Unmasking My Virgin Husband

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My husband has been acting bizarre lately. When we hug, his muscles tense up like solid rock.

When we kiss, he's as stiff as a board. And in bed? He's a fumbling, panicked messacting exactly like a virgin who has no idea what he's doing.

I was seriously starting to wonder if the man was gearing up to hand me divorce papers, right up until I accidentally stumbled upon his recent post on Reddit:

[Holy Sht! I woke up ten years in the future, and my high school goddess is actually my wife! What the hell do I do now?! I need answers ASAP!]

I stared at the screen. What the hell?

Chapter 1

"You're back?" I looked up at the man standing in the entryway.

He casually dangled an expensive bespoke suit jacket from one hand. His white dress shirt stretched taut across the firm curve of his pecs, the collar unbuttoned and his tie hanging loose around his neck.

Even his usually impeccable hair fell in a messy, feral swoop across his forehead. He didn't look like a guy returning from a business trip. He looked like hed just survived a bar brawl.

I stood up, caught off guard. "Did the trip go south? What happened to you?"

Weston didn't answer. He just stared at me. He kept staring, unblinking.

I stepped closer, grabbed his loosened tie, and pulled him into the living room. "What?" I teased. "Haven't seen me in a few days and you forgot who I am?"

Weston stumbled forward, letting me pull him before he stammered out, "I I know who you are."

I glanced back over my shoulder. His gaze was still locked on me, intense and unwavering. The raw, naked hunger in his eyes was so obvious it almost made him look like a clueless, lovesick teenager.

A smirk tipped the corner of my mouth. I gave his tie a hard yank, pulling him right into my space. I looped my arms aggressively around his neck and pressed my body flush against the hard wall of his chest. "Missed me that much?"

The second our bodies touched, his breathing hitched. His eyes darted everywhere but my face in panic. He pressed his lips into a tight line and clenched his hands into white-knuckled fists at his sides, standing rigid like a boy scout trying to behave.

This version of Weston was definitely entertaining. Usually, the second he got back from a business trip, he morphed into an absolute animal.

I pressed a soft kiss to the sharp jut of his Adam's apple, deliberately blowing a hot breath against his ear. "On the phone, you said you were going to show me exactly who's boss."

I held onto him, feeling the muscles in his body lock up tighter than a steel trap. I dropped my voice into a low purr. "So, hubby, how exactly are you going to show me?"

We were pressed entirely too close. Almost instantly, I felt a very distinct, heavy reaction pressing against my stomach.

My hand slid downward, but before I could reach him, Weston shoved me back.

I stared at him in pure shock. A dark flush crawled all the way up his neck to the tips of his ears. "II haven't showered yet," he rasped, his voice rough as sandpaper as he ducked his head.

Then, he bolted. He practically sprinted into the nearest roommy study.

I stood there, dumbfounded. Rejected by my own husband, I threw myself onto the couch and let the annoyance simmer.

He was always the one complaining that I never initiated. The one time I actually make the first move, he shoves me away. Unbelievable.

I was right in the middle of swearing off touching him for the rest of his life when a faint click echoed through the hall. The study door cracked open.

Weston peeked out, caught my eye, and immediately scurried down the hall into our master bedroom like a thief in the night.

I raised an eyebrow. Still irritated, I pushed off the couch and followed him.

Naturally, the second my foot crossed the threshold of the bedroom, Weston darted straight into the master bathroom. The shower kicked on immediately, the loud rush of water echoing through the room.

He was trying to act natural, but it was incredibly obvious. He was hiding from me.

Giving up with a sigh, I walked over and grabbed the bathroom doorknob. It didn't turn. The damn door was locked.

Now I was certain Weston was avoiding me. He never locked doors. Hell, even when he was just soaking in the tub, hed yell out, "Babe, are you sure you don't want to join me?"

I stood out in the bedroom, staring at the locked door, genuinely questioning myself for a second. Had I come on too strong?

But compared to the stuff Weston usually pulled, how was that over the line? He was the one who was always practically climbing all over me.

He was the one keeping me up all night, pushing me until my legs shook so hard I couldn't even walk the next morning. And what? The minute I take control, he treats me like the plague?

The annoyance flared into actual heat. I crossed my arms, mentally preparing to rip him a new one the second he stepped out of that shower.

Chapter 2

I ended up waiting for a whole hour. When Weston finally stepped out of the bathroom, the awkwardness was gone. He looked composed as he called out, "Babe."

I scoffed and turned my back to him.

He immediately dropped to one knee beside the couch, gripping both of my hands tightly as he pleaded, "I'm so sorry, baby. It's entirely my fault. I was just seeing you made me so incredibly overwhelmed."

