The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
You are reading The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage, Chapter 12: Chapter 12. Read more chapters of The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage.
My fists clenched involuntarily as I pounded against his chest. Then his lips were on mine—warm, insistent—marking the first time I'd kissed anyone but my husband.
The crisp taste of mint lingered on his tongue. Damn him for being good at this. Against my will, my body responded—nipples tightening beneath my dress, every brush of fabric sending electric currents through me.
I broke away just before crossing the point of no return. A few more seconds and I'd have been moaning right there on the street.
"Having trouble controlling yourself?" That infuriating smirk told me he knew exactly what he was doing.
"Asshole!" I buried my flaming face in his shirt rather than let him see how affected I was.
"So what's the plan?" His voice dropped an octave. "Slow seduction or straight to the bedroom?" The transformation from charming to predatory was instantaneous.
"Neither. Let's walk." His palm already cupped my breast through the fabric—thank God I'd worn this modest dress today. Small mercies that his fingers hadn't ventured under my skirt yet.
I planted a quick kiss on his stubbled cheek and twisted free before he could react. The deserted street spared me public humiliation, though part of me wondered if that would've stopped us.
The car ride passed in a haze of tension and soft jazz. Midnight painted the city in muted tones—too late for karaoke bars, too early for real recklessness. With my husband away on his extended business trip, time had become this shapeless thing I moved through like a ghost.
The rhythm of the tires nearly lulled me to sleep. Strange how natural this felt—two near-strangers teetering on the brink of intimacy. Just being near him sparked fantasies of trysts in elevators, library stacks, anywhere but a proper bed. Maybe because my last proper bed experience had been... well, tragic.
Christ, I was turning into some kind of sex-crazed maniac.
Here I was pretending to resist while my damp panties betrayed me. Lately even my husband's halfhearted attempts left me embarrassingly wet.
"Penny for your thoughts?" His voice snapped me back to reality.
"You. Specifically—how many women have fallen for that smirk of yours?"
"Really? You're asking for my body count while I'm trying not to wreck this car? My right side's occupied—left hand alone won't satisfy you."
"Go to hell."
"Truth is... I'm actually untouched. Pure as the driven snow."
"Then I'm Mother Teresa. Keep your unholy hands to yourself or risk divine retribution."
Our banter continued in this vein—flippant, charged, carefully skirting real talk about failed marriages. For tonight, I'd allow myself this indulgence.
The dashboard clock read 11 PM. One week since my husband left. Sometimes I wondered if he'd planned it this way.
"Take me home? Early meeting tomorrow." The lie came easily. Sleep wasn't happening tonight regardless.
"Is that code for 'take me to bed'? Bold move."
"Code for 'drop dead in a ditch.'"
But was I inviting him? Would I stop him at the door? Hell, at this point if he pushed me against the wall, I'd probably thank him.
When the car stopped, I bolted like a startled deer toward my building.
"Easy there, tiger." His laughter followed me. "I know I'm irresistible, but try not to faceplant before we get to the good part."
The audacity of this thirty-nine-year-old man was unreal.
"Shut up!" I hissed as he trailed me inside, moving with exaggerated stealth like some cartoon burglar.
I'd just welcomed the damn big bad wolf into my home.
The crisp taste of mint lingered on his tongue. Damn him for being good at this. Against my will, my body responded—nipples tightening beneath my dress, every brush of fabric sending electric currents through me.
I broke away just before crossing the point of no return. A few more seconds and I'd have been moaning right there on the street.
"Having trouble controlling yourself?" That infuriating smirk told me he knew exactly what he was doing.
"Asshole!" I buried my flaming face in his shirt rather than let him see how affected I was.
"So what's the plan?" His voice dropped an octave. "Slow seduction or straight to the bedroom?" The transformation from charming to predatory was instantaneous.
"Neither. Let's walk." His palm already cupped my breast through the fabric—thank God I'd worn this modest dress today. Small mercies that his fingers hadn't ventured under my skirt yet.
I planted a quick kiss on his stubbled cheek and twisted free before he could react. The deserted street spared me public humiliation, though part of me wondered if that would've stopped us.
The car ride passed in a haze of tension and soft jazz. Midnight painted the city in muted tones—too late for karaoke bars, too early for real recklessness. With my husband away on his extended business trip, time had become this shapeless thing I moved through like a ghost.
The rhythm of the tires nearly lulled me to sleep. Strange how natural this felt—two near-strangers teetering on the brink of intimacy. Just being near him sparked fantasies of trysts in elevators, library stacks, anywhere but a proper bed. Maybe because my last proper bed experience had been... well, tragic.
Christ, I was turning into some kind of sex-crazed maniac.
Here I was pretending to resist while my damp panties betrayed me. Lately even my husband's halfhearted attempts left me embarrassingly wet.
"Penny for your thoughts?" His voice snapped me back to reality.
"You. Specifically—how many women have fallen for that smirk of yours?"
"Really? You're asking for my body count while I'm trying not to wreck this car? My right side's occupied—left hand alone won't satisfy you."
"Go to hell."
"Truth is... I'm actually untouched. Pure as the driven snow."
"Then I'm Mother Teresa. Keep your unholy hands to yourself or risk divine retribution."
Our banter continued in this vein—flippant, charged, carefully skirting real talk about failed marriages. For tonight, I'd allow myself this indulgence.
The dashboard clock read 11 PM. One week since my husband left. Sometimes I wondered if he'd planned it this way.
"Take me home? Early meeting tomorrow." The lie came easily. Sleep wasn't happening tonight regardless.
"Is that code for 'take me to bed'? Bold move."
"Code for 'drop dead in a ditch.'"
But was I inviting him? Would I stop him at the door? Hell, at this point if he pushed me against the wall, I'd probably thank him.
When the car stopped, I bolted like a startled deer toward my building.
"Easy there, tiger." His laughter followed me. "I know I'm irresistible, but try not to faceplant before we get to the good part."
The audacity of this thirty-nine-year-old man was unreal.
"Shut up!" I hissed as he trailed me inside, moving with exaggerated stealth like some cartoon burglar.
I'd just welcomed the damn big bad wolf into my home.
End of The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage Chapter 12. Continue reading Chapter 13 or return to The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage book page.