20. Amara
Chapter twenty
Amara
I ’m getting uncomfortably used to this bedroom, considering it’s the only place I hide whenever Nicholas is home.
Pumpkin scratches at the door, and I sigh, knowing she wants to go to the living room. She’s getting too used to hanging around Nicholas, which is weird since she’s always hated men. Or maybe it was just Liam.
I sit on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, rereading Jade’s text, the pressure in my chest building.
Jade :
I’m at the club already. You guys need to get your asses out here.
Sophie :
Henry and I are already in our pajamas having a movie night.
Jade :
Boooo. Amara, come on. You’re my saving grace here.
It would be so easy to go out and try to forget about Nicholas, but it would be no use. The memory of the last few days torments my mind, day and night. It’s been almost a week since that day in Nicholas’s bedroom, since he watched me, tasted me , and then left… like nothing happened.
Since then? Nothing. Not a single call into his office, no rides to work, absolutely nothing. At the office, it’s like I’m invisible, just cold, snappy emails that might as well be from a robot. And at home? Even worse. He’s hardly ever here, and when he is, he actively avoids me, locking himself away in his office like he’s trying to erase me from his life. The thought twists my stomach. Does he regret that night? Does he wish it never happened?
Of course he does. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t. And the worst part? I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t let it go, no matter how much I try. I can’t stop picturing his eyes on me, his deep voice commanding me, his groans as he took my finger in his mouth.
I let out a sigh and type out a reply to Jade’s message.
Me :
I’m tired, I think I’ll just stay in tonight. Maybe next time.
Jade :
Are you actually tired, or are you fucking your boss?
Sophie :
Jade!
Jade :
What? We’re all thinking it.
There’s a pause, and then I see Sophie typing.
Sophie :
I was thinking it. Sorry.
Great . Everyone thinks we’re sleeping together, and the minute anything even remotely close to that happened, he bolted out of the room like I had a flamethrower aimed at him.
Me :
None of that is happening. I’m just tired. Pumpkin and I are also having a movie night.
Jade :
Riiiight. Just remember. Safe sex is great sex.
I throw my phone on the bed with a deep sigh. My stomach rumbles and I’m sick of seeing the same four walls every single day. I need to get out of this room.
I push myself off the bed, heading for the door. As I step into the hallway, I hear the soft clinking of pans. My heart skips a beat. Nicholas is home.
I freeze, my hand gripping the doorknob. For days, I’ve been avoiding him, pretending like nothing’s changed between us, since it’s clearly what he wants. But it has. The second we crossed that line, everything shifted.
I take a deep breath, trying to pull myself together. Slowly, I open the door, stepping into the kitchen, and my eyes lock on him the second I do.
He’s standing by the stove, wearing a thin gray T-shirt and… sweatpants? I blink, a little stunned. I’ve never seen him like this. Casual. Relaxed. He’s always in a sharp suit, so polished and in control. But now? That confident, authoritative air is gone, replaced by something different. Something that has my pulse speeding up.
I bite my lip, watching him for just a second too long. Then, Pumpkin meows from the doorway, pulling me out of my thoughts. Nicholas glances at the sound, his eyes locking with mine. My breath catches in my throat as he looks me over, his eyes flicking down like he’s remembering that day—the one we’re actively avoiding talking about.
His lips part, and then my name slips from them. “Amara.”
The sound of it makes my whole body tense, reminding me of the moment everything between felt a little too real… before he bolted.
I take a small step forward, trying to steady my breathing.
“Hi,” I mumble, my voice quieter than I want it to be. “Sorry. I was hungry, and… I didn’t know you cooked.”
He doesn’t answer right away, but his eyes stay on me, and the silence stretches between us. “I told you, Amara. You don’t know me.”
I press my lips together. He’s right. I don’t know him, not really. I thought I did, but now I’m realizing just how wrong I was. I didn’t know how dark and intense his eyes could get, how commanding he was, how… dirty his words were.
I shiver at the thought, instinctively pulling my arms around myself. I take another step into the kitchen, lingering near the doorway, unsure of what I’m supposed to do, what I’m supposed to say.
The tension in the air is nearly suffocating, pressing down on me with every breath I take. That day is all I can think about, and I’m doing my best to pretend it never happened. But it did. No matter how hard I try to ignore it, the memory of him is seared into my mind.
My gaze drifts to him as he grabs his mug, the herbal scent filling the room, and takes a sip. “Are you just going to stand there?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous,” he mutters, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. My brows furrow, hating that he’s acting so normal like that day didn’t happen, like he didn’t leave me naked and alone in his bed.
“You drink tea?” I ask, wanting to move past the awkwardness.
