14. Adrian
Chapter fourteen
Adrian
I ’m wrist-deep in suds when Isabella saunters up to the sink, a playful glint in her green eyes that spells trouble—or maybe assistance. “Need a hand, or are you planning on sprouting an extra one? Turn me down, and you’ll have dishpan hands forever.”
I let out a chuckle that doesn’t quite mask my relief. She’s here, elbow to elbow with me, and suddenly this chore feels less like a task and more like ... camaraderie.
“Slide those over,” I nod toward the dishes awaiting their rinse as we fall into a rhythm. The soapy water swishes between us, the clink of porcelain a surprisingly pleasant soundtrack. It’s the kind of domesticity that used to be a minefield after Colette, but with Isabella, it’s like slipping into a warm bath—unexpectedly soothing.
“Mom mentioned how I landed the job at the firm …” she says, breaking the silence. My heart does a little salsa dance of panic—I’d rather wrestle a bear than tackle this conversation.
“Isabella, listen. I don’t want you to feel like I hired you out of pity, because—” My voice is firm, but there’s an edge of desperation I can’t quite hide. I want her to know her worth, independent of any handout accusations .
“Thank you,” she cuts across my stumbling explanation, her gratitude washing over me like a balm. “It’s an honor to be compared to your father.”
“Ah, well.” I scrub harder at a stubborn spot on a plate, buying time. “Truth is, I was a lousy son. Always hated being measured against my 0ld man, so I made rebellion my art form. I even got married out of spite, because he was against me being with Colette.” The words tumble out, raw and real. “My biggest regret, though? Never telling him being compared to him was actually the highest praise.”
She turns off the tap, drying her hands as she waits for me to continue. Her silence is a canvas for my confession.
“Deep down, I admired him more than anyone. That’s the real reason I gave you the job—it’s what he would’ve done. Because he believed in you, like I do.”
Her next question is soft but loaded, a bullet wrapped in velvet. “Do you really want to raise this baby with me?”
“Yes.” The word springs from somewhere deep, somewhere unguarded. A place where fear doesn’t live anymore. “The last thing I want is for you to feel pressured about our relationship. Nothing has to progress beyond co-parenting, if that’s what you want. No rush, no pressure. Okay?”
“Okay.” She nods, but she’s an expert in masking her emotions. Whether she’s relieved or disappointed … it’s certainly up for debate.
“Let’s tell Caleb and our folks after we know the baby’s healthy,” I suggest, already picturing the four of us together. The future isn’t some distant concept; it’s here, tangible, and filled with promise.
“Agreed.” Her smile meets mine, and in that shared curve of lips, there’s a silent oath—a pledge to the tiny heartbeat joining our lives.
“Then it’s settled. ”
“Maybe we should head out,” Isabella murmurs, her words slicing through the comfortable silence that had settled between us.
I nod, fumbling with a dishtowel, not quite ready to let go of the warmth in this kitchen. “Hey, it was great to get to spend some time with you tonight—”
“Why does it have to end?” she cuts in, her eyes challenging, playful.
“Right.” I laugh, an easy sound, but there’s a tightness in my chest at the thought of this night wrapping up. Smooth Isabella.
We join her parents in the living room to say our goodbyes, the Kings with their gentle smiles and soft encouragements that I find myself craving more than I’d like to admit.
“Come by anytime, Adrian,” Mr. King says, a hand clapping on my shoulder. It’s all so damn normal, a contrast to the chaos of my usual world.
“Will do,” I promise, feeling like I’m sealing some unspoken pact.
“Bye Mom, bye Dad.” Isabella gives them both a hug before joining me in the foyer.
Isabella gathers her coat and purse, and I scoop up my jacket from the coat rack. We step into the crisp evening air, the stars overhead winking like they know something we don’t.
“Didn’t bring my car,” I confess as we reach the sidewalk. “Took an Uber.”
“Planning ahead or just got lucky?” Her eyebrow arches as she fishes keys from her bag.
“Truth? I’m not as smooth as I think.” My cheeks heat with the admission.
“Quite smooth, Cole. But tonight, I’m driving.” The corners of her full lips quirk upwards, and it’s like I can hear her internal victory chant .
“Lead the way, King.” I gesture grandly towards where her sedan is parked, the streetlight casting a golden glow around her.
The drive is quiet as we merge onto the freeway headed west. I gaze out the window, the city lights a blur all around us.
“Adrian,” she finally says, and the way my name rolls off her tongue feels like she’s peeling back layers I’ve cemented over my soul. “You never talk about your divorce. What really happened with Colette?”
