CHAPTER 112: BLINDFOLDED

Nicholas gathered her hair gently in one hand and swept it over her shoulder before lifting the blindfold with the other. He didn’t rush. His movements were deliberate, reverent, like he was dressing her for a ceremony only the two of them would witness.

"You trust me?" he asked softly, his voice brushing against the shell of her ear.

Ella nodded, already breathless. "Yes."

"Say it."

"I trust you."

Something changed in his expression at that. A flicker of quiet heat deepened behind his eyes. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the center of her forehead—then slipped the silk over her eyes.

Darkness fell gently, like dusk.

Her world narrowed to touch and breath, to the rustle of sheets and the warm heat of Nicholas’s body shifting next to hers. She felt the knot of the blindfold tighten behind her head, firm but not uncomfortable. Just enough to remind her: she’d given him control.

And God, did that thought thrill her.

"I want you to lie back," Nicholas said, his tone now smooth and edged with command.

Ella obeyed, her palms finding the sheets on either side of her, grounding herself. The robe had fallen open just slightly, but she didn’t adjust it. She didn’t want to. She wanted him to see her like this—flushed, waiting, trusting.

Nicholas made a sound that could’ve been a groan or a sigh. "You’re beautiful like this," he said. "All soft. All mine."

She felt the mattress shift as he moved around her, and then a pause—his gaze drinking her in, even if she couldn’t see it.

"I’m going to touch you now," he said, his voice like warm velvet.

Ella nodded again, lips parted. "Please."

He began at her ankles, sliding his fingers slowly up the curve of her calf, then her thigh. He didn’t touch anywhere too intimate. Not yet. Just traced her skin like it fascinated him, his palms warm, his breath hovering above the places his hands had just left.

When he reached her hips, his thumbs swept along her hipbones, slipping beneath the edge of the robe. Still, he didn’t push it off. He just moved it aside, inch by inch, his knuckles brushing her belly, her ribs, the underside of one breast.

Ella arched slightly, her breath catching.

"You’re already shaking," he murmured, amused. "We’ve barely started."

She couldn’t respond. Could only lie there and feel the heat building under her skin, the tension curling low in her belly.

Then Nicholas’s mouth replaced his hands.

He kissed his way down her sternum, tongue flicking lightly at the peak of one breast, then the other. Ella gasped, blindly reaching for something—anything—to hold onto, but Nicholas caught her wrist and gently pinned it to the bed beside her head.

"Stay still for me," he whispered. "Let me take my time."

His other hand traveled downward now, dragging slow circles over her inner thigh. He didn’t move higher. Not yet. He was savoring this—her

—drawing out every second until it stretched taut between them.

Ella moaned when his lips brushed her hip, her thighs instinctively trying to shift. He chuckled against her skin.

"I said still."

She whimpered. "You’re a menace."

"Mm." Another kiss. Another maddening stroke. "You wound me."

He finally shifted lower, nudging her thighs apart with the edge of his hand. The robe had fallen completely open now, and Ella lay there in nothing but the blindfold and her thudding heartbeat.

Nicholas kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, dragging his tongue along her skin until her hips rose off the bed involuntarily.

She felt his breath right where she needed him.

Then the press of his mouth.

She gasped, her fingers clawing at the sheets. "Oh—Nicholas—"

He moaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her, his tongue sliding through her folds with a skill that was almost cruel. He licked her like he’d been starving. Like he knew her body better than she did—exactly how to tease, when to suck, how to angle his mouth just right.

Her hands flew to the blindfold, needing something, anything to anchor her.

Nicholas reached up, caught her wrists again, and pinned them above her head. "Uh uh. Keep that on."

"Jesus—"

He pulled back for just a second, his lips glossy, his voice a growl. "You remember what you said this morning? That not seeing would drive you crazy?" A soft, wicked kiss to her inner thigh. "I want you to lose your mind for me."

Nicholas didn’t wait for a reply—he didn’t need one. Ella was already unraveling for him, her body thrumming like a live wire under his touch. Blindfolded, arms pinned, thighs trembling beneath his palms, she was a symphony of reactions: every gasp, every twist of her hips, every helpless moan a crescendo he conducted with slow, devastating precision.

He lowered his head again and licked a slow stripe up her center, groaning softly against her when she let out a broken sound that came from somewhere deep and unguarded. He didn’t rush. His tongue flicked and circled, coaxing her open, savoring her with a reverence that bordered on worship.

Ella writhed beneath him, frustration and ecstasy tangled into every movement of her body. She tried to pull her arms down, instinct taking over, but he held her fast—one strong hand pinning her wrists to the sheets while the other moved to her hip, steadying her.

"Stay with me," he murmured, voice husky against her core. "Feel everything."

And she did. God, she did. Every flick of his tongue, every drag of his lips, every teasing pause made her see stars behind the blindfold. Her senses had turned traitor—sight gone, every other sensation heightened until it was nearly unbearable.

When he sucked gently on her clit, she cried out—a breathless, desperate sound that broke into a whimper. Her legs tensed, heels digging into the sheets, her thighs threatening to clamp around his head.

He growled against her. "Don’t even think about it."

"I can’t—" she gasped. "It’s too much, Nicholas."

He laughed softly, cruelly pleased. "No, sweetheart. It’s just enough."

He brought her to the edge and pulled her back so many times she lost count—driving her higher, then easing off with maddening restraint. She was soaked, throbbing, her entire body one taut string ready to snap. He kept her there, hovering, trembling—until she was begging without words, her voice lost in sobs and fractured moans.

Finally—finally—he relented.

He flattened his tongue against her clit and sucked hard, rhythmically, while slipping two fingers inside her, curling them in just the right way. The moment he did, her body seized.

"Nicholas—" she cried out, she was so close she could feel it.