The Stranger I Married-Chapter 57: The Kiss

Nicholas carried her down the hallway in silence, his arms firm around her as if she weighed nothing at all, though she knew the emotional weight of everything tonight could have broken bones. Each step he took was careful, deliberate—like he was afraid if he moved too quickly, she’d fall apart again.

Ella rested quietly against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath his tailored shirt. It was the only thing grounding her after the storm. The scent of him—clean, sharp, masculine—wrapped around her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she could finally breathe.

When they reached the guest bedroom, Nicholas paused at the threshold. The room was softly lit, a warm glow spilling from a nearby lamp. The bed had already been prepared, the sheets turned down with a precision that didn’t match the chaos still echoing in her chest.

He lowered her gently onto the mattress like she was something precious. His fingers lingered as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, the gesture so tender it stole the breath from her lungs.

"Goodnight, Ella," he said, his voice low and husky with something he didn’t name.

She didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Her lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. All she could do was stare at him, her gaze locking with his. Neither of them moved. The air between them shifted, thick with something unspoken.

Then Nicholas straightened, his hands reluctantly slipping from her as he took a step back.

"I should go," he murmured.

Ella felt something twist deep in her chest. The ache came back—sharp, familiar. That hollow, aching space where he used to live.

And suddenly, she knew she couldn’t let him walk away. Not again. Not when the very act of being near him had pulled her back together like he’d been stitched into her bones.

Her hand shot out before she could stop herself. She grabbed his arm, fingers closing tightly around his forearm. He paused, startled, and turned toward her, confusion flashing in his eyes.

Then she was on her feet.

Without hesitation, she reached for him, her hands rising to cup his face. His expression barely had time to register surprise before she leaned up and pressed her mouth to his.

The kiss wasn’t soft.

It was raw.

Messy.

Real.

She kissed him like she was drowning and he was the only thing keeping her afloat. Like all the anger, all the heartbreak, all the years of silence and longing had finally found their outlet.

His lips were still beneath hers—unmoving, as if he was too stunned to react.

And yet, she didn’t pull away. Not immediately.

Her fingers pressed gently into the angles of his jaw, the scrape of stubble against her palms grounding her in the moment, making it real. Her heart was thudding so violently it felt like it might burst from her chest.

When she finally drew back, breathless, her hands remained on either side of his face. Her eyes searched his, unsure of what she would find.

Nicholas stared at her, wide-eyed, like he’d just been thrown into another reality. His brows pulled low with disbelief, and his mouth hung slightly open, lips glistening from the kiss she’d left there.

Their chests moved in tandem, rising and falling as though they had both just surfaced from deep underwater.

The silence between them was no longer quiet.

It vibrated with tension—thick and electric. It clung to her skin, wrapped around them both, something invisible but almost painful in its intensity.

His gaze flicked to her lips and then back to her eyes. Again. And again. His own lips parted, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

And then, he licked them.

A slow, unconscious movement that made heat bloom beneath her skin.

Ella inhaled sharply. Her own tongue darted out, dragging across her lower lip without thought. She tasted him there—the faint ghost of the kiss—and something about it made her eyes flutter half-closed for a second.

She didn’t miss the way his pupils expanded. Didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the movement of her mouth, hungry, dazed, like he’d become intoxicated by just the sight of her.

The tension in the room built to a breaking point. She could feel it straining—bending like a beam under too much weight. One more breath, one more second, and it would snap.

When their eyes met again, something had changed in his.

Gone was the shock.

In its place was heat.

Need.

Longing.

A flicker of war waged in his expression—restraint fighting instinct, control battling desire. But his body was leaning into hers now, unconsciously, like gravity had shifted and she was the new center of it.

Her hands still framed his face. His hovered inches from her waist, curled like he was afraid to touch her unless he was sure.

Ella’s voice, if she could have spoken, would’ve trembled. But no words came. There was no space for them in this moment. Only breath and silence and the wild thundering of hearts that couldn’t seem to beat without each other anymore.

She tilted her head slightly, unsure if she wanted to invite him back or merely savor the feel of him so close. Her lashes lowered halfway as she stared at his mouth, her heart racing in anticipation, dread, and something far more dangerous—hope.

And then his hands lifted.

Not rushed. Not rough.

Just slow, sure, reverent—like he was finally allowing himself to give in to something he’d been denying far too long.

His fingers brushed her waist, then her back, pulling her gently forward. And just as the dam began to crack, just as the flood began to rise behind their lips again—

He stopped.

Barely.

Holding still, hovering on the edge.

Waiting.

And in that hesitation, in that fragile breath between resistance and surrender, she knew: she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Whether she said it or not. Whether she pretended or not.