"My body just hadn't adjusted yet. I swear, I've been thinking about you like crazy, every single second" He buried his face into the crook of my neck, gently nuzzling against my skin.

The familiar warmth washed over me, but I glared at him. "Don't think you can just sweet-talk your way out of this."

"You can keep being mad at me. It's okay." He looked up at me, his eyes bright and unguarded, like a golden retriever puppy.

For a second, my brain short-circuited.

The old Weston never looked at me like that. It wasn't that he didn't look at me with love before, but his gaze was usually heavy, dark, and predatory. Now? Mixed in with that familiar, simmering heat was something differentsomething painfully pure and soft.

My hand acted on its own, my fingers brushing against his jawline. "What is actually going on with you?"

"Nothing." He wrapped his arms loosely around my waist and rested his chin softly on my shoulder. "I just feel so incredibly lucky."

His voice dropped into a low, awestruck whisper. "I can't believe you're actually my wife. I'm just so damn lucky."

I pushed lightly against his chest. "We've been married for almost two years. Don't you think you're a little late to the party with that?"

"It's never too late," he murmured, his tone shamelessly stubborn. "It's never too late to say that to you."

Fine. Considering he was laying it on so thick, my annoyance finally evaporated. I decided to be generous and leaned in, pressing my lips firmly against his.

Ten full seconds passed. He didn't move a single muscle.

I peeked one eye open. Weston was staring at me in shock, looking terrified but desperately wanting to kiss me back.

I kept my lips brushed against his, murmuring against his mouth, "Are you going to kiss me back or what?"

"Yes. God, yes." As he spoke, his lips instinctively dragged against mine.

It was like a switch finally flipped. He started kissing me, slow and tentative at first.

I closed my eyes, letting myself melt into it for a moment, but something felt off.

What the hell? Why was he kissing me like it was his first time? He didn't even know how to breathe through his nose!

I opened my eyes again. Seeing the absolute, raw desperation written all over his flushed face, I just couldn't bring myself to push him away.

Whatever. A messy, teeth-clashing kiss was still a kiss. I graciously decided to overlook Weston's bizarre behavior.

But the weirdness didn't stop there. The strangest part of it all? He stopped touching me.

It was beyond weird. Ever since we got married, the man hadn't gone a single day without having his hands all over me. Going from zero to a hundred back to absolute zero overnight was giving me serious whiplash.

That night, we lay in the same bed. I slid closer, pressing my skin against his. His breathing hitched, coming in ragged gasps, but his hands stayed firmly glued to his own sides.

I wrapped my arms tight around him. I could feel his body reacting, the undeniable friction of his arousal pressing against me, but still he didn't touch me. It was like he had suddenly taken a vow of celibacy. He was guarding his purity like a monk.

The sudden, inexplicable shift in my marriage was driving me insane. I called up my best friend, Ruby, and dragged her out for drinks. I kept the conversation focused on mindless gossip, purposely avoiding the topic of Weston, but she saw right through me.

"How come Weston hasn't called you yet?" she asked, a teasing smirk on her lips as she swirled her martini. "Usually he's blowing up your phone the second you step out the door. What happened? You two get into a fight?"

I tightened my grip on my glass and scowled. "He doesn't want me anymore."

"Oh, shut up." Ruby rolled her eyes. "Anyone with half a brain can see the man is obsessed with you."

Frustrated, I just dumped everything on her, outlining every single bizarre thing Weston had done over the last few daysputting heavy emphasis on his sudden, monastic vow to never sleep with me again.

Chapter 3

"Under what circumstances do you think a guy would pull this kind of stunt?" I took an angry gulp of my drink. "He acts like he'd rather sleep in the guest room than touch me!"

"Is it really that bad?" Ruby asked, trying to comfort me. "Maybe he has some performance issues he's not telling you about?"

My brain immediately jumped to erectile dysfunction. But no, the physical evidence told a different story. The man was pitching a tent every time I got closehe'd just rather suffer through it than lay a hand on me!

Ruby arched an eyebrow. "Didn't he just go to New York to negotiate that merger? That scene is crazyconstant parties, absolute chaos."

"What if he partied a little too hard, or got himself into some kind of trouble and is too scared to tell you?" She tapped her manicured nail against her glass.

"He wouldn't want you to worry. That's totally normal. Plus, didn't you say he delayed his flight back by two days?"

"What if he was recovering from getting roughed up? That would explain why Weston is dodging you." She nodded, convinced. "That has to be it."

Listening to her theories, the urge to go home, strip Weston down to bare skin, and inspect him myself grew stronger by the second.

It was past eleven by the time I got back. I pushed the front door open.

Weston was sitting on the couch. He immediately scrambled over to me, eager as a puppy, before his brows snapped together in a tight frown. "You've been drinking?"

I rolled my eyes mentally. If you were so worried, why didn't you call?

I batted away his hands as he tried to steady me, but he stubbornly wrapped his arms around me anyway, practically carrying me. After carefully depositing me onto the couch, he hurried off to the kitchen and came back with a glass of warm honey water, hovering over me like an anxious butler.

I stared dead at him. "Are you hurt?"

He shook his head, looking confused. "No?"

"Then take your clothes off."

His entire face flooded with crimson. His fingers grasped the hem of his sleep shirt, lifting it an inch before dropping it in panic. He repeated the motion three times.

I watched his painful hesitation, my eyes narrowing. "What, I'm not even allowed to look at your abs anymore?"

That hit a nerve. He stopped hesitating and yanked the shirt off over his head in one swift motion.

The bare torso in front of me was flawless enough to grace the cover of GQ. Not a single scratch or bruise in sight. Ruby's theory was garbage.

I glared up at him. "Pants, too."

"W-Wait, what"

"Take them off."

Looking incredibly flustered, he nervously shucked his sweatpants off.

I stared down at him, noting the rosy flush spreading all the way across his thick chest muscles. I couldn't hold back the fire burning in my chest anymore. I grabbed his shoulders, shoved him hard onto his back against the cushions, and swung my legs over to straddle his waist. Looking down at him from my dominant perch, I demanded, "Weston, what the hell are you playing at?"

He looked stunned and ridiculously bashful. "I I'm not playing at anything."

"Prove it." Staring straight into his panicked eyes, I dropped my voice into a dangerous, taunting whisper. "Don't make me look down on you."

Weston's gaze snapped up to meet mine. His Adam's apple bobbed with a heavy swallow. Just as I thought he was going to chicken out again, his large hand shot up, gripping the back of my head. He pulled me down and crashed his mouth against mine with ferocity.

Fact: you should never casually provoke a man's pride.

Desperate to prove himself, Weston spent the entire night going feral.

From his clumsy, reckless start to his eventual smooth mastery, his performance was mind-blowing. I was too exhausted and overwhelmed at the time to overthink it. But the next morning, as I lay in bed with every muscle in my body aching, the sheer weirdness of the whole thing hit me.

Weston hadn't acted like a grown man who'd been married for two years. He acted like an eighteen-year-old virgin. Zero experience. Zero technique.

When he tried to put on the condom, his hands were actually shaking. He couldn't even find the right angle, and that first round? He was almost a one-minute wonder. I honestly wanted to kick him off the bed, but the sight of the light sweat glistening on his forehead and the desperate, red-rimmed look in his eyes made me bite my tongue and endure it.

Sure, he caught his rhythm later and eventually got back to his usual, mind-blowing standard, but it was so bizarre. Why was he acting like that? How does a man with his level of skill just forget how to have sex overnight?

Chapter 4

I tossed and turned it over in my head, but nothing made sense. The very man I was obsessing over pushed the bedroom door open.

He wore soft, loose loungewear. Hed clearly just showered; his hair was still damp, falling in messy, erratic strands across his forehead, giving him a strangely youthful, almost boyish look. Staring at him, I had this bizarre, fleeting sensationhe felt familiar, yet like a stranger.

Weston sat down on the edge of the mattress. Resting on the tray in his hands was a rich plate of Eggs Benedict and freshly brewed black coffee. "Baby, are you hungry?" he asked, his voice soft. "Eat some of your favorite breakfast first to get your energy back."

"Feed me," I murmured. "My arms are sore."

The tips of his ears immediately flushed crimson, but he kept his composure, picking up the coffee cup and bringing it carefully to my lips. The temperature of the coffee was perfect, but he actually forgot to add my usual oat milk.

I studied him through narrowed eyes. Weston was meticulous. He never forgot small, everyday details like my oat milk.

The knot of suspicion in my stomach pulled tighter. I took a few sips of the black coffee, my eyes locked on his burning red ears. I couldn't hold back anymore. "Why are you blushing?"

Weston lowered his gaze to the floor. "Your your clothes are a little messy," he muttered.

I looked down. I was wearing the silk slip dress he had pulled over my head after we finished last night. One of the thin straps had slipped loosely off my shoulder, exposing a wide stretch of my collarbone and the faint red love bites scattered across my skin.

I frowned, lost. "So what?"

He reached out and carefully pulled the strap back into place. His expression was dead serious, and his fingers barely grazed my skin, moving with such caution it was like he was terrified to actually touch me.

I grabbed his wrist, forcing his hand to rest flat against my bare shoulder. "We've been married for two years. It's not like you haven't seen it all before."

Weston blinked, sheer panic flashing in his eyes.

The weirdness of it all boiled over. I just came out and said it.

"What is actually wrong with you? You're terrified to kiss me, you're scared to touch me."

