24. Adrian
Chapter twenty-four
Adrian
T he last cop opens the door with a nod, his badge catching the glint of the dying fluorescent lights. “Thanks for your cooperation,” he says, and I can’t help but think it’s the nicest way to say “sorry for the chaos that’s been brought into your night.”
Isabella’s beside me, her posture rigid with the kind of strength that’s seen her through more than a few boardroom battles.
“We’ll keep you updated,” the officer informs us. “Have a safe night, you two.”
“Will do,” I reply, giving him a two-finger salute as they head out.
With the police gone, the silence is almost deafening. The tension that’s been clinging to the air like bad cologne starts to fade away, and I find myself exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Come on. I’ll take you home,” I murmur, reaching for Isabella’s hand. It’s not exactly protocol, but then again, neither was having our office turned upside down by detectives on a Friday night. She lets me lead her outside, and I’m hyper-aware of the warmth of her fingers against mine.
I usher her into the passenger seat of my SUV like she’s made of glass, or dynamite, or maybe both. The engine hums to life, and we’re swallowed by the comfortable leather seats and the quiet of the ride. The city lights blur past us, painting streaks of gold and red in the night.
“Mom, yeah, it’s me,” I say into the car’s AirPlay once we’re halfway to her apartment, both hands on the wheel. “Something came up tonight. I’m going to stay at Isabella’s tonight.”
“Is everything okay?” Mom asks.
Isabella’s gaze is fixed out the window, but I can see the reflection of her eyes flicker to me when I mention staying with her tonight. I keep my voice steady, explaining the debacle with Leo, how his deception was more twisted than a pretzel in a knot-tying contest.
“I can’t believe Leo would do something like that,” Mom finally says, her voice tired, but shaken. “It’s such a relief the both of you made it out alright.”
“Everything’s under control now,” I add, which is rich coming from me, but Mom doesn’t need to know that my pulse is still playing hopscotch.
“Adrian, did things work out between you two?” Her voice crackles through the speaker, concern woven through every syllable. For a second, I hesitate, because “working out” is the understatement of the century for what’s happening with Isabella and me.
Glancing over at her, something clicks—an alignment of desire and opportunity so clear it could be in neon. “Working on that one,” I say, and damn if my heart doesn’t decide to skydive at that moment. There’s a beat of silence from Mom’s end before she gives a soft, knowing chuckle .
“Good,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Take care of each other.”
“Always,” I promise, and mean it more than she knows.
As the call ends, I let the silence stretch between us like a bridge, waiting to be crossed.
I park the car with a precision that would make a driving instructor weep with pride, or at least give a begrudging nod. We head upstairs to Isabella’s apartment, and it feels like we’re shedding the weight of the world one step at a time. I reach for her hand as we step into her living room—it just feels right—and the air greets us, lighter than before, like it too is in on our little secret.
“We need to talk,” I murmur, not wanting to break whatever spell we’ve stumbled under. The corners of her mouth twitch upwards, and she nods, her green eyes flickering with anticipation—or maybe that’s fear? Hard to tell.
Her door clicks shut behind us, sealing us away from the rest of existence. No more police inquiries, no more corporate espionage—just Adrian and Isabella, two people who’ve danced around each other so much we could have our own ballet.
“When you asked me the other night if I only wanted to be with you because of the baby … it isn’t true,” I start. “I know I hesitated, but it wasn’t because I was stalling to spare your feelings. I could only focus on the potential heartbreak I might face if I said yes—if I dived headfirst into a relationship with you. As you know, I don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to marriage.”
“Adrian, I may have blamed you, but I was scared too,” she admits, her words shaking slightly. I never thought I’d hear Isabella King admit to fear. It’s like spotting a unicorn at a bus stop .
“Scared?” I scoff gently, running a hand through my hair which probably looks like a bird’s nest by now. “You? I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” she shoots back, but there’s warmth there. She’s melting, and I’m the lucky fool holding the hairdryer. “I want to be with you. Through thick and thin.”
“Okay, full disclosure—I was terrified too,” I confess, and her smile spreads, lighting up the room. “But if we’re going to leap into this relationship abyss together, we need to be all in. Cards on the table, skeletons out of the closet, the whole nine yards.”
She steps closer, closing the insignificant gap between us as she says, “No more walls. No more guessing games.” It’s a truce, a white flag, and a starting pistol all rolled into one.
“Deal,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I cup her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin against my rough palm, and wonder how I ever thought keeping distance was a good idea.
Then, we’re kissing, and it’s like finding the missing piece to a puzzle you didn’t even know you were putting together. The kiss deepens, unhurried and promising, as if we have all the time in the world to explore what’s unfolding between us.
And maybe we do. Because as we stand there, lost in each other, the future stretches out before us—a canvas waiting for us to paint our story, stroke by stroke, kiss by kiss. Clear. Strong. Ours.
Our kisses weave a path, a trