Books Similar To The Unwanted Wife の小説・ストーリー

Kicked against his hand playfully. “Never heard of it.” “It’s about caring more about getting someone in prison than committing the crime,” She paused. Staring blankly at the cover. “Well, it’s mostly about only finding women interesting when they’re whorish or evil.” “Maybe you should be reading something happier.” He was now sat beside her, the mattress bending to his weight, her dress crept up the backs of her thighs. “Maybe staying away from books about crime for the time being.” It was hard not to stare at her backside and wonder whether she was without any underwear or in a G-string. After all, they were talking about her father, however veiled it were.

If she wanted a divorce in the future, I would give it to her but if she didn't, I wouldn't care either way. Those were my thoughts, but Fake Lizzy is a masterpiece all on her own. She in fact was able to render me speechless all over again. I wanted to applaud her this time when she brought me a book of spring night(Porn Magazine) to relief myself. I was dumbstruck at first; the images in the book were so vivid it was as if the women painted there would come to life the very next moment. For a second, I thought it was some kind of magical book for it looked very real and obscene. I was staggered to find out that my little wife had such a book in her possession.

Mine had already drained away, replaced by something colder, heavier—worry. My thoughts spun as I stared out the window. I couldn’t keep clashing with him like this. That ridiculous book, The Perfect Wife, flashed through my mind—its chapters on handling dominant men. Softness. Vulnerability. Subtle rebellion. A woman with fire, but without the flames. Sweet enough to draw in. Dangerous enough to chase.

"She couldn't stand the idea that another woman had won what she couldn't have. What made it worse was that Allison trusted her like a real sister. But behind Allison's back, Harriet was constantly scheming, desperate to find a way to tear us apart." I kept my mouth shut, my hands resting flat against the table, but my chest felt uncomfortably tight. I didn't know what to feel. I hated my mother for everything she did to Isla—hated the way she masked the person she truly was. But deep inside, in the depths of my heart, I couldn't deny that the blood running through my veins came from her. And hearing these disdainful words from another man felt like a sharp knife piercing deep into my chest.

I wasn't any little whore; I was in love with my husband and wanted a peaceful, healthy marriage with vanilla sex where I was treated with love and respect, unlike his father, who asked me to crawl and get on my knees and who treated me like a slut. Yes, I admit, dirty sex; the steamy, forbidden way he touched me; the way he pounded me so hard like it was the first and last time; and the way he came all over me, it all was so fifty shades of hot. It turned me on so much it fulfilled my sex fantasies, but I was a woman; I wanted a family; I wanted to be a loving, decent mother one day. “Oh fuck.” He groaned, holding my head in place as he pushed his cock deep inside my throat. I gagged. “Fuck

My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. "This bastard." I continue reading, my rage mounting with each oppressive statute. The further I go, the worse it gets. Some laws practically treat women like livestock. Others treat them as property to be used and discarded at will. One particularly vile passage suggests that a woman's worth is measured only by her ability to produce healthy male offspring, comparing a barren wife to barren soil—useless and deserving of abandonment. I slam the book shut. The sound echoes through the office like a gunshot. "No wonder this pack is a mess."

My mother is still regretting the fact that she didn't get to marry the man she loved and I am hoping the same mistake won't happen to me. I am only with Zayden because of our child, we don't love each other. I want to love my life, aside from being his unwanted bride. I am already tired of being tagged unwanted, everything about me screams unwanted. The maids in the house knows that I am their boss's unwanted wife and because no one outside our home and immediate family recognizes me as his bride. It feels right but sad. I want to experience love in a good soul and I want to be loved. Finding love is definitely not here in Zayden's home.

Yet as she gazed at the glittering city lights below, a deep emptiness settled in her chest. She had everything a woman was supposed to want: a successful career, a beautiful home, and a husband who provided financial security. Damien, her husband of twelve years, was a brilliant surgeon whose demanding schedule left little room for intimacy. Their sex life had slowly faded into routine, passionless encounters that left her unsatisfied and yearning for more every single time. She craved to be touched with real hunger, to be desired so intensely that she lost control. But in her marriage, she felt invisible.

He looked at her lying there, suffering and alone, and he wished for her end. Tears streamed down her temples, wetting the hard pillow beneath her head. Why? What did I do to deserve this? I only wanted to save my father. I only wanted to be a good wife. But to them, she was nothing. She was just a transaction. A tool to pay off a debt. She was the unwanted wife, the shadow in the magnificent mansion, the maid who wore a wedding ring.

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