He lifts a shoulder. “At night. Helps me sleep.” He flicks his eyes back to the pot, like he can’t stand to look at me for any longer. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”
I shake my head, then take a step closer as he holds up a wooden spoon, offering it to me.
“Here,” he says. “Taste this.”
I lean in, and close my lips around the spoon, his gaze flickering to mine, lingering for a beat longer than usual.
“It’s good,” I say, straightening up as I swipe my thumb over my lip to catch any stray sauce. “Could use a bit more salt, though.”
His brows furrow. “Really?” He grabs the spoon back, tasting it himself. “I think it’s perfect.”
I scoff. “And you’re an expert all of a sudden?”
His eyes narrow, and I feel the intensity of his gaze all the way through me. “You seem to forget, Amara. I know what tastes good.”
The air between us is thick. Too thick. I can’t stop replaying that day in my head—the way his mouth closed around my finger, the way he groaned, low and needy.
“Amara.” His voice is like a drag of smoke, deep and dangerous, and suddenly, I can’t remember my own damn name. His eyes flick down to my lips, my own parting on a gasp, and then—
Everything goes dark.
“What the hell?” I mutter, blinking into the blackness. I can’t see a damn thing as I turn my head toward his windows, but the city lights are also out.
Then I hear the click of his phone lighting up, and Nicholas’s face glows as he checks it before letting out a sigh. “Power’s out,” he says, already on the move. “Looks like the whole city’s down.”
I hear him rummaging around, a drawer opening, the scratch of a match. A tiny flame flickers to life, casting shadows on his face. He lights a candle, then another, and the room fills with warm, flickering light.
“Pasta wasn’t cooked yet, so there’s no food until the power comes back on,” he tells me, lifting his sleeves as he sits at the table.
Great. Because this night wasn’t awkward enough.
I sit down on the stool beside him, folding my hands in my lap. Turning my head, I glance at the side of his face, the candlelight dancing across his features. The muscles in his jaw tense, and he turns his head slowly toward me. Our eyes meet, silence stretching between us, and I suck in a breath, unable to stand it anymore.
“Nicholas.” His eyes harden. “About that night—”
“Amara,” he cuts me off, his voice low, gravelly, and so damn firm it causes a shiver to crawl up my spine.
I know he wants to drop it, avoid the subject altogether. But I’m not doing that anymore. Not after days of silence, of pretending like I haven’t been losing my mind over it.
I shake my head, locking eyes with him. “I can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen.”
His jaw tightens, a muscle in his neck twitching like it might snap. “It never should have happened. It was a mistake, Amara. That’s all.”
A mistake . The word lands like a slap. I should’ve known it was nothing more than an impulse. But hearing it from him—so cold, so dismissive—it feels like a knife in my chest. I feel the lump in my throat, the anger rising.
I force a tight smile, trying to bury the sting. “Right.” My voice breaks a little. “Of course.”
I turn, needing to escape the suffocating tension, but before I can get far, his hand catches my wrist, yanking me back to him.
“Amara.” His voice drops lower. My pulse quickens, and his fingers tighten around my wrist, pulling me closer to him.
I don’t dare look at him. I can’t. “Let go of me, Nicholas.”
He doesn’t let go. His grip tightens, sending a heat through me that I hate myself for feeling. “Amara.” He says my name again, like it’s some kind of curse. His voice is tight now, strained, like he’s holding back. “Fuck. You don’t get it. I can’t—We can’t—”
“I get it, Nicholas,” I cut in, the words tumbling out too fast. “You’re not attracted to me. You were caught up in the moment, and now you regret it.” I swallow the rejection down, tugging my wrist from his grasp. “Now let me go.” I yank my arm away from him, my feet carrying me toward my room. It’s dark, and cold in there. But I need to get away from him.
“What? What the hell are you talking about?” he calls from behind me, but I keep walking straight ahead.
“Amara,” his voice rises, and I squeeze my eyes closed, wanting to bury myself in my bed and erase this whole damn night.
“Amara, come here.”
I don’t turn around. My steps quicken as I near my bedroom door, my hand reaching for the handle.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice dripping with frustration. “I think about you.”
I freeze, my hand just inches from the door, my heart hammering. Nicholas lets out a harsh breath behind me. I want to turn and look at him, but I also want him to keep going.
“I think about you,” he repeats. “Every day. Every night.” My pulse spikes. “At work. At home. In the shower. In my bed. It doesn’t matter when or where; you’re in my head. All fucking day.”
I gasp quietly, my lips parting at his confession, his footsteps the only sound between us as he moves closer.
“I’ve thought about that day more than I want to admit,” he continues, his voice growing closer with each step. “More than anything else.”
My fingers grip the door handle as his breath brushes against my neck.
“I think about it every damn day,” he murmurs, his hands finding my hips. Before I can even process, he spins me around and his eyes lock onto mine.
