No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1606

"—The lights," Eleanor murmured weakly against his lips. She clearly wasn't rejecting his advances, but she had always preferred the dark.

Ian immediately understood. It was her habit, just like it used to be.

He wanted to reach for the switch, but a sudden spike of anxiety hit him—he was terrified that if he let her go for even a second, she might lose the nerve, flee to her room, and lock him out.

He let out a ragged sigh. "My room."

Scooping her effortlessly into his arms, he carried her down the hall, his breathing heavy and trembling with raw anticipation.

The moment they crossed the threshold of the guest room, he kicked the door shut, cutting off the light from the hallway. The room was submerged in absolute darkness, saved only by the faint, hazy glow of a distant streetlamp outside the window. It cast just enough light to illuminate the hard lines of his face.

He didn't even make it to the bed before his mouth found hers again, desperate and consuming, kissing her the entire way until he finally laid her gently onto the mattress.

In the dim light, she could see he had already impatiently unbuttoned his shirt halfway down his chest. His breathing was ragged, giving him the dangerous, untamed look of a man shedding his civilized exterior.

The darkness amplified every sensation. Her mind went completely blank, surrendering entirely to his lead, allowing him to guide her as they painstakingly rediscovered the rhythm they once knew by heart.

His kisses were a raging fire, his hands possessive and demanding.

For a man who had starved himself for years, finally having a taste of what he craved meant he was physically incapable of holding back. Even with his immense self-control, he was barreling toward total indulgence.

Tonight, there was no chance he would stop at just a taste.

"Wait—" She pushed against his chest, trembling slightly in the dark. "I'm not protected."

He had clearly anticipated this. "I've got it covered," he murmured huskily, his lips brushing against her skin.

Her mind was a dizzying blur. Before she could process his words, his intoxicating presence completely enveloped her again, stealing away any chance she had to retreat or protest. Tonight, she belonged entirely to him.

The next morning.

Then, entirely unable to stop himself, he leaned down and kissed her again—her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose. It was as if he loved her so fiercely it physically hurt, driven by a primal need to consume her completely.

She didn't say a word. Whether she was feeling the chill of the afternoon or simply craving his warmth, she shifted closer, nestling perfectly into his chest and closing her eyes as she soaked in his heat.

His large hand gently cupped her chin, tilting her face up so she had to look at him.

She knew she couldn't run from this conversation forever, and honestly, she didn't want to anymore. Since things had escalated to this point, she owed him an answer.

Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his messy hair. The stark, graying strands were a silent testament to the hell he had endured for the past ten years. He had lived entirely for others, fighting for his family's survival, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, constantly strategizing, solving one catastrophic crisis after another. Any normal man would have been crushed by the pressure.

But he had survived, tearing through every obstacle with sheer competence and ruthlessness.

She thought of her father, of the crushing burden he had desperately wanted to protect her from, only to hand it over to Ian in his final moments. Without her ever knowing, Ian had carried that burden and fulfilled her father's dying wish.