CHAPTER 93: DRIVE HIM MAD

Nicholas couldn’t remember the last time he felt this desperate. This undone.

Ella had always been a problem. A walking temptation in every sense. But tonight—tonight she was something else entirely. Not just beautiful. Not just infuriatingly smug in that dress that fit her like a secret meant only for him to discover. She was his. In his lap. In his arms. Under his skin.

And God, he was losing control by the second.

She leaned in, her lips brushing just beneath his jaw like she had no idea what she was doing to him.

But she did. She absolutely did.

She had him wrapped around her finger, and they both knew it. Her perfume, soft and sweet, curled into his lungs and made him feel intoxicated. Like she was the only oxygen in the room. The sound of her laugh, the curve of her smile, the way she tilted her head—it was all becoming unbearable.

When he leaned in and let his lips graze the shell of her ear, he felt it—the way her body shivered against him, like she’d been waiting for that touch all night. That small gasp she released? It broke something in him.

His mouth drifted down, dragging over the edge of her jaw, the slope of her neck. He let his lips skim her pulse, feeling it race beneath his mouth. His fingers tightened at her waist, pulling her closer, needing more—all of her.

Everything about her overwhelmed him.

Touch. Scent. Sound. Sight.

Every moan she let slip, every breathy gasp, every shift of her hips—he felt it in his spine. It lit him on fire.

Somehow, they’d ended up in the back of the rooftop lounge, in a shadowed corner where no one noticed them. He didn’t remember getting there. He didn’t care. The second her back hit the wall, he pressed into her, mouth claiming hers like he’d die without it.

Her hands were in his hair, nails dragging across his scalp. And God, when she gripped him harder—it was game over

. His control was hanging by threads, frayed and sparking like electrical wires.

The material of her dress did nothing to shield him from the heat of her body. Her skin was practically burning through the thin fabric, and when he gripped her thigh and lifted it around his hip, the soft sound that escaped her lips nearly undid him.

He was hard. Painfully hard.

She pressed against him, grinding softly, almost teasing. And he swore he blacked out for a second. His hands slid lower, tracing the curve of her thigh, dragging upward again, this time slower. Torturous.

His mouth returned to her neck, letting his tongue swipe against her pulse, letting his lips linger.

And then, against her ear, his voice dropped into something darker. Filthier.

"Is this something that turns you on, Ella?" he drawled, letting the rough edge in his voice spill every filthy thought he’d been biting back all night. "Me touching you like this in a room full of people? Do you perhaps have a dark fantasy you want to explore?"

She let out a quiet whimper.

He smiled against her skin. "Thought so."

His hand inched higher, fingers barely grazing beneath her dress. Her breath hitched. She didn’t stop him. Not even close.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, mouth still close to her ear, breath hot. "If this is too much, say it now."

But she didn’t. She looked at him with those heavy-lidded eyes, her chest rising fast, lips parted, and shook her head slowly.

"You stop," she breathed, "and I swear to God—"

That was all he needed.

He groaned low in his throat and let his hand press firmly against the heat of her through her underwear. She gasped, hips rocking against his palm. The friction made him dizzy. Her body moved like it needed him, and he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

"I can’t take this," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers, his fingers working her in slow, maddening strokes. "You don’t know what you do to me, Ella. I tried to be good. I tried."

She whimpered again, her nails digging into his shoulders through his jacket.

His other hand came up, cradling the back of her head as he stared into her. "Do you know how easy it would be," he murmured, voice low and dark, "to just push these panties aside, unzip my pants, and fuck you right here against this wall? No one would see. No one would know. Just me. Just you."

Her breathing turned ragged.

"Tell me to stop... or tell me you want me."

She hesitated—but only for a beat.

Then she leaned in, brushed her lips against his jaw, and whispered, "Let’s leave."

He froze. His fingers paused against her, and she whimpered in frustration at the loss of friction. His eyes searched hers.

"What?"

She let out a soft laugh, her lips curving as she looked up at him with a fire in her gaze. "Not here, Carter."

He exhaled sharply, like he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

She leaned close again, her voice husky and teasing in his ear. "But take me home... and you can have me."

He closed his eyes, every muscle in his body coiled so tight he thought he might snap in half. When he opened them again, he saw her—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, eyes stormy with want.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice hoarse, laced with something tender beneath the hunger.

Ella’s hands smoothed up his chest, her fingers curling around the collar of his shirt as she pulled him down until their foreheads touched.

"Nicholas," she whispered, "I want you to fuck me."

That was it.

He grabbed her hand and didn’t look back. Didn’t care about the wine on the table or the stunned stares of the servers or the rest of the city spinning around them. The only thing that existed was her. The only thing that mattered was what came next.

And he was going to make damn sure she never forgot it.

Because Ella had driven him mad.

And now?

Now he was going to return the favor.