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."
