No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1624

The night deepened outside the window, while the temperature inside the room climbed exponentially.

The lighting was dim, but the man's eyes were searingly bright. Even as he kissed her, he refused to close them, desperate to brand every flicker of expression on the woman in his arms into his memory.

Sensing his intense gaze, Eleanor reached up and covered his eyes, unwilling to let him stare.

The man let out a low chuckle, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Not allowed to look?"

Eleanor didn't answer; she just pressed her hand tighter over his eyes. His thick lashes brushed against her palm like feathers, sending a faint, electric thrill through her skin.

Ian lowered his head, his lips trailing down her neck, tracing her earlobe, and moving along her jawline.

Every touch was a deliberate spark designed to set her on fire. Eleanor could feel the rigid tension in his muscles, a leashed, predatory energy on the verge of snapping. It made her own breathing turn erratic.

Her hand unconsciously slipped from his face. The man lifted his head, a feral hunger finally breaking loose in his eyes, like a beast shredding the confines of its cage.

"Ellie—" His large hand clamped around her wrists, effortlessly pinning both of her slender arms above her head to take whatever he pleased.

The kiss shifted, turning impossibly deep and consuming, meant to thoroughly unravel her.

When he finally broke the kiss, he braced himself on his forearms, his gaze dropping to take her in as if she were a priceless masterpiece. He cataloged every single nuance of her flushed expression.

When he descended again, there was no more hesitation—only a primal, unyielding possessiveness. His lips pressed against her collarbone, the searing heat of his palms trailing fire across every inch of her skin.

"Ellie—" he called out, his voice wrecked and husky.

"Hmm?" Eleanor breathed out.

"You are mine."

The man wasn't just staking his claim with words; he proved it with dominant, undeniable physicality.

The night was long, and incredibly deep.

—

The next morning.

It was the weekend.

Eleanor opened the envelope and slid out the document. Her eyes fell on the bold heading, and she froze.

—Last Will and Testament.

It was Magdalen Goodwin's will.

"My grandmother left one-third of her estate to Serena, and the remaining two-thirds to you," Ian stated plainly.

Eleanor gripped the heavy parchment, her eyes welling up with emotion.

Magdalen had hinted at this before she passed, but Eleanor had no idea she was literally finalizing her dying wishes at the time.

"This is too much—" Eleanor looked up at Ian. "You should have your mother inherit this. Besides, I'm not a part of the Goodwin family anymore."

Ian pulled her into his arms, resting his chin against her hair. "In my grandmother's eyes, you were always a Goodwin," he said in a low voice.

Eleanor gently nudged him back. "I don't know the first thing about art collections."