"You're acting like a different person. Are you even my husband?"

"II am your husband."

"Then why are you stuttering?"

Weston froze. His grip tightened on my shoulder, and he leaned in, crashing his mouth against mine. It was a blatant attempt to shut me up.

But I wasn't going to let him distract me that easily. Not when he hadn't explained a damn thing.

I pushed hard against his chest. "Talk. Now," I demanded, my tone turning sharp.

Weston dropped his gaze again. "Some things came up recently. I don't really know how to handle them yet."

"Just give me a little more time, okay? I'll fix it as fast as I can."

I rarely saw him look this defeated. My mind immediately flashed back to the day he got back from his trip, standing in the entryway looking completely wrecked.

"Is this about work?" I asked.

"Yes, yeah," he agreed instantly, almost too eager. "It's a tricky situation. I'm sorry, baby."

"I know I've been neglecting you lately" He looked at me, his eyes brimming with genuine guilt.

Instantly, all the tense suspicion coiled in my chest dissolved.

It wasn't often Weston ran into a problem he couldn't immediately bulldoze through. If he was acting a little off, it made perfect sense, right?

"You just let Weston off the hook like that? Aren't you spoiling him a bit too much?" Ruby asked, giving me a bewildered look.

"What else was I supposed to do?" I stirred my iced latte lazily, glancing up at her.

"Keep pushing him? Pick a fight? Where exactly would that get me?"

"So is he still acting weird?"

"I wouldn't say he's acting weird, but I wouldn't say he's normal either."

It was just this deeply unsettling vibe that I couldn't quite put into words. Sometimes it felt like he was faking his intimacy with me, forcing it. Other times, it felt genuine. I chalked it up to me just being overly paranoid.

"Then stop overthinking it." Ruby clinked her glass against mine.

I nodded, trying to convince myself. "He's under a lot of pressure right now. All I can do is"

Before I could finish the sentence, the caf door swung open, and Weston's assistant walked straight toward our table.

Chapter 5

Afternoon tea time. His assistant casually showing up at the caf was definitely something worth noting. So, when he walked over to our table to say hi, I asked casually, "Has work been crazy lately?"

"Not too bad."

"No unexpected disasters?"

He thought for a second. "Everything is pretty much under control. Not as far as I know, anyway."

I flashed a polite smile and stood up. "That's great. I'll ride back to the office with you."

The entire ride to the corporate headquarters, the quiet hum of the engine gnawed at my nerves. If his tricky work situation was a lie, what the hell was actually wrong with him? I didn't want to go there, but every single weird thing he'd done lately pointed to one blindingly obvious answer. He was checking out of this marriage.

Maybe someone else had caught his eye. Maybe that was why he was suddenly so distant, so hot and cold.

He was brushing me off. His muscles tensing when we hugged, kissing me like a wooden board, looking checked out even when he was buried deep inside me. He was acting like a different person.

I took a deep breath, smoothing down my skirt before stepping out of the elevator and marching straight into his executive suite with the pastries. I handed out the expensive macarons and iced coffees to the executive assistants in the bullpen. They enthusiastically informed me that Weston was locked in a board meeting, so I let myself into his private office to wait.

His personal cell phone, his iPad, and his MacBook were all sitting right there on his desk. I never used to snoop. Weston had never given me a single reason to doubt him before.

But now? The curiosity clawed at my throat. What if there really was someone else?

I didn't even hesitate. My hand shot out and grabbed his phone.

I ruthlessly swiped through his iMessages, his texts, his hidden photo albums, and his call logs. Nothing. Not a single red flag.

I arched an eyebrow and grabbed the iPad next. The passcode was still my birthday. I unlocked it, fully expecting the home screen. Instead, it woke up exactly where he had left off before locking the screen.

It was a trending advice thread on Reddit. The massive, bold title read:

[Holy Sht! I woke up ten years in the future, and my high school goddess is actually my wife! What the hell do I do now?! I need answers ASAP!]

I raised an eyebrow, my eyes dropping to the body of the post.

[Okay, so here's the deal. I'm a high school senior, just finished my final exams. Two days ago, I took a nap at home, and when I woke up, I was in a strange city. The girl I've been insanely crushing on called me, acting super affectionate, calling me 'hubby,' and asking when I was coming home]

I frowned. Why the hell was Weston wasting time reading some teenager's fake creative writing exercise? Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught the username of the original poster.

[Fallon_is_my_wife]

My breath hitched in my throat. My name is Fallon!

My heart slammed to a complete stop against my ribs. My fingers actually trembled as I tapped on the user avatar, loading the main profile page. When the bold "Edit Profile" button popped up on the screen, the silence in the office became deafening.

This was Weston's account.

That meant the person who wrote the post was Weston himself