The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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The sight of that filthy old creep turned my stomach. No way was I staying alone with him. My fingers clamped around Ethan's wrist like a vise. "Don't leave," I begged.
Ethan just smiled, cupping my face and pressing a kiss to my lips. "Uncle Harold barely visits. We can't send him off without at least a drink. Sorry, I should've mentioned it earlier."
"Then I'm coming with you," I shot back.
He laughed like I'd told a joke. "Relax, babe. Someone's gotta cook. We can't just ditch him here. I'll be quick—why so clingy today?"
With a teasing pinch to my cheek, he peeled my hands off his arm and walked out.
Bang.
The door slammed shut. Silence. Just me and him.
"Vivian—" His voice slithered across the room.
"Don't," I snapped. "Stay the hell away from me. Eat your damn food and get out of my house, or I won't play nice."
I snatched the grocery bags Ethan had left by the door and stalked into the kitchen, my pulse hammering.
Cooking? Impossible. The idea of making a meal for the slimeball who'd just groped me made bile rise in my throat.
What if he refused to leave? Ethan wouldn't throw him out. Today was fine—weekend, no work—but Monday? When Ethan left for the office? I'd be trapped here with that pervert.
My hands shook. A searing pain shot through my finger as the knife slipped, slicing skin. I gasped, the blade clattering to the counter as I clutched my hand.
Before I could even see the cut, his grimy fingers seized my wrist. Then—oh God—my bleeding finger was in his mouth.
I went rigid, staring in horror as he stood there, sucking on my finger like some grotesque parody of care. His leathery, sun-darkened skin looked obscene against mine. A full-body shudder wracked me.
I wrenched my hand free with a cry, stumbling back—then my foot caught. I pitched sideways.
An arm hooked around my waist, yanking me hard against him.
His other hand grabbed my breast, squeezing hard. I thrashed, shoving at him, but we both went down in a tangle of limbs.
He landed on top of me, his lips grazing my neck. The reek of unwashed hair and stale sweat clogged my nose.
Disgust—thick, choking—surged up my throat. I gagged, heaving him off before scrambling away on all fours like a frantic animal.
"Get off me, you disgusting—!" I slapped his groping hands away when he reached for me again.
He smirked. "We've done worse, baby. Quit acting shy. Besides…" A shrug. "Accident."
Rage burned through me, white-hot. Dirty. Perverted. Bastard.
I jabbed a trembling finger at the door. "Out. Now. Get the hell out of my house!"
He just rolled his shoulders and flopped onto the couch. "Ethan invited me. I'm not going anywhere till he says so."
No shame. None at all.
Ethan just smiled, cupping my face and pressing a kiss to my lips. "Uncle Harold barely visits. We can't send him off without at least a drink. Sorry, I should've mentioned it earlier."
"Then I'm coming with you," I shot back.
He laughed like I'd told a joke. "Relax, babe. Someone's gotta cook. We can't just ditch him here. I'll be quick—why so clingy today?"
With a teasing pinch to my cheek, he peeled my hands off his arm and walked out.
Bang.
The door slammed shut. Silence. Just me and him.
"Vivian—" His voice slithered across the room.
"Don't," I snapped. "Stay the hell away from me. Eat your damn food and get out of my house, or I won't play nice."
I snatched the grocery bags Ethan had left by the door and stalked into the kitchen, my pulse hammering.
Cooking? Impossible. The idea of making a meal for the slimeball who'd just groped me made bile rise in my throat.
What if he refused to leave? Ethan wouldn't throw him out. Today was fine—weekend, no work—but Monday? When Ethan left for the office? I'd be trapped here with that pervert.
My hands shook. A searing pain shot through my finger as the knife slipped, slicing skin. I gasped, the blade clattering to the counter as I clutched my hand.
Before I could even see the cut, his grimy fingers seized my wrist. Then—oh God—my bleeding finger was in his mouth.
I went rigid, staring in horror as he stood there, sucking on my finger like some grotesque parody of care. His leathery, sun-darkened skin looked obscene against mine. A full-body shudder wracked me.
I wrenched my hand free with a cry, stumbling back—then my foot caught. I pitched sideways.
An arm hooked around my waist, yanking me hard against him.
His other hand grabbed my breast, squeezing hard. I thrashed, shoving at him, but we both went down in a tangle of limbs.
He landed on top of me, his lips grazing my neck. The reek of unwashed hair and stale sweat clogged my nose.
Disgust—thick, choking—surged up my throat. I gagged, heaving him off before scrambling away on all fours like a frantic animal.
"Get off me, you disgusting—!" I slapped his groping hands away when he reached for me again.
He smirked. "We've done worse, baby. Quit acting shy. Besides…" A shrug. "Accident."
Rage burned through me, white-hot. Dirty. Perverted. Bastard.
I jabbed a trembling finger at the door. "Out. Now. Get the hell out of my house!"
He just rolled his shoulders and flopped onto the couch. "Ethan invited me. I'm not going anywhere till he says so."
No shame. None at all.
End of The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage book page.