Addicted to the Dean's Punishment

"Honey, come here."

I stood by the bedroom door in my new lingerie, waiting for my husband.

Ethan approached, his eyes lighting up.

"You bought this for me? You look stunning."

I smirked with pride.

I’d researched endlessly to find this set—it accentuated every curve perfectly.

"Is Sophia asleep?"

"Yes, she’s asleep."

I nodded, relieved our daughter was sleeping soundly.

Ethan patted my back, gesturing toward the bedroom.

I knew he didn’t want to wake her.

I interlaced our fingers and pushed him onto the bed.

I couldn’t wait any longer.

"Slow down, sweetheart."

I pressed a finger to his lips.

"Don’t you miss me?"

"Of course I do," he said quickly.

"But…"

He looked uneasy.

My heart sank.

Another excuse.

Seeing my disappointment, he added, "I haven’t been feeling well lately."

I rolled my eyes.

Here we go again.

I climbed off him, stripped off the lingerie, and grabbed my pajamas.

I locked myself in the bathroom.

Ethan called out an apology, but I ignored him.

I crouched on the floor, tears streaming down my face.

My name is Vivian Anderson, a middle school teacher.

My husband, Ethan Lowell, is an office clerk.

This scene played out often in our marriage.

I tried to seduce him, but he always had an excuse.

It was torture.

I’d always been different from other women—more passionate, more needing.

I thought marriage would fix that.

I was wrong.

Ethan was… inadequate.

I used to think all men were like him until a party opened my eyes.

I was devastated.

But life had to go on.