CHAPTER 111: DANGEROUS GAME

He moved around her on one knee, using the soft terry cloth to blot the beads of water off her thighs, his gaze reverent—like she was art, and he was still admiring every brushstroke.

Ella met his eyes, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "You always do this."

"What?"

"Treat me like I’m glass. Like something precious."

Nicholas stood, lifting the towel to drape it over her shoulders before brushing his fingers down the side of her jaw. "Because you are."

She rolled her eyes—but her cheeks were pink, and he knew that look. She wasn’t protesting. She just didn’t know how to accept being cared for without teasing it into something lighter.

So he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I like drying you off. It’s not about pampering. It’s about paying attention. About the little moments."

Ella sighed, half-exasperated, half-touched. "You make everything sound romantic."

"I am romantic," he said, completely unashamed.

She snorted. "You’re shameless."

He stepped back with a grin. "That too."

As she disappeared into the bedroom to slip into one of the soft robes hanging behind the door, Nicholas grabbed a towel for himself and dried off quickly. The bath had left him loose-limbed and warm all over, his skin tingling faintly from where she’d pressed her hands earlier, where she’d kissed him, clutched him. The memory of her breathless gasp still echoed in the back of his mind—and he didn’t think it was going anywhere soon.

When he stepped into the bedroom, Ella was sitting on the bed, robe tied loosely around her waist, brushing her damp hair with a wide-toothed comb she’d found in the bathroom. Her skin glowed from the bath, dewy and soft, and Nicholas swore she looked more undone now—in this quiet, domestic softness—than she had even in the depths of pleasure.

He paused in the doorway, just watching her for a moment.

"What?" she asked without looking up.

"You," he said simply.

She glanced over her shoulder. "Me?"

"You’re everything," he said, a little too softly.

Ella blinked, eyes narrowing like she wasn’t sure whether to blush or roll them again. "You’re going to keep saying that until I believe it, aren’t you?"

"Nope," Nicholas said, crossing the room. "I’m going to keep saying it even after you do."

He dropped to the bed beside her, scooping the comb from her hand and setting it on the nightstand before she could protest. Then, wordlessly, he moved behind her, settling with his knees bracketing hers. He reached for the towel she’d used to wrap her hair, unraveled it gently, and ran his fingers through the damp strands with a reverence that made her hold her breath.

"You don’t have to—"

"I want to," he said, and began combing through her hair with careful, slow strokes.

Ella didn’t say anything for a long time.

Just sat there, spine softening under his touch.

"Do you know how good it feels?" she asked eventually, her voice quiet. "To be taken care of like this?"

Nicholas leaned in, brushing his lips to the top of her shoulder. "I want you to feel like this every day."

"You make it easy to forget the hard parts."

"Good," he murmured. "Then maybe next time something hurts, you’ll remember this too. Me. Us. This kind of warmth."

She reached behind her to link their fingers together. "You know what I want?"

He hummed, still combing through the ends of her hair. "Tell me."

"Nothing right now. Just... this. You. Me. Maybe wine."

Nicholas grinned. "That, sweetheart, can be arranged."

He pressed a kiss behind her ear, then stood to fetch the chilled bottle of rosé they’d left in the fridge earlier—just before the bath.

As he returned with two glasses and that crooked smile, Ella pulled the covers down, already sliding beneath them, the robe slipping slightly off one shoulder.

They were curled up in bed, the wine half-drunk, the breeze from the open windows curling through gauzy curtains like a soft whisper.

Ella was draped across Nicholas’s chest, her legs tangled with his beneath the sheets, the hem of her robe barely covering the top of her thigh. Her hair was damp, curling slightly from the bath, and she looked flushed—not just from the heat, but from the wine, the teasing, the slow-blooming spark of something more.

Nicholas tilted his glass back and took a slow sip, eyes on the ceiling like he was perfectly at ease.

Ella nudged him with her toe. "You’re looking smug again."

"I’m not smug," he said, glancing down at her with a lazy smile. "I’m just content."

"You always look like that after you’ve made me fall apart."

He grinned. "That’s because I’m proud of my work."

She snorted and took another sip of wine. "You’re so annoying."

"And yet," he said, shifting slightly so their bodies aligned more closely, his thigh sliding between hers, "you’re still in my bed."

