The Woman Trapped in a Sexless Marriage - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

My heart leaped into my throat when he lunged at me. Before my brain could catch up, my body reacted—I recoiled violently, my foot connecting hard with his face.
The filthy old bastard never saw it coming. He went sprawling off the bed, hitting the floor with a thud.
Trembling, I yanked the blanket around myself, screaming, "Ethan! God, Ethan—get in here!"
Ethan burst through the door, cigarette still dangling from his lips. "Jesus, what happened?"
I threw myself against his chest, choking on sobs. "That—that disgusting pig tried to—"
He crushed the cigarette under his shoe and pulled me close, exhaling heavily.
The old creep was already scrambling to his feet. My stomach turned when I saw his revolting erection still standing at attention. I looked away instantly. God, if only Ethan could get like that...
As if reading my thoughts, the old man groaned, rubbing his neck. "Don't blame me, Ethan. Your little wife here nearly snapped my damn neck—"
"Enough." Ethan cut him off with a sharp nod. "Uncle Harold, give us a minute."
Still buck naked, the old man shuffled out, muttering under his breath.
"Get him out of here, Ethan. I never want to see that vile—" My voice cracked, my whole body shaking with rage.
He stroked my back in slow circles until my breathing evened out, then lit another cigarette. His next words hit like a sucker punch:
"Vivian... I asked him to do it."
My blood ran cold. I couldn't have heard him right.
Five years of marriage," he continued, smoke curling between us. "Five years, and still no baby."
Bitter tears pricked my eyes. How was this my fault? I was still untouched—no immaculate conceptions happening here.
He pulled me closer, his voice raw. "Every family gathering, every damn barbecue... the way people look at me. The jokes about whether I can even get it up. It's killing me, Viv."
"We'll keep trying treatments," I whispered, clinging to him. Despite everything, his pain still tore at me.
"There's nothing left to try." His voice broke. "Years of doctors, pills, therapies—nothing works."
A heavy silence settled between us.
"So I thought..." He swallowed hard. "Maybe Uncle Harold could help. At least the baby would still be a Lowell."
I wrenched myself free, staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "You can't be serious."
"I should've talked to you first." Guilt shadowed his face. "Just... get through this. Once you're pregnant, he's gone."
My hands balled into fists. "What kind of woman do you take me for?" Hot tears spilled over.
Ethan tossed his cigarette aside. "Fine. If you won't do it, we'll find another way." He drew me back into his arms.
I cried until I had nothing left. Ethan brought me water, but sleep wouldn't come—not with the memory of that old man's groping hands making my skin crawl. I needed to scrub myself raw.
Too paranoid he might watch, I made Ethan stand guard outside the bathroom.
Halfway through washing, fire ignited in my veins. My knees buckled as waves of heat pulsed between my thighs, spreading through every inch of me.
No matter how hard I scrubbed, the slickness only worsened. My thighs trembled, rubbing together of their own accord.
What the hell was happening? Ethan had teased me before, but never like this. Why did I feel so... hungry?
Then, through the door, Ethan's voice:
"Uncle Harold... it's working. Go on in."