There it is—the million-dollar question. A part of me wants to shrug it off with a joke or change the subject, but another part—the part that’s been buried under work and cynicism—wants to let someone in. So I turn to face her, the bitterness clawing up from my gut, and for once, I don’t shove it back down.
“Colette—” I start, my voice steady even though I’m anything but, “she took chunks of me I didn’t even know I had.”
Isabella doesn’t say anything right away, and I’m grateful for it. Because now that I’ve opened the floodgates, I can’t seem to stop.
“I knew when I met her that she was addicted to spending money. She had a good job as a creative director, but her finances were a mess. We kept our finances separate at first, and I thought if I treated her to a couple vacations a year and some designer clothes, she wouldn’t feel so inclined to spend. It worked, for a while. When she had Caleb, she convinced me she could handle sharing an account. That she would need it for all of Caleb’s expenses. I thought maybe she had matured enough by then. But no, she spent the money on shopping sprees and complained about how we never went on vacations anymore.”
Isabella scoffs at this, but keeps her lips sealed.
“Then it got worse. When I dropped the bomb on her that I didn’t want anything to do with my father’s firm—thus wouldn’t be inheriting it when he retired—she dipped. Thankfully, she had no problem agreeing to give me full custody of Caleb. Colette was smarter than she let on, though. She managed to convince the court that our prenup was unfair due to her being left with pretty much nothing. Ended up walking away with ten million dollars.”
“Ten million? Jesus, Adrian … I had no idea.”
“Nobody does. Not even my mother.” I shrug, trying to act nonchalantly. “When my father passed and I inherited the firm, I made the money back, and then some. But Colette made me question if anyone could be trusted, if love was just a fairy tale spun to sell diamonds and lace.” My laugh is hollow, the sound of a man who’s seen the puppet strings behind the magic show. “I became a master at keeping people at arm’s length, making sure no one could get close enough to pull a Houdini on my heart—and bank account—again.”
Her hand on the steering wheel is steady, but her silence is heavy with something I can’t quite name. When she finally looks at me, there’s no pity in those striking green eyes, just a depth of understanding that knocks the wind out of me. In that look, there’s a bridge being built over the chasm I thought was impassable.
“Thank you,” she says simply. “For trusting me enough to share all that with me.” But it’s not simple, not really. It’s acknowledgment and acceptance all wrapped up in two words that seem to lift the weight from my chest—one I wasn’t fully aware I’d been carrying.
“You don’t think any less of me for putting myself in a situation like that?” I dare to ask. Because if this was a client of mine, I would have told him he had it coming.
She shakes her head. “We all make mistakes. You have a good heart and wanted to see the best in someone you love. The mother of your child. Could you really fault yourself for that?”
I huff. “I suppose when you put it that way … not really.”
Isabella smiles. “Good. Because you shouldn’t feel bad about trying to make your marriage work. ”
The night air is cool against my skin as Isabella parks in my driveway. The familiar sight of my house, with its dark windows and silent facade, feels different tonight—less solitary, more inviting.
“You can come in,” I mention, my voice threading through the quiet as I unlock the door. “Caleb’s at my mom’s tonight.”
“Convenient,” Isabella teases, following me inside with an easy grace that makes the space feel suddenly less mine and more … ours.
In the kitchen, I gesture towards the fridge. “Want something to drink?” Habit, nothing more.
Her answer is simple, “Plain old water is fine.”
I chuckle, shaking my head at myself as I pour her a glass. “Sorry, force of habit.” I hand her the water, our fingers brushing in the exchange, sending a jolt of something electric up my arm.
She tastes a sip as we enter the living room together.
“Come here,” I say, patting the couch next to me after taking a seat. She complies, the faint sound of her sigh reaching me as she settles in.
My hands find her shoulders, kneading the tension I find there. She moans softly, and I can’t resist—the urge to taste her skin wins over. My lips press against the back of her neck, feeling her pulse jump under my mouth.
“Thought this was just a standard massage,” Isabella teases, turning to face me with a playful glint in her eyes.
“For my favorite customer?” I quip, meeting her gaze. “I might be persuaded to throw in a little extra.” Our laughter mixes, a light, easy sound.
Then, we’re kissing. It’s not like before, those hurried, heated clashes of lips and teeth. No, this one’s got layers—like peeling back the wrapping on a present you didn’t expect to get. It’s full of affection, charged with intimacy, and it hits deeper than any of our previous make-out sessions. This isn’t just chemistry; it’s alchemy, transforming everything we thought we knew about us into something richer, something golden.
“Bedroom?” I murmur against her lips, my heart a jackhammer in my chest. She nods, and I’m up, tugging her hand as we navigate the stairs.