She raised a brow. "Your villa, your bed, your rules?"

"No," he said, voice dipping lower, "our villa. And as far as I’m concerned, the rule is: you stay exactly where you are."

Ella leaned in, brushing her lips near the curve of his jaw but not quite kissing him. "Bossy."

Nicholas didn’t move. "You like it."

"Maybe," she whispered, letting her breath skim the shell of his ear.

Then she drew back just enough to let her fingers slide across his stomach, just beneath the hem of the sheet. Light, lazy, dangerous.

Nicholas inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

"Ella..."

"Hmm?" Her tone was feigned innocence as her fingers teased lower, hovering just above where he was already getting hard again. "Something wrong?"

"You’re playing a dangerous game."

"I thought we liked those," she murmured, kissing the side of his neck, her tongue flicking briefly across his skin.

His pulse jumped beneath her lips.

Nicholas reached down and caught her wrist—gently, but firmly—halting her before she could go further.

"You keep that up," he said, voice a low rumble, "and I’ll remind you exactly who’s in charge here."

Ella smirked, loving the tension, the slight shift in his tone. "Promises, promises."

He studied her for a long moment, something dark and knowing flickering in his gaze.

Then—

"Speaking of dangerous games..." he said casually, lifting his wine glass again but not drinking from it, "do you remember what you said at breakfast this morning?"

Ella stilled. "What did I say?"

Nicholas set the glass on the bedside table and rolled toward her slightly, bracing his weight on one elbow, his face just inches from hers. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

"You said—very offhandedly, while biting into your croissant, mind you—that maybe being blindfolded would be kind of hot."

Her eyes widened, the memory hitting her all at once. "I didn’t say that exactly—"

"You said, and I quote," Nicholas interrupted, holding up a finger like a dramatic professor, "’It’d probably drive me insane. Not seeing. Just waiting. Having to guess what you’d do next.’"

Ella buried her face in her hands with a groan. "Oh my god."

"I also recall you saying, and I’m paraphrasing here, that it might be ’hot in a kind of helpless, annoying, why-am-I-turned-on-right-now way.’"

"I was joking!"

"No, sweetheart." His grin turned slow, wicked. "You were flirting. And you forgot who you were flirting with."

Ella peeked at him through her fingers. "Nicholas..."

He leaned in, kissing the tip of her nose. "So. Since you’re already teasing me..." he let that hang for a second, then added with a sly lift of his brows, "Do you want to try it?"

She blinked. "Now?"

He traced a lazy circle over her knee. "Only if you want to."

Her pulse fluttered. He could feel it, see it—how the teasing gave way to a different kind of tension now. Her robe had slipped a little lower. Her eyes flicked to his mouth, and then back up again.

"You brought a blindfold?" she asked, voice hushed, heat curling into her words.

Nicholas tilted his head. "Would you be surprised if I told you I packed one?"

"Extremely."

"But also a little impressed."

"...Maybe."

He grinned, brushing her hair off her neck with the back of his fingers. "We don’t have to, Ella. But I think you’ll like it."

She hesitated—not out of doubt, but anticipation. Her body already knew what her mouth hadn’t yet said: yes.

Still, she made him wait for it. Teasing him back.

"What if I beg?" she asked, voice sultry now, her leg hooking around his hip beneath the sheets. "Would that help?"

Nicholas exhaled, sharp and low.

"I’m not sure you understand what you’re asking for," he said, voice darkening deliciously. "But don’t worry—I plan to show you."

Then he slipped out of bed with that same maddening calm, crossing the room and opening a drawer.

Ella watched him, every nerve lit up, heart hammering not with fear—but need.

When he turned back, the blindfold was in his hand.

Silk. Midnight blue.

Her breath caught.

Nicholas walked slowly to the bed, settling on the edge beside her. He brushed a kiss over her lips, then her jaw, then the shell of her ear.

"Last chance," he murmured. "Say no and I’ll kiss you to sleep instead."

Ella reached up, curled her fingers in his shirt, and whispered, "Make me wait. Make me feel everything."

Nicholas smiled—slow, warm, a little feral.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said, lifting the blindfold gently. "You’re not going to feel anything else for hours."