Dear Ex-wife Marry Me (Maja and Ian) novel Chapter 1944

The car was silent, an unspoken agreement between them that no words were needed. Zoey's assistant, sensing the tension, had excused himself early, leaving them in a bubble of their own. But what Zoey couldn’t fathom was, what exactly was Fitch afraid of?

His grip on her hand was firm, his gaze laden with intent, the kind that could make any woman's knees weak. She averted her gaze, knowing full well he was playing the irresistible charmer card again. He knew too well the effect his handsome features had.

With a light nibble on her fingertip, he placed her hand on his belt buckle, the message clear as day. Zoey tried to retract her hand, but his gaze drained her of any resolve. Guiding her hand, he easily unfastened his belt, the faint click sounding almost like the unlocking of a forbidden desire.

How things escalated, Zoey couldn't quite piece together. It was a whirlwind of passion, her hand pressed against the car window, fearing it might shatter under the intensity. It was as if years of hunger could not be easily satiated. They remained in the car until the early hours, Zoey too drained to move.

But the night did not end there. Upon reaching the hotel, Fitch was far from done. Exhausted and irritated, Zoey gave him a kick, which only led him to coax her, suggesting it was time for a more defined relationship. She resisted, but he wouldn't let her sleep until she agreed, her eyes welling with tears as she nodded in surrender.

Fitch was relentless, “What title? I’m not settling for just 'boyfriend.'” Through gritted teeth, Zoey wondered, what then? In the next moment, he revealed his true desire, “Call me ‘husband.’”

But then he asked, “Hungry? What would you like?” Relieved, she was about to answer when he softly called her, “Wife.” She froze, as if struck by lightning.

Fitch approached, cradling her face, “Why so red? You’re not feverish, are you?” He knew exactly why, yet he pretended to check her forehead, forcing her to retreat until her back hit the headboard. Then, he played a recording on his phone, their intimate moments, her calling him ‘husband’ over and over.

Clutching the bedsheet, her palms sweaty, the room filled with the sounds from the phone, she barely managed, “Stop. Please, just stop.”