“How the hell could you think I’m not attracted to you?” His voice is low as he presses against me, something hard brushing my stomach.
I stare up at him, letting out a gasp. He curses under his breath, rough and jagged, his eyes closing for a moment as he breathes in sharply.
And then he steps back, his hands dropping from me, frustration painting his features. “Fuck,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He sighs. “I shouldn’t have watched you that day. I shouldn’t have touched you. You’re my assistant, Amara. I’m paying you to pretend to be my fiancée, so I can secure this deal. I moved you into my apartment. Made you touch yourself for me.” His voice falters as if the words themselves cut him. “I shouldn’t have done any of it. I should have turned the fuck away and left you alone.”
His eyes are filled with sympathy, guilt swirling in them, but something about the way he looks at me only makes my desire for him grow hotter. He never once said he regretted it, never once said he didn’t want it to happen.
“I shouldn’t have climbed into your bed and touched myself.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, closing his eyes, his face tight. “Please. Don’t bring that up right now.”
I shake my head, stepping closer, my heart hammering in my chest as I close the gap between us. “There’s nothing in the contract that says anything about us.”
His brows furrow, confusion flashing in his gaze. “What?”
“You said we couldn’t have any outside relationships,” I remind him, my body burning. “But there’s nothing in there about us. Nothing in there saying we can’t…” My words trail off, letting him fill in the blanks.
A breath leaves him, his eyes darkening with something that makes my pulse race. “You checked.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Heat floods to my face, tinting my cheeks with red, which I know he can see.
“Why did you look it up?” he asks, his voice rough as he moves toward me, closing the space between us. His gaze burns into mine under the flickering candlelight. “Hmm?”
I suck in a breath, my heart racing from the intensity of his stare. I can’t speak. The words lodge in my throat.
“Did you want it to happen?” he presses, his voice hushed but commanding. “Did you want me to find you naked and horny on my bed?” His eyes narrow, like he’s daring me to lie.
I can hardly breathe under his intense gaze, my body trembling. “Yes,” I whisper, the word slipping out before I can stop it.
“Fuck.” His voice is strained as he steps closer. His hand moves to my hip, his fingers brushing the soft fabric of my sweater. The moment his skin touches mine, my whole body shivers.
“We can’t,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. “This… this isn’t right.”
I tilt my head slightly, looking up at him, trying to keep my voice steady despite the pounding in my chest. “Why not?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes flicker with something close to pain, like he’s caught in a battle inside his mind. I take a step closer to him, and his hand grips my hip a little tighter, the heat from his palm searing through the layers of clothes.
“You were hard earlier,” I whisper. “I felt it.”
His eyes flash, and I swear I see something dark flicker in them, but then he’s back to his usual controlled self. “Amara,” he warns, his voice low and taut, the kind of sound that sends a shiver up my spine.
“Were you thinking about it?” I press, my throat dry. “Thinking about me?”
He inhales sharply, his jaw clenched. “I told you, I can’t stop thinking about it. About you lying in my bed, naked… Fuck .” He grunts under his breath, and I almost wish I hadn’t pushed him so far, but I can’t stop now. I want to know. I need to know.
I slide my hands up his t-shirt, feeling the soft fabric stretch over the muscles of his chest, and wrap my hands around his neck, keeping my gaze locked on his. “Do you regret it?” I ask. The question slips out before I can stop it, and I brace myself for the answer.
He steps forward, his chest brushing against mine. His hand slides around my back, pulling me in closer, his body heat making everything else fade away. “You’re the last thing I could ever regret.”
Before I can process his words, his lips are on mine, quick and hungry… urgent . I melt into him, my hands still resting on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath through the fabric of his shirt. His hands slide down to my hips, pulling me closer, like he can’t get enough, I reply by pressing against him, every inch of me craving him.
“God, how do you taste even sweeter than the last time I kissed you?”
A soft moan slips from my throat as his hands slide down to my waist, pulling me closer. His body is solid against mine, and I feel the heat radiating off him, my skin burning where we touch. His lips trail fire along my jaw, then down to my neck, making every nerve in my body light up.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he mutters, his voice rough. His fingers tug at the hem of my sweater, brushing the skin of my waist, and I can’t stop the shiver that runs through me. “Tell me, Amara. Tell me you want this too.”
“I do,” I breathe. “I want all of you.”
His groan vibrates against my lips, raw and needy, and his hands slide up my back, pushing my sweater higher. I melt into him, every part of me aching for more, for him. It’s like he knows exactly how to touch me, to make me lose my mind.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against my lips, his hands framing my face, glancing down at me with a shake of his head. “These fucking sweaters you wear all the damn time drive me crazy. All I want to do is rip them off and see what’s underneath.”
