Page 176 of Bride By Initiation

I pick up a pair of his black trousers and reach inside a pocket. I pull out a tube of lipstick, and feel ill. My pulse hammersas my stomach flips faster. I grab the counter to steady myself, staring at the cheap pink plastic tube.

That's not mine.

When did he wear these pants?

Friday. He wore them when we went to the charity event.

He had to leave early, claiming Liam needed him for some work emergency.

My hand trembles, but I force myself to open the tube. I slowly turn the plastic, and a half-used, hot pink cream stick appears.

Whose lips has this touched?

He didn't have lip marks on him when he came home.

How do I know that for sure, though? He slid into bed around three a.m. and fucked me, telling me how sorry he was for having to ditch me at the event.

He'd showered before he got into bed.

Sean wouldn't cheat on me.

Then why is some woman's cheap lipstick in his pants?

The more I recall the night my husband wore the black dress pants, the sicker I feel.

But anger mixes with the hurt, spinning inside me until it takes over. I stare at the lipstick, gripping the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white.

Sean's palm slides around my body, slipping under my robe. His toffee and bourbon vanilla scent flares around me while his fingers torment me, softly gliding over my slit. His hot breath tickles my neck, sending tingles down my spine. He pulls the towel off my head, slides his other hand into my wet hair, and tugs my head back. His lips brush against my lobe as he murmurs, "How was yoga?"

My heart pounds harder, my chest rising and falling faster with too many conflicting emotions.

He teases, "Want to show me any new moves?"

I close my eyes, breathing through my nose, determined not to cry and tap into my anger.

There has to be an explanation.

Yeah, he cheated on me.

He lowers his hand, slipping two fingers inside me, pumping slowly.

I inhale sharply, hating how he can still create a reaction within me when I feel like I should hate him.

He wouldn't touch another woman.

He's bored with me.

I squeeze my eyes tighter, trying to stop the warring thoughts and chaotic trembles in my stomach.

There has to be an explanation for this.

Every woman says that when their man cheats on them.

He wouldn't!

What if he did?

He kisses my neck, pushes his erection into my spine, and mumbles, "I can't get any work done. I've been thinking about what I want to do with you."

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