CHAPTER 71: ONLY THE BEGINNING

"What... what was that?" Ella gasped, her body still trembling from the aftershocks, lips parted as her wide eyes searched his face.

Nicholas chuckled, the sound low and dark, his gaze devouring her. "That,love," he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against her jaw, "was only the beginning."

Her breath caught again—not just from what he said, but how he said it. Deep, assured, laced with the promise of more. Of everything.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face. His expression had shifted—his eyes still molten, but now edged with restraint. She could tell: he was holding himself back, barely. Not because he didn’t want her, but because he needed to be sure.

"Do you want to keep going?" he asked, his voice velvet-soft, the tension simmering just beneath. "Because once I start... once we go there, there’s no halfway. I won’t be able to stop."

Ella’s lips parted. Her mind was swimming, caught between memory and hunger, between the fear of what this meant and the craving for what he made her feel. She wasn’t stupid—she knew what she was choosing. She knew what crossing this line meant. Her body screamed for him, and yet something fragile, untested, fluttered inside her chest.

But still—she nodded. "Yes... I want to."

Nicholas studied her for a heartbeat longer. Then, with a low growl of approval, he kissed her again—fierce and possessive, like the answer unlocked something primal inside him. His mouth moved over hers, slow and purposeful, his hands sliding along her sides as if to memorize every inch of her.

Her body ached, already sensitized from the way he’d touched her, tasted her, worshiped her. But this was different. This wasn’t just pleasure—this was surrender. A silent, sacred yes.

"You’re trembling," he whispered against her lips.

"I’m not scared," she lied. "Well... maybe a little."

His hand cradled her jaw, tilting her head gently so he could meet her gaze. "It’s okay to be afraid. This matters. I know what I’m asking of you. You don’t have to pretend with me."

Her heart squeezed. No one had ever given her that space. That grace.

She exhaled slowly. "I’ve never... with anyone."

"I know," he said softly, reverently. "And I’ll take care of you."

He peeled his shirt over his head, muscles rippling in the low light, the ink on his arms shifting with every movement. Ella stared, breath hitching. He looked like a living sculpture, all carved lines and lean strength. He caught her looking and smirked before crawling over her again, body warm and solid against hers.

His lips found hers once more, and this time the kiss deepened, growing more urgent as his hand slid behind her back, unclasping her bra with practiced ease. The fabric fell away, and she flushed, suddenly hyperaware of her bareness beneath him.

But Nicholas didn’t laugh or gawk. He stared at her like he was witnessing something holy.

"Beautiful," he breathed, tracing the curve of her breast with a featherlight touch before taking her nipple into his mouth again, his tongue flicking and teasing. She gasped, arching into him, the pressure building once more in her core.

She reached for him, her hands exploring the hard ridges of his torso, brushing down to the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers hesitated only a second before undoing the button. He growled against her skin, then leaned back just enough to strip them off. She couldn’t look away.

When he took her hand and guided it to his erection, she blinked in surprise, but her fingers curled around him instinctively. He was hot and hard and thick in her hand. Her mouth went dry.

"Just like that," he whispered, voice strained as she stroked him slowly. "God, Ella..."

But before she could lose herself in watching him fall apart, he caught her wrist and kissed the inside of it, murmuring something too low for her to catch. Then he knelt between her legs again, positioning himself.

She swallowed hard.

"Tell me to stop now," he said, holding himself still. "If you have even the slightest doubt—"

"I don’t," she cut in, voice softer than a whisper. "I want this. I want you."

His eyes darkened. "Then hold onto me,dolcezza."

He pressed into her slowly—excruciatingly slowly—until she felt the sharp burn of his size. Her fingers dug into his arms, her body tensing against the unfamiliar intrusion.

"Breathe for me," he coaxed, kissing her temple as he held himself still. "Just breathe. You’re doing perfect."

She bit her lip, blinking against the tears that prickled. It wasn’t exactly pain—it was too layered for that. It was stretch and fullness and surrender all at once.

"I’ve got you," he whispered. "We’re going to go slow. I swear."

He began to move—just barely. Gentle, testing thrusts. His mouth never left her skin. Every time she gasped, he paused, waited for her to nod, to breathe, to trust him again.

And slowly... she began to adjust. The pain faded into something warmer, richer.

He moved again, a little deeper, and this time she moaned—not from discomfort, but from the strange, pulsing pleasure building low in her belly.

"You’re perfect," he murmured, "so tight... so good. You’re doing so good for me."

She clung to him, every muscle trembling, every nerve alive. He filled her so completely she couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. But she didn’t want to. She just wanted to feel.

Their rhythm built gradually—tentative strokes becoming deeper, stronger. Her hips met his instinctively now, chasing the sensation. His name fell from her lips, over and over, a chant, a plea, a cry.

Nicholas cupped her face, brushing their noses together. "That’s it, kitten. Let go for me."

She did. She shattered around him, body locking up before pleasure ripped through her, white-hot and raw. She cried out his name as he groaned, pumping into her harder now, chasing his own release.

"I can’t—" he growled, "Ella, I’m—fuck—"

He buried his face against her neck as he came, hips jerking, hands fisting the sheets on either side of her. She felt him throb inside her, his warmth spreading deep, and for a moment, the world stood still.

Only the sound of their ragged breathing filled the room.

He didn’t move immediately. Just held her, heart pounding against hers.

When he finally did lift his head, his hair was tousled, his lips swollen, but his eyes—they were soft. Open in a way she hadn’t seen before.

"Are you okay?" he asked, brushing a lock of hair from her damp forehead.

She nodded, tears welling again—but not from pain this time. "That... that was everything."

Nicholas smiled, tender and wicked all at once. "Told you it was only the beginning."