so be it. I was already in too deep.
And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Chances like this didn't come around often.
Then I said it: "I've made up my mind."
"About what?" he asked, feigning innocence.
"Don't play dumb. They say men 'figure it out,' and women 'open up.' So, have you figured it out?"
He went still. I almost wished I'd said it while he was mid-sip—maybe he'd have choked. Instead, he laughed, loud and unguarded.
"Christ, you're something else. Is this how intellectuals flirt? Such filthy talk from such a sweet face—didn't see that coming."
"You asshole! You have no idea how much I've wrestled with this. All you do is call, take me to dinner, drag me to karaoke. Do you even care that I have a family? That this isn't easy for me?" My voice cracked, tears spilling before I could stop them.
He startled, sliding over to pull me against him. "Hey, hey—this isn't you. You're always so controlled. I thought you needed time. That's why I held back. I didn't want to push you away."
"I wanted you to know me. To want me for more than just… this. Yeah, I'm dying for you, but if it ruins us, I'd rather keep you as a friend."
"Understand? Then why make me cry?" I wasn't really angry at him—just furious at myself for caving so fast. I'd practically handed myself over.
God, how pathetic.
The truth was, that wicked old man had cracked me open. Part of me wished I'd met him first—maybe then my memories wouldn't taste so bitter.
"I'm sorry. I'm a moron. Here—" He wrinkled his nose, puckered his lips, and let out a perfect pig snort. A grown man, nearly forty, oinking like a farm animal. I burst out laughing.
Then I realized his arms were still around me. I tried to wiggle free, but he held firm. "Let me tell you something—I've known from the start. If I'd realized you were this impatient, I'd have had you that very first night."
End of The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage Chapter 11. Continue reading Chapter 12 or return to The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage book page.