The soft glow of the TV flickered across the living room walls, casting shadows that danced in rhythm with the movie’s changing scenes. Outside, the city buzzed with life, but in the high-rise mansion , everything felt still—quiet in a way that made Ella feel like the world had pressed pause just for them.
She was tucked into the corner of the oversized couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap, legs drawn up beneath her. Her newly done hair was down, still full and glossy from earlier, spilling over her shoulders like a curtain. She wore one of Nicholas’s hoodies—far too big, drowning her small fra—but she’d stolen it unapologetically when he’d disappeared to answer a call.
Now he was back, sprawled beside her, one arm stretched out behind her along the back of the couch, the other stealing popcorn from her bowl with maddening casualness.
"This movie is terrible," Nicholas comnted, grabbing another handful of popcorn and tossing a piece into his mouth.
Ella smirked. "You picked it."
"I picked it for you," he said, dramatically offended. "You said you wanted sothing light. I gave you the cinematic equivalent of a marshmallow."
"It’s barely got a plot."
"It’s got popcorn, a couch, and . What more do you want?"
Ella rolled her eyes but felt the flutter in her chest all the sa. "Do you always flirt this much?"
"Only when I’m in love."
She froze for half a second, eyes flicking to him.
He winked. "With myself. Obviously."
Ella let out a breath, half a laugh and half exasperation. "Of course."
Nicholas’s smile was soft as he turned to look at her more fully. His gaze dropped for a mont to her lips, then back up to her eyes. The TV kept playing, so cheesy romantic cody scene playing out in the background, but neither of them was paying much attention anymore.
"You’re smiling more lately," he said, voice quiet.
"I’m trying," she admitted.
"And how’s that going?"
She looked at him, really looked—at the sharp edge of his jaw, the softness in his stormy eyes, the crooked smile that always got her into trouble.
"Better when you’re around."
That made sothing shift in his expression. The playfulness faded, replaced by sothing deeper. A flicker of emotion she couldn’t na but could definitely feel.
She felt the mont stretch between them, taut and electric. Her fingers tightened slightly around the bowl of popcorn.
Then Nicholas leaned in slightly, just a little—enough to make her breath catch.
"Are you going to kiss , Ella?" he asked, the words low and teasing, but with an edge of real hunger beneath them.
"No," she said, voice just as soft.
"Sha," he whispered, already leaning back.
"I’m going to kiss you."
Before he could respond, she set the popcorn aside, reached out, and pulled him in by the collar of his hoodie.
The kiss started gentle—hesitant, like the first warm breeze before a sumr storm. Her lips brushed his with delicate care, but there was intent behind it. A choice. A decision.
Nicholas didn’t move at first. Didn’t push. Didn’t pull away. He let her have the mont, let her lead it. His hands hovered beside her, fists clenched on his thighs like he was holding sothing back.
But then—he broke.
With a quiet groan, Nicholas deepened the kiss, his hand sliding into her hair, the other wrapping firmly around her waist and pulling her into his lap. She straddled him without hesitation, heart hamring in her chest.
The air between them sizzled, tension rising like waves threatening to crash. His lips moved against hers with a hunger she hadn’t expected—controlled, yes, but only barely. It was like he’d been waiting for her to make the first move, and now that she had, he was losing the fight to stay restrained.
Ella’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, her breath catching when he kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then lower still—pressing a trail of heat along her throat.
"Nicholas..." she whispered, trembling.
He paused.
Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His hands gripped her hips like he was grounding himself.
"Don’t," he murmured, voice hoarse.
Ella froze. "Don’t what?"
He leaned back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes. His pupils were blown wide, but behind the desire, there was sothing else—sothing aching and earnest.
"Don’t make be the responsible one," he said with a wry, breathless laugh. "Not when you look at like that. Not when you kiss like that."
She blinked. "You think I’m not ready?"
He exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead against hers again. "I know you’re not. Not yet. And if I don’t stop now, I won’t stop later."
Ella swallowed hard, throat tight. "But I want—"
"I know," he cut in gently, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. "I want it too. God, Ella, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But if we cross that line now... I’ll take everything. All of you. And I need to know you’re really ready to give that."
Tears pricked behind her eyes—not from rejection, but from the way he held her so carefully. Like she was precious. Like she was worth waiting for.
"I’ve never had soone protect from themselves before," she said quietly.
Nicholas smiled—tender, almost sad. "Then you’ve been with the wrong kind of n."
She leaned into his touch, her forehead still against his. "And you’re the right kind?"
"I’m the kind who wants to deserve you."
They sat like that for a while, tangled in each other, letting the mont cool, the storm settle. The movie played on, forgotten in the background. Sowhere on the screen, the two leads shared a kiss.
But Ella had already lived her favorite scene.
In the safety of Nicholas’s arms, heart still racing, she realized sothing she hadn’t dared say out loud yet:
She was falling in love with him.
And maybe—just maybe—he was already there, waiting.
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