His Stripper Mate のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

“Do I want to know? Sasha, I want to know everything. I want to know why your kitchen towel weighs nine pounds and why you win every single arm-wrestle at the bakery’s charity night and why your ‘clinic’ has no address.” He picked up the paper bag and set it gently on the table, between us, like a treaty. “But you said something the night we met. Do you remember? I asked why you became a nurse, and you said, ‘Because somebody has to be in the room when it’s bad, and I’d rather it be me than someone who flinches.’ And I thought—that’s the bravest thing I’ve ever heard. So no. No buts. When you can tell me, you’ll tell me. Until then, I’m going to stand in the room when it’s bad. That’s my whole job, apparently. Bread and standing.” I am, professionally speaking, an excellent field medic. I have steady hands in the worst moments of other people’s lives. I have never once, in six years of Hollows work, cried in front of a patient. I teared up over a bag of sourdough. “God,” I said,

She simply stared into the darkness of my mind, alert and suddenly very, very interested. "I can't... I'm naked under this," I said to Nick, my pulse thudding in my ears. "I've seen skin before, Zosia," Nick said, his voice dropping into a dark, velvety register. He reached for the hoodie and pulled it over my head, then the silver zipper at my throat. "I'm not looking at you as a stripper. I'm looking at you as a woman who needs a rest. Now, hold still." His fingers were large and calloused, but they moved with a terrifying precision. He fumbled with the zipper for a second—the clumsy Nick returning—but then he found the catch. Hiss. The sound of the latex opening was the loudest thing in the room. The cool air hit the sweat on my chest, and I shivered violently. "Shhh," Nick murmured. He peeled the top of the suit down, his knuckles grazing the swell of my breasts. He didn't look away. He watched the way my skin reacted to his touch, the way my nipples peaked through t

I obeyed, my forehead resting against his chest. I felt the corded muscle beneath his shirt, the sheer, overwhelming restraint he was holding back. My hands found his shoulders, and I gripped him like he was the only solid thing in my world of nothingness. He ran his hands down my back, beneath the sweater. His fingers traced the line of my spine with a slow, agonizing precision. Each touch felt like a new brand of heat. And with every touch, my restraint was hanging by the thread. When he reached the small of my back, his hands stopped. He squeezed, pulling me flush against his hard, arrogant length. “You’re so responsive,” he groaned against my hair. “Every touch... you hum for me.” “I’m… I’m sick, Nick.” “You’re perfect,” he rasped. He pulled back, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. That was not a medically reassuring response. He pulled back, one hand sliding to the back of my neck, his fingers threading gently through my hair. “I’m

Zo’s POV The silk felt like a cool, liquid caress as it slid over my skin. I stood in the clinical white bathroom of the Vane Wing, staring at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. For years, my clothes had been a compromise—either the threadbare oversized hoodies I used to hide from the world, or the suffocating, skin-tight latex I wore to pay for Nyx’s breath. This was different. The dress Nick had sent was a masterpiece of design. It was a deep, obsidian black that seemed to absorb the harsh hospital lights, turning them into a soft glow. It wasn't designed to squeeze or punish my body; it was designed to worship it. The bodice was structured but soft, dipping into a tasteful V-neck that highlighted the pale, smooth skin of my chest. The sleeves were long and sheer, clinging to my arms, while the skirt flowed from my hips in a way that made me feel tall. Powerful even. I looked at the high collar. It sat perfectly over the spot where my Alpha scar had flared, the

That evening…. The elevator ride down to the basement was a study in suffocating tension. I kept Zosia tucked under my arm, her body still vibrating with the terror of the eviction notice. I could feel the heat radiating from her neck—the one she thought was a curse—refused to settle. She was too quiet. The passive shell she had lived in for eight years was cracking, leaving her raw and exposed. My wolf, Leo, was pacing a relentless, predatory circle behind my ribs, his golden eyes fixed on the crown of her head. Take her. Hide her. She’s too soft for this world. Roger that, Leo. The doors opened to the underground garage. A matte-black armored SUV sat idling in the shadows, its headlights off. Malachi stood by the passenger door, his face a mask of stone. He didn't blink when he saw me without the glasses, my spine straight, my Alpha aura filling the concrete cavern. He simply bowed his head in a short, sharp gesture of absolute loyalty. "Nick?" Zosia whispered, her hand tigh