Two minutes man

“Please… don’t stop…”

The desperate plea had barely left my lips. Before I could even finish my statement, Matthew had already groaned, shuddered, and finished.

A second later, he fell onto my body like a log of wood.

The heavy, suffocating weight of my husband crushed the air from my lungs, but it was nothing compared to the weight of the disappointment crushing my soul. I lay there beneath him, staring blankly up at the ceiling, my body aching with a restless, unfulfilled fire. I felt incredibly tired. Exhausted, not from passion, but from the sheer misery of my existence.

With a frustrated sigh, I braced my hands against his chest and forcefully pushed him off my body.

Matthew grunted, completely unbothered by my frustration. He rolled over, stood up from the velvet mattress, and casually grabbed his trousers from the floor, stepping into them as if he hadn’t just left his wife completely stranded in a desert of dissatisfaction.

“Not again,” I muttered, sitting up and pulling the satin sheets tightly against my chest. My voice trembled with months of built-up resentment.

Matthew paused, buckling his belt, his dark eyes narrowing at me.

“I don’t know why you decided to get married to me knowing you are a two-minute man!” I snapped, the anger finally boiling over. I didn’t care about the danger anymore. I was a passionate, freaky woman who used to love sex before this nightmare, and being starved like this was driving me insane. “You completely ruined my life and my sex life since I married you! And for what? To keep me in isolation? Locked up in this house like a prisoner?”

“Shut your mouth, Elena,” Matthew growled,

“No! I won’t!” I screamed, tears of frustration pricking my eyes. “You keep me indoors, surrounded by guards, and you can’t even satisfy me for more than a single minute! You’re a joke, Matthew!”

The insult shattered his  ego.

In a flash of pure, rabid fury, Matthew crossed the room. Before I could flinch, his heavy hand flew forward, striking me hard across my face. The force of the blow threw me backward onto the pillows, a sharp metallic taste of blood instantly exploding on my lower lip.

“Don’t forget your place, girl,” Matthew hissed, looking down at me as I held my throbbing face. “I bought you. I payed for your brother’s hospital bill. You sit in this house, look pretty, and take what I give you.”

Without a shred of remorse, he adjusted his shirt, zipped his trousers, and turned on his heel. He slammed the heavy master bedroom door behind him, leaving the estate to handle his nightly drug shipments, leaving me weeping and burning in the dark.

The freezing water of the shower hit my face, shocking my system as I stood trembling beneath the spray. I watched the faint pink tint of my own blood swirl down the drain, a reminder of the punch Matthew had delivered to my jaw. The physical ache was nothing compared to the profound emptiness inside me. I was trapped, locked away from the world under a drug lord’s guard, starved of affection, and entirely alone.

As the cold water gushed down my body, my mind began to slip away from the dark reality of the mansion. The rhythmic drumming of the water transformed into the thumping, heavy bass of a college party from two years ago.

A flashback hit me real quick.

I was back in that crowded, sweaty apartment, laughing as the alcohol made my head spin. I was with Michael—the boyfriend I had loved with every fiber of my being, the man I had been forced to leave completely against my will just to secure  money for my brother’s medical bills.

In the memory, Michael dragged me away from the crowded dance floor, pulling me into his dimly lit bedroom and slamming the door shut. We were both beautifully drunk, flushed with desire, and completely obsessed with each other.

“I’m going to eat you up so good tonight,” Michael said, his eyes dark with a wild, hungry passion as he pinned me against the bedroom door. His hands were warm, sliding down my waist, making me shiver in a way Matthew never could.

“Yes… come on, baby,” I breathed, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me.

Back then, I was wild. I was unashamedly freaky, and Michael knew exactly how to handle the fire inside me. He worshipped my body, taking his time, making me scream until the early hours of the morning. The memory was an explosion of pure, intoxicating pleasure—the exact opposite of the two-minute humiliation I endured now. We crashed onto the mattress, completely consumed by each other, lost in a world where I was loved, wanted, and completely free.

Suddenly, a loud, piercing sound cut through the memory.

I jolted out from the flashback, my eyes snapping open as the cold reality of the shower crashed back over me. I was panting, my heart hammering against my ribs, my core aching from the sudden loss of the pleasure I had been reliving.

The noise wasn’t in my head. It was my phone, ringing loudly from the nightstand in the bedroom.

I turned off the tap, wrapped a silk robe over my damp, aching body, and hurried out into the  bedroom. Shaking, I picked up the phone. The name on the display made my chest tighten with a mix of relief and deep sadness.

It was my younger brother, Lucian.

I slid the bar to answer, clearing my throat to hide any trace of tears or the pain from Matthew’s blow.

“Hello, sister. Good morning,” Lucian’s voice echoed through the line. He sounded healthy, vibrant, and completely disconnected from the nightmare I lived in.

“Good morning, Lucian,” I replied, a genuine smile finally breaking through my misery.

It had been two months since I signed my life away and married Matthew. Two months of isolation, two months of being locked indoors under heavy cartel guard, and two months of enduring a brutal, two-minute husband. But as Lucian and I talked, catching up and laughing over small things, I reminded myself it was worth it. My sacrifice had worked. Lucian was long gone from that terrifying hospital bed; he was completely healed, doing good, and living his life out in the real world.

“I need some money,” Lucian said casually after a few minutes of catching up. He didn’t need it for medicine or treatments anymore—just personal cash to fund his new, healthy life.

“Don’t worry, I will send you enough,” I promised immediately. Even if he was recovered, he was still the only family I had left. He was the reason I stayed in this golden cage.

“Hope you are fine over there,” he added.

I looked at my bruised face in the vanity mirror, swallowing the urge to scream.

“Yes, I am good,” I lied softly. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too, sis. Bye.”