The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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The hard length pressed insistently against me, sliding down the curve of my backside before settling between my thighs. I could've pushed him away—should've—but my body froze in unexpected hesitation.
My husband had never felt this... substantial.
As the rigid heat burned through my skirt and panties, an unfamiliar electric current shot through me, weakening my knees. Warmth pooled low in my belly, spreading like liquid fire until my breaths came in shallow gasps.
Never in my life had I encountered a man so... impressively endowed. The sheer thickness pressed against my most intimate place made my head spin.
Every rational thought screamed at me to pull away, to scream, to do anything—but my traitorous body arched back instead.
Emboldened by my lack of resistance, his hands grew bolder. My skirt hitched up as he ground against me, the thin lace of my panties doing nothing to disguise his scorching heat.
My pulse skyrocketed as my body betrayed me further, growing slick with arousal. His ragged breaths warmed my neck as he rocked against me, each deliberate movement sending jolts of pleasure through my core.
I bit down on my lip hard enough to bruise, stifling the moan threatening to escape. My mind painted a picture of the stranger behind me—tall, broad-shouldered, probably devastatingly handsome...
Then his fingers hooked into my panties, yanking them aside. The shocking contact of bare flesh against flesh jolted me back to reality.
What the hell was I doing? My husband might be lackluster in bed, but he'd given me everything—designer clothes, a penthouse, never asking me to work a day since our wedding. And here I was, practically dry-humping a stranger in an elevator?
The ding of arriving floors saved me. I practically leaped forward, putting space between us—and immediately mourned the loss of contact.
Turning, I finally got my first look at the man who'd reduced me to a panting mess.
My stomach lurched.
A greasy, unshaven man in his fifties smirked at me, yellowed teeth visible through his leer. The fantasy shattered like dropped glass. Disgust curdled in my stomach—I'd let this revolting creep violate me for how long?
I bolted from the elevator before it even fully stopped, not caring that it wasn't my floor. I'd take twenty flights of stairs over another second near him.
By the time I reached our apartment, sweat glued my blouse to my back. "Ethan," I gasped, shoving groceries into his arms. "I'm home."
"You're late," he said, pecking my cheek. "Uncle Harold's visiting. Come say hello."
I fixed on my best hostess smile as he led me to the living room—then my blood turned to ice.
There sat Elevator Pervert, looking right at home on our Italian leather sofa.
My entire body locked up. He, meanwhile, looked utterly pleased with himself.
"Vivian, isn't it?" He stood, extending a hand like we were meeting for the first time. "Ethan married a stunning woman, but photos don't do you justice."
I forced myself to shake his hand—only to feel his disgusting fingernail scrape my palm when Ethan glanced away. I jerked back like I'd been burned, shooting him a death glare.
Ethan squeezed my shoulder. "Keep Uncle Harold company. I'll grab that Bordeaux from storage."
My stomach dropped to my shoes. He was leaving me alone with this predator?
My husband had never felt this... substantial.
As the rigid heat burned through my skirt and panties, an unfamiliar electric current shot through me, weakening my knees. Warmth pooled low in my belly, spreading like liquid fire until my breaths came in shallow gasps.
Never in my life had I encountered a man so... impressively endowed. The sheer thickness pressed against my most intimate place made my head spin.
Every rational thought screamed at me to pull away, to scream, to do anything—but my traitorous body arched back instead.
Emboldened by my lack of resistance, his hands grew bolder. My skirt hitched up as he ground against me, the thin lace of my panties doing nothing to disguise his scorching heat.
My pulse skyrocketed as my body betrayed me further, growing slick with arousal. His ragged breaths warmed my neck as he rocked against me, each deliberate movement sending jolts of pleasure through my core.
I bit down on my lip hard enough to bruise, stifling the moan threatening to escape. My mind painted a picture of the stranger behind me—tall, broad-shouldered, probably devastatingly handsome...
Then his fingers hooked into my panties, yanking them aside. The shocking contact of bare flesh against flesh jolted me back to reality.
What the hell was I doing? My husband might be lackluster in bed, but he'd given me everything—designer clothes, a penthouse, never asking me to work a day since our wedding. And here I was, practically dry-humping a stranger in an elevator?
The ding of arriving floors saved me. I practically leaped forward, putting space between us—and immediately mourned the loss of contact.
Turning, I finally got my first look at the man who'd reduced me to a panting mess.
My stomach lurched.
A greasy, unshaven man in his fifties smirked at me, yellowed teeth visible through his leer. The fantasy shattered like dropped glass. Disgust curdled in my stomach—I'd let this revolting creep violate me for how long?
I bolted from the elevator before it even fully stopped, not caring that it wasn't my floor. I'd take twenty flights of stairs over another second near him.
By the time I reached our apartment, sweat glued my blouse to my back. "Ethan," I gasped, shoving groceries into his arms. "I'm home."
"You're late," he said, pecking my cheek. "Uncle Harold's visiting. Come say hello."
I fixed on my best hostess smile as he led me to the living room—then my blood turned to ice.
There sat Elevator Pervert, looking right at home on our Italian leather sofa.
My entire body locked up. He, meanwhile, looked utterly pleased with himself.
"Vivian, isn't it?" He stood, extending a hand like we were meeting for the first time. "Ethan married a stunning woman, but photos don't do you justice."
I forced myself to shake his hand—only to feel his disgusting fingernail scrape my palm when Ethan glanced away. I jerked back like I'd been burned, shooting him a death glare.
Ethan squeezed my shoulder. "Keep Uncle Harold company. I'll grab that Bordeaux from storage."
My stomach dropped to my shoes. He was leaving me alone with this predator?
End of The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage book page.