Page 106 of The Humiliated Wife

“Fiona, stop.”

His voice was low, sharp. She froze again.

“There’s no one else here.”

She glanced up, skeptical, wounded. “Dean, you don’t have to lie.”

He stood now, moving toward her, still visibly hard, which only made everything worse. “Are you crazy?” He sounded angry.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“There’s no woman here. I wasn’t with anyone. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else.”

She opened her mouth to say something—anything—to defend her retreat, but he cut her off, stepping closer, desperate and raw.

“I was lying in our bed, thinking aboutyou.”

Her breath hitched.

“It’salwaysyou. I was remembering the way you used to wake up with your hair everywhere and your feet tangled in the sheets. The way you used to press into me in the mornings and laugh when I kissed your shoulder. I was remembering how much I miss you. How much I want you.”

“Dean—”

“I haven’t touched another woman since I first saw you,” he said, voice rough. “Do you understand? There’s no one else. There won’t ever be anyone else.”

Fiona stared at him, overwhelmed. Her brain stuttered, caught between humiliation and the sharp ache of still wanting to believe him. Her eyes kept drifting down despite her best efforts, drawn to the evidence of his desire that he wasn't even trying to hide.

He took one more step, close enough to touch but not daring to. “You think I could ever want anyone else in this bed?” He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.

Her eyes dropped again to the mattress, to the rumpled sheet, to the ghost of memory still warm in the air.

“You’re not only the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, you’re the sexiest, Fiona.”

Fiona blinked, her heart stuttering.

She knew what she looked like. She wasn’t the kind of woman who stopped traffic. Her thighs touched, her teeth weren’t perfectly straight, and her skin always broke out when she was stressed. She’d spent most of her life quietly understanding that she was ordinary—pleasant, maybe, but forgettable.

But under Dean’s gaze, she didn’t feel forgettable.

She feltseen. Wanted. Like beauty was something shebecamein his eyes.

Fiona stood in the doorway, every cell in her body screaming in different directions. But her voice, when it came, was hard. How dare he lie to her again.

“I know I’m not… there are sexier women, Dean.”

“No.” He sounded almost angry. “Not to me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he kept going.

"You don't get it," Dean said, his voice breaking with frustration. "You think I could want anyone else?"

He ran his hands through his hair. "Do you know what you do to me? Just standing there in that fucking cardigan that's too big for you, with your hair falling out of that bun? Do you have any idea?"

Fiona's breath caught. "Dean?—"

"No, let me finish." His eyes were wild, desperate. “It drives me insane. The way you bite your lip when you're thinking. The way you hum when you grade papers. The way you used to stretch in the morning, all sleepy and warm and mine."

"Dean, stop?—"