The door swings open to reveal a path of roses leading to my bed—a cliche gamble that feels like throwing dice on a Monopoly board. Her gasp tells me I’ve hit Park Place.
“Confident, aren’t you? Thinking I’d just waltz over after you crashed dinner?” Isabella’s eyebrow arches, but there’s amusement in her voice.
“Guilty as charged,” I admit with a half-grin. “But it paid off, didn’t it?”
I light the candles, their flickering glow casting dancing shadows across the walls, adding a dramatic flair to my already questionable interior decorating skills. With the overhead lights off, the room becomes an intimate stage set only for us.
Turning back to her, we’re drawn together again, our kiss reigniting with a passion that could set the room ablaze—if not for the fact that I’m suddenly hell-bent on savoring every second of undressing her.
Once we’re down to only our final layers, her fingers work at my boxer briefs. I chuckle and say, “Eager, are we?”
“Only fair,” she shoots back, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Fair enough. You first,” I say, my voice low.
I peel away her bra and panties with deliberate slowness, each kiss I place on her exposed skin an unspoken promise. The air is thick with desire, scented with roses and the warm wax of candles. My hands memorize her curves, mind already etching this moment into memory—where the armor falls away, and all that’s left is Isabella: fierce, vulnerable, mine .
“Yes ...” she whispers, and even her voice feels like silk against my skin.
I guide her onto the bed with a tenderness that belies my pulse racing beneath the surface. There’s a reverence in the way she lies back against the pillow, her hair fanning out like some sort of medieval halo. I open her legs with a careful curiosity, exploring the territory as if I’m charting new lands—lands where the treasure is the hitch of her breath and the soft gasps that escape from her lips.
“Adrian,” she warns, a playful threat in her tone that makes me grin, but I’m not deterred.
“Patience,” I murmur, kissing around her navel, her hips, the insides of her thighs, anywhere but where she’s dying for me to be. It’s all about the build-up, the anticipation—drawing out her pleasure until she’s practically vibrating under my touch.
With a devilish smile, I let my fingers dance across her clit, light as a tease. She moans, and it’s music, really—the best damn symphony to play in the background of this moment.
“Your pussy is beautiful,” I say, half in awe, half because I know it’ll make her blush even in the dim candlelight.
“Adrian ...” she groans, half exasperation and half pure need as I drop my head down and replace my teasing fingers with my tongue. The flick of my tongue elicits a sharp cry from her, and I can’t help the smugness that swells within me.
“Good?” I ask without stopping, the vibrations of my voice adding another layer to the sensation.
“God, yes,” she breathes out.
Her body squirms, and I hold her thighs steady, grounding her as I add a finger into the mix.
“Oh, fuck,” she cries out, and I can’t suppress the thrill that rockets through me at her raw pleasure.
“Enjoying yourself?” I quip, though it’s clear she’s miles beyond words now. Another finger joins the first, and I watch—fascinated—as she plays with her breasts, her movements growing more frantic, more urgent.
“Please don’t stop,” she pleads, and I have no intention of doing so.
Her walls begin to tighten around my fingers; I can feel the build-up of her release, a ticking time bomb of ecstasy. I pick up the pace, eager for the explosion, and when it comes, it’s cataclysm.
I slow my fingers, still inside her, prolonging the aftershocks of her orgasm as I gently suck on her clit. Her breaths are soft, contented sighs now. With a final kiss against her sensitive skin, I withdraw my hand and climb up her body, hovering over her.
“Come here,” she murmurs, pulling me into a kiss that’s all heat and gratitude. She tastes herself on my lips, a hint of salt and sweetness, and there’s an edge of pride knowing she savors it. Slipping my wet fingers between us, Isabella licks them clean, eyes locked on mine, and damn if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
With careful precision, I align myself with her welcoming warmth, pushing into her slowly, savoring the moment. Our foreheads touch, breaths mingling in the tiny space between us. Each thrust is met with a soft moan from Isabella, a sound that stirs something deep within me.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she gasps, and I can’t help but answer with a groan of my own as I lift her legs onto my shoulders, delving even deeper. The new angle has her back arching, our cries mingling in the candlelit room. Pleasure coils tight in my gut, and I know we’re both close.
“Isabella,” I groan as she clenches around me, her second orgasm rippling through her. It’s enough to send me over the edge, and I follow her into blissful oblivion .
As we come down, our laughter fills the room—a private joke about how well we play each other’s bodies like favorite instruments. We meet in another kiss, softer this time, lingering. There’s an unspoken truth hanging between us, a depth to what’s happening that goes beyond physical satisfaction. And while neither of us may be ready to voice it, it’s there, undeniable and growing stronger with every shared breath.