Love On Ice: Don’t Leave Me, My Charming Liar

Chapter 142: Concern creased her brow. "You're injured and changing bandages alone? Are you trying to get an infection? Don't you care about your health at all?" Ethan set down the bandage, eyebrow arched. "Is that anger I detect?" "Give me that." Nyla practically snatched the bandage, beginning to rewrap his wound with gentle precision. This side of her was rare, and Ethan leaned back, watching intently through hooded eyes. A loose strand of hair fell behind her ear as she worked, her furrowed brow and bright eyes betraying her worry as she focused on his injury.

Ethan found himself mesmerized. After days apart, their proximity awakened a familiar yearning, a magnetic pull he couldn't resist. "Why don't you come sit on my lap?" he suggested. Nyla yanked the bandage tighter than she intended. A deep, guttural groan slipped from Ethan's lips, low and undeniably sensual. Startled, she immediately let go, her cheeks flushing scarlet. "I-I didn't mean to. Let me check if it's bleeding." Her fingers fumbled as she tried to fix the bandage, her movements clumsy and rushed, unintentionally bordering on comical. Ethan had returned with injuries before.

Back then, the sight of blood on him had sent her spiraling into panic, terrified he might not come back at all someday. So she'd taught herself basic first aid, clinging to the hope that it would somehow keep him safe. But as she reached to adjust the bandage, Ethan's hand caught her wrist. With a swift tug, he pulled her into his arms. "Are you insane?" she yelped, panic flooding her voice. "You're hurt! You could make it worse!" Her hands instinctively gripped his shoulders to avoid pressing against his wound, her face mere inches from his.

Ethan chuckled, his laugh deep and velvety, resonating through her chest. The sound sent shivers cascading down her spine. Your hub for updates: gⱯlnσνℓs․cøm "Isn't that what you want?" he murmured. His hand slid along the curve of her thigh, teasingly light, until his fingers pressed just enough to make her squirm. "Stop," she breathed, her voice trembling. But he knew her too well-every weakness, every place to touch. A soft gasp escaped her lips as his fingers brushed sensitive skin, her body betraying her protests.

"Ethan," she tried again, though her words were already tinged with longing. "You're still hurt-" "It's nothing," he cut her off, his voice rough and commanding. "Just a scratch." His lips brushed against her ear, and her resistance wavered. "Be good for me. I'll make it up to you later." Before she could protest further, he tore the bandage from his waist and used the strip to bind her wrists gently but firmly behind his neck. Pinned, her defenses crumbled. Rational thought blurred, consumed by heat and the heady pull of his presence. An hour later, the room had fallen silent.

Nyla lay limp in Ethan's arms, her flushed cheek pressed against his shoulder. Her hands were free now, though her legs still trembled faintly. The chair beneath them bore signs of their passion, the air heavy with its aftermath. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she finally broke the stillness. . . .