Page 109 of The Humiliated Wife

He pulled back, sitting up just enough to rearrange them. One arm wrapped firmly around her waist, guiding her with steady pressure. He lay back against the pillows and pulled her with him, settling her over his mouth again, this time from above.

She blinked down at him, dazed, breathless.

"What are you—" she started, but her words dissolved into a gasp as he roughly pulled her back down onto his face.

From this angle, he could see all of her—the flush spreading across her chest, the way her back arched, the beautiful curve of her body as she moved above him. She was like something out of a dream, a goddess he somehow got to touch.

She was moving now, unconsciously riding his mouth, and it was the most mesmerizing thing he'd ever seen. Her head tilted back, eyes closed, completely lost in sensation. This was Fiona unleashed, Fiona taking what she needed, and he could watch her forever.

His hands splayed across her thighs, his mouth watered against her.

She was perfect like this—confident, powerful, glowing with pleasure. This was how she should always look, how she should always feel. Like the goddess she was. Like the love of his life.

His own need was still there, still urgent, but it was secondary now to the wonder of watching her come apart. Of knowing he was the one making her feel this way, making her believe in her own power again.

This was everything. She was everything.

CHAPTER 47

Fiona

She'd spent so long feelingordinary, feeling like the kind of woman men settled for rather than craved. But the way Dean was looking at her now—like she was his salvation, his obsession—made her feel like the most desirable woman alive.

Her body moved instinctively, chasing the pleasure he was giving her so generously. She could feel herself getting closer, that familiar tension building low in her belly. She could see his face, could watch the way his eyes never left her, could feel how completely focused he was on her pleasure.

"Dean," she gasped, her hands bracing against the headboard as the sensation intensified.

His fingers gripped her tight, pulling her harder against his face.

She let herself fall apart above him, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Through it all, his hands anchored her, his mouth worked magic, and his eyes stayed locked on hers like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

And then the pleasure became too much—too sharp, too deep—and her eyes fluttered shut as her body gave in completely.

When she finally came down, trembling and breathless, she collapsed forward, her forehead resting against the headboard. Dean's hands were immediately soothing on her back, gentle and worshipful.

"Incredible," he whispered. "You're incredible, Fiona."

She looked down at him, this man who had broken her heart and was now putting it back together with his reverence, and felt something shift inside her chest. Something that felt dangerously like hope.

Dean was looking up at her like she was something divine. His hands were reverent on her thighs, his eyes dark with worship and want.

"I missed this," she admitted quietly. "Missed feeling like this."

"Like what?"

"Beautiful. Wanted. Like I matter."

His expression grew fierce. "You do matter. You're everything, Fi. Everything."

As her breathingslowed and the aftershocks faded, Fiona became aware of Dean beneath her—still fully clothed, still hard against her thigh where she'd shifted to rest against him. The evidence of his desire was impossible to ignore, and yet he made no move to seek his own relief.

She looked down at him, taking in the flush across his cheekbones, the way his jaw was clenched with restraint. Hishands were still gentle on her back, still focused entirely on her comfort.

"Dean," she said softly, her palm sliding down his chest to rest over his heart. She could feel how fast it was beating. "You're?—"

"I'm fine," he said quickly, catching her hand before it could drift lower.

"But you haven't?—"