My heart stutters at his words. Before I can respond, his lips capture mine, pulling me under until I’m lost in him completely. The cool press of the kitchen island against my back jolts a gasp from my throat. I don’t know how we ended up back here, and I don’t care. All I can feel is him, his touch, his heat, drowning out everything else. His hands roam under my sweater, mapping every curve of my body. He presses closer, his warmth surrounding me, his fingers brushing the edge of my bra. When his palm cups my side, just under the swell of my breast, my pulse stutters.
Alarms ring in my head. He’s feeling my skin, soft and pudgy, covered in stretch marks, and I stiffen, knowing I look nothing like the women he’s been with in the past.
“You feel incredible,” he murmurs, groaning against my neck before his lips trail to the hollow of my collarbone, pausing as his breath fans over my skin as if he’s savoring the moment. “Fuck, I should stop.” He groans against my skin, his tongue licking a path. “But I don’t want to.”
For a moment, his words make me falter. The lingering doubts creep in, uninvited. Whispers reminding me of every imperfection I have, everything I’ve kept hidden from everyone. Everything my ex didn’t like. My hands still against his chest, my breath hitching.
He notices immediately. His hands move to cradle my face, his thumbs stroking softly along my jaw as he leans in close. “Don’t,” he grits out, as if he can read my mind. His hand slides up to cup my cheek, tilting my face so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”
“I just…” I pause, my eyes dropping from his. “What if I’m not what you’re expecting? What if…” My words trail off, and I shake my head, not even sure how to explain the knot of fear tightening in my chest.
A flicker of something crosses his face. “You forget,” he adds with a smirk, “I’ve already seen you spread out bare for me.” His eyes darken. “And I loved every second of it.”
Heat rushes to my face at the memory of Nicholas seeing me so exposed. My body reacts without warning, warmth flooding my skin at the thought of it.
“You don’t have to hide from me, Amara. Not now. Not ever.” He brushes his lips over mine, before pulling back just enough to whisper, “Let me show you just how much I want you.”
The certainty in his voice shatters the last of my doubts, and I can feel the heat building between us. Slowly, he moves, his hands tracing the familiar curves of my body, his lips leaving a trail of fire along my neck and collarbone. In one smooth motion, he pulls my sweater over my head.
His eyes darken, taking in every inch of me, before his hands move to the clasp of my bra. He undoes it effortlessly, the fabric falling away, and my breasts spill free, exposed to him. A breath hitches in my throat as his gaze lands on me, a deep, possessive hunger in his eyes that sends a thrill through me.
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs against my skin, his hands sliding to my hips, gripping me tighter. “Every inch of you is perfect to me, exactly the way you are. And I’ll prove it to you all night if I have to.”
My breath catches, my body aching for him. “Then don’t stop,” I whisper, pulling him closer.
Something dark flashes in his eyes, his lips twitching into a grin as his fingers skim the waistband of my jeans. He leans in, lips brushing my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
I can’t think, let alone speak. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more. My fingers find the hem of his shirt, lifting it slowly until he wrenches it off, our lips parting for one agonizing second before the fabric is tossed aside. My body arches into his, silently begging for his touch. He answers instantly, his mouth crashing back into mine. The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding skillfully against mine, leaving me breathless.
My hands slide to his bare chest exploring the hard lines of his stomach.
His breath catches, and he flashes me a grin. “Careful, honey,” he teases. “I’m trying to take this slow, but if you keep that up, I’m not going to be able to hold back.”
“Who said I want you to go slow?” I challenge.
His grin widens, a rumbly laugh escaping him. “You really don’t know what you’re asking for.” His hands tighten on my hips, his thumbs tracing slow, maddening circles against my skin, the cool air hitting me as his hands travel lower, pushing my pants, exposing more of me.
Before I can respond, he lifts me effortlessly, placing me on the kitchen island before kneeling in front of me, and my breath catches at the sight. The only thing separating us is my cotton panties—and the ache between my legs for him.
“You’re stunning,” he whispers, his eyes locking onto the fabric, dark with admiration and raw want. His grip on my thighs tightens like he can’t get enough of me. “Every. Single. Inch.”
His lips brush against my stomach, kissing the soft skin as he trails lower, teasing me with what’s to come. I know he can see every roll on my belly, every stretch mark, but the way he kisses me, groaning against my skin, has me forgetting all about it, breath hitching in anticipation.
His lips travel lower, and I feel the heat of his breath before he presses the softest kiss right over my panties, making my whole body jolt. My hands find his shoulders, anchoring me to him as I fight to catch my breath.
“You don’t have to—” I start, but he cuts me off with a kiss to my inner thigh.
“Believe me when I say,” he murmurs, his voice dark and commanding, his hands pushing my legs wider, “I fucking want to.”