My Ice-Cold Husband Can't Stop Thinking About Me
Piper Hayes · Completed · 6.2k Words
Introduction
Three years of contract marriage. He's never touched me once.
On our wedding night, I tried to move into his bedroom. He refused. I stood in front of him wearing lingerie. He just said, calm as ever, "You should get some rest."
I'm a healthy woman with a normal sex drive. Every day I'm burning up with my own desire.
I thought he didn't love me. So for both our sakes, I signed the divorce papers. Today, I'm telling him.
Then that afternoon, I suddenly heard his thoughts.
When I walked up to him in just a towel, he looked calm, staring at his laptop. But his mind was screaming: Holy shit. She's not wearing anything under that. Look at that skin. Her tits are huge. I can't take this anymore... no, I'll scare her. Fuck. I'm hard again.
Turns out under the ice, there's a volcano that's been buried for just as long.
I slip the divorce papers back into hiding and pour him a coffee.
New plan: make that volcano blow.
Chapter 1
Violet's POV
Everyone says I married an iceberg.
Three years of contract marriage. He's never touched me once.
On our wedding night, I tried to move into his bedroom. He refused. I stood in front of him wearing lingerie. He just said, calm as ever, "You should get some rest."
I'm a healthy woman with a normal sex drive. Every day I'm burning up with my own desire.
I thought he didn't love me. So for both our sakes, I signed the divorce papers. Today, I'm telling him.
Then that afternoon, I suddenly heard his thoughts.
When I walked up to him in just a towel, he looked calm, staring at his laptop. But his mind was screaming: Holy shit. She's not wearing anything under that. Look at that skin. Her tits are huge. I can't take this anymore... no, I'll scare her. Fuck. I'm hard again.
Turns out under the ice, there's a volcano that's been buried for just as long.
I slip the divorce papers back into hiding and pour him a coffee.
New plan: make that volcano blow.
"This is your divorce agreement. Sign here, please."
The lawyer's voice was flat. Three years of marriage, reduced to a few pages.
My mind flashed back to that afternoon. My parents' bookstore was failing, bills piling up everywhere. I sat in the empty shop, staring at dusty shelves, numb with despair. About to lose the only thing my parents left me.
That's when James pushed through the door. My college classmate. Now a finance exec at some big firm.
He said he could save the bookstore. But there was a catch: marry him for three years.
I said yes.
The past three years, he's been perfect. The bookstore turned around. He gives me everything I want. Everyone thinks I scored the perfect husband.
The only problem is, in three years, we've never had sex.
Not even once.
Our wedding night, I worked up the courage to go to his room. He grabbed his pillow and bolted to the guest bed. Later, I bought lingerie online, stood right in front of him wearing it. He glanced at me once and said, "You should get some rest."
I felt like an idiot.
Eventually I figured it out. Contract marriage. It's just a transaction. He's nice to me because it's his obligation. He doesn't touch me because he's keeping his distance. Makes sense.
But sometimes at night, lying in bed, my body reacts on its own. I have to bite the sheets to deal with it, and afterward I just feel pathetic.
Last week at girls' night, they were all talking. One bragging about her boyfriend's stamina, another complaining her new guy sucks in bed.
I just sat there. Couldn't join in.
I'm attracted to him, that's true. I have been since college. Back then he was the guy everyone noticed. Smart, hot, just didn't talk much.
But feelings go both ways. If he doesn't love me, what's the point of me liking him?
Time to divorce.
These three years, I'll consider them payback for him saving the bookstore.
I signed my name.
When I get home, James is sitting in the living room.
He usually works late at the office. Today he's actually home, working on his laptop. White dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His jawline's sharp, and there's something sexy about how focused he looks.
God, he's so fucking good-looking. Three years of only looking, never touching.
Won't get another chance after this.
I call out, "I'm home."
He doesn't look up. "Yeah."
I head upstairs with my bag. "I'm taking a shower."
Hot water runs over me. I close my eyes, rehearsing how to start the conversation.
"I don't think we're right for each other..." "The three years are almost up, might as well end it early..." "Actually, I already signed the papers..."
I turn off the water and grab a towel.
Wait.
Where's my underwear?
I definitely left it here before the shower. The black lace pair.
I took the divorce papers out of my bag, tucked them behind my back, and headed for the living room, wrapped in nothing but a towel.
James is still there, typing. Up close I can see he's undone two buttons on his shirt, exposing his collarbone.
I'm about to speak when a voice explodes in my head: Holy shit! Why is she walking around in just a towel? Look at that skin. Fuck. Her tits are huge. The towel can barely hold them. No no no, don't look! She'll notice. God I can't take this anymore...
I freeze.
That's... James's voice?
But he's not talking. He's still looking at his laptop.
James coughs twice, shifts in his seat, then looks up at me, face blank. "What's up?"
Then his voice again in my head: I want to jump her. Pin her on the couch. Rip that fucking towel off. No no. I'll scare her. She'll think I'm a creep. Calm down. Breathe. Shit. I'm hard again.
This is what he's thinking?
I can hear his thoughts?
I take a deep breath and crush the papers into a ball behind my back. Then I walk over and pick up his coffee mug.
"You work too hard." I lean down to hand it to him.
We're close. So close I can see his lashes, hear him breathing.
James's throat bobs hard. His eyes lock onto my chest, barely covered by the towel. He swallows and takes the mug stiffly.
"Th-thanks."
Then he shoots up, slams his laptop shut, and practically runs to the kitchen.
I stand there, watching him flee.
In my head, a voice roars: FUCK!!!!
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Behind my back, I open my hand. The divorce papers sit there, crumpled into a ball.
I glance toward the kitchen.
Whisper to myself:
"Game on."
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