The Stranger I Married-Chapter 35: Tell me to move

The night stretched on endlessly. Ella lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the faint glow of the moon spilled through the cracks in the curtains. Sleep refused to come, her mind replaying the moment in the library on an endless loop. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Nicholas’s face — the wicked curve of his smirk, the heat in his dark eyes, the way his breath had danced across her lips like a whispered temptation.

Her pulse fluttered at the memory, the ghost of his nearness still lingering on her skin.

What is wrong with me?

Ella huffed out a frustrated breath, throwing off the covers. The room felt too warm, suffocating. Her heart wouldn’t stop its restless pounding, and no matter how many times she shifted positions, sleep remained stubbornly out of reach.

With a sigh, she padded barefoot out of the room, deciding a glass of water might help. The house was eerily quiet at this hour, the faint hum of the night settling over everything like a heavy blanket. She made her way to the kitchen, careful not to make any noise.

As she passed by the living room, the faint clink of glass stopped her in her tracks.

Ella turned, her heart giving a little jolt when she spotted him.

Nicholas.

He was leaning against the bar, half-hidden in the shadows, a glass of amber liquor in his hand. The dim light cast him in soft gold, highlighting the sharp edges of his jaw and the tousled waves of his dark hair. But what caught her off guard—what made her breath hitch in her throat—were the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

She blinked, caught completely off guard.

Nicholas Carter wore glasses.

Her mouth went dry.

He glanced up, as if sensing her presence. His eyes locked onto hers through the lenses, and something flickered behind them—something slow, lazy, and undeniably amused.

"Can’t sleep, little vixen?" His voice was low, smooth, and far too knowing.

Ella’s fingers tightened around the glass she was holding. Of course, he’s awake. Of course, he looks like that.

"I... uh... needed water," she murmured, hating how breathless she sounded.

Nicholas’s lips curved into that wicked smirk she was quickly learning could unravel her without him even trying.

"Water," he echoed slowly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. His eyes dragged over her—bare legs, loose sleep shirt, hair tumbling down her back. "Is that all you need?"

Ella’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She crossed her arms over her body, suddenly feeling exposed. "Yes."

He pushed off the bar, the soft creak of leather breaking the silence as he moved toward her. The glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose slightly, and he adjusted them with one finger, his gaze never leaving hers.

"I think you’re lying." His voice was a murmur, deep and low, wrapping around her like velvet.

Ella’s breath caught in her throat. Every step he took toward her made the air thicker, the space between them shrinking until the only thing she could feel was him.

"I’m not lying," she whispered, though even she didn’t sound convinced.

Nicholas’s smirk deepened, like he could see straight through her. He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the faint trace of whiskey on his breath—rich and heady, mingling with the cedarwood warmth of his cologne.

"Your eyes tell a different story, dolcezza."

Her pulse hammered in her throat at the sound of the endearment rolling off his tongue. Sweetness. He always said it like a tease—like she was something to be tasted.

Ella’s eyes flicked to the glasses perched on his nose, unable to stop herself.

"I didn’t know you wore glasses," she murmured, desperate to steer the conversation away from the heat crackling between them.

Nicholas’s lips twitched, his fingers slipping to the frames, pushing them higher up his nose.

"I only need them for reading," he said, voice low. "Do you like them?"

Ella’s stomach twisted, her throat dry. He looked devastating—like some wicked fantasy come to life. The glasses made him look... softer somehow. But there was still that dangerous edge beneath the surface—like he could ruin her with nothing more than a whisper.

God, what is happening to me?

"They... suit you," she admitted quietly, unable to stop the blush from creeping into her cheeks.

Nicholas’s eyes darkened, his smirk slow and knowing. He leaned in slightly, just enough that their bodies nearly brushed.

"Do they?" His voice was pure sin, sending a shiver down her spine.

Ella’s breath caught, the air thickening around them again. Her eyes flicked to his mouth, helplessly drawn to the way his lips curved—how close they were to hers.

She needed to move. She needed to step back, to break whatever spell he was casting over her.

But she couldn’t.

"Why are you always so close?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Nicholas’s smile turned lazy, predatory.

"Because you never ask me to move."

Her stomach clenched. He was right—she never did.

His hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing a strand of hair away from her face. The touch was featherlight, but it burned straight through her.

"Tell me to move, Ella," he murmured, his voice rougher now, laced with something darker. "Tell me to walk away."

Ella’s heart slammed against her ribs. The words hovered on the tip of her tongue—but they never came.

She couldn’t tell him to move.

She didn’t want him to.

Nicholas’s eyes flicked down to her lips, his breath hot against her mouth.

"You want me to kiss you, don’t you?" he whispered, his voice so low it was barely a sound.

Ella’s knees weakened, her pulse a frantic rhythm in her ears. Every inch of her body was screaming at her to close the distance—to feel his mouth on hers, to drown in whatever this was.

"I don’t—" she started, but the words died as Nicholas leaned in, brushing his nose against hers in the lightest, most maddening touch.

"Liar."

His mouth captured hers before she could even breathe.

Ella’s mind went blank.

The kiss was slow at first—soft, testing. But the second she whimpered against his mouth, Nicholas’s control snapped. He groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding into her hair as he pressed her back against the wall.

Ella’s fingers fisted in his shirt, clinging to him as his tongue slid against hers, tasting her, stealing the breath from her lungs. The heat between them ignited like a flame, scorching through every nerve ending.

He kissed her like he had been holding back for far too long—like he had been waiting for this moment just as desperately as she had.

Ella’s head spun, her body melting into him as his hands roamed down her sides, pulling her closer until there was nothing between them but heat and need.

Nicholas tore his mouth from hers, his breath ragged against her lips.

"Fuck," he rasped, his forehead resting against hers. "You’re going to ruin me."

Ella’s chest heaved, her heart threatening to break free from her ribs. Her eyes fluttered open, finding his gaze—dark, stormy, filled with something she couldn’t name.

"You already ruined me," she whispered before she could stop herself.

Nicholas’s eyes flashed, something dangerous flickering in them.

Without another word, his mouth crashed back onto hers—hotter, hungrier. His hands gripped her thighs, lifting her until her legs wrapped around his waist.

Ella’s world tilted as he carried her down the hall, his mouth never leaving hers.

By the time he pushed open the door to his bedroom, she knew there was no going back.

Whatever this was—whatever was happening between them—was inevitable.

He was going to ruin her.

And God help her—she wanted him to.