The Stranger I Married-Chapter 69: Take it off

Nicholas didn’t kiss her right away.

Even after all the words had been said, after the quiet unraveling of the walls she’d carried around like armor for years, he still waited.

His hand slid up from her thigh to her waist, fingers curling just lightly against the fabric of her worn sweatshirt, as if testing the shape of permission. His gaze dropped to her lips, but his breath hitched like a man fighting restraint with everything he had.

Ella’s heart thundered in her ears.

It wasn’t nervousness now—it was anticipation. The quiet, shivering ache of being seen and wanted for the first time, not as decoration or convenience, but as something precious.

"Tell me to stop," Nicholas murmured, the words barely audible, "and I will."

Ella looked at him, really looked at him. This billionaire. This sharp, ruthless man the world either feared or envied. And here he was—steady hands, eyes burning with careful hunger, speaking to her like she was the most fragile, sacred thing in the universe.

And God help her, she didn’t want him to stop.

"I don’t want you to," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly with how true it was.

Something inside him seemed to snap loose at her admission.

He cupped her jaw gently, brushing his thumb across her lower lip as if committing the shape of her mouth to memory. Then finally—finally—he kissed her again, slow at first, a lazy drag of his mouth over hers, tasting her, savoring her like a man who’d been starving and didn’t trust that this wasn’t a dream.

The softness didn’t last long.

Need, sharp and consuming, quickly unfurled between them like a flame finding dry kindling.

Nicholas deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding up her spine, dragging her closer until her chest was flush against his, no more careful distance. No more pretending they weren’t both burning.

Ella gasped into his mouth as his tongue slid along hers, coaxing, demanding in the gentlest way, setting her nerves alight. His control was staggering—she could feel it in every movement, like he was holding himself just barely in check for her, for what she wanted. And it made her dizzy with power and want.

She reached for him, fisting her hands in the soft cotton of his dress shirt, pulling him closer until his hips pressed firmly between her thighs.

The feel of him there—solid, hot, unmistakably aroused—sent a pulse of heat low in her belly, liquid and immediate. For the first time, arousal wasn’t tied to fear or performance—it was hers, wild and real and clawing through her, making her needy in a way she barely recognized.

Nicholas tore his lips from hers, panting slightly, eyes dark. "Ella..."

Her name from his lips was rough, desperate.

"Bedroom?" she breathed.

His answering groan was guttural, almost pained. "You’re going to kill me."

He stood in one swift, graceful motion, pulling her up with him as if she weighed nothing. Their hands were tangled together, and neither of them let go as he led her through the penthouse, his stride controlled but his fingers shaking slightly where they curled around hers.

When they reached his bedroom, Nicholas turned to face her, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

Ella could hardly breathe as she stared up at him, her back pressed lightly against the wall of his bedroom.

Nicholas stood inches away, looming over her with that feral kind of hunger that made her knees feel weak, his jaw tense, his eyes fixed entirely on her.

No one had ever looked at her like that before.

Like he wanted to ruin her, gently, carefully — like he could barely keep himself from falling at her feet and worshipping her body properly, like she was something worth tasting slowly, memorizing.

Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her heart pounding hard beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. Her thighs squeezed together of their own accord. She hadn’t been touched like that — hadn’t been wanted like that — in a long, long time.

The weight of that want—his restraint in the face of it—was more intoxicating than any reckless kiss could’ve been.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, brushing his knuckles down her arm, light as a whisper, just enough to tease a shiver out of her. "Are you afraid of me?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Good." His lips quirked at the corner, but his gaze was serious. "Because I’m not going to pretend with you, Ella. I’m not going to lie or hold back. If we do this—I’m going to ruin you for any other man."

The words sent a shudder down her spine.

"Show me," she whispered, voice barely audible but full of need. "I don’t want pretending. Not anymore."

Something shifted in his eyes. Heat. Relief. Maybe even something softer, buried deep beneath all that sharp, ruthless confidence. For once, his control cracked, just a little.

Without another word, he caught her face gently in his hands, tilting her head to kiss her again—but this time there was nothing soft about it.

His mouth claimed hers like he owned her.

It was the kind of kiss that stole air from her lungs, had her arching toward him instinctively, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt like she could anchor herself to him and still drown anyway.

And God, she wanted to drown in him.

Nicholas pulled her shirt over her head, slow and deliberate, eyes tracking every inch of her as she stood before him in nothing but her bra and jeans.

"Jesus," he breathed. "You don’t even know how beautiful you are, do you?"

She opened her mouth to argue—to explain how invisible she’d always felt in other people’s hands—but then his thumb stroked across the swell of her breast, brushing over the lace, and she forgot how to speak entirely.

He leaned in and kissed the hollow of her throat, his lips warm, then lower—soft kisses along her collarbone, trailing down her sternum. His hands cradled her ribs like she might break, but his mouth told another story. He was claiming her—slowly, reverently.

When he flicked his tongue over the lace edge of her bralette, Ella’s breath stuttered, a soft gasp escaping her lips as her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her skin prickled, a flush spreading across her chest as her nipples pebbled under the delicate fabric, the sensation sparking through her body like a live wire.

Nicholas’s mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile against her breast before he tilted his head up to look at her, eyes molten with need. "Take it off for me," he murmured, voice rough, like he was holding himself back with every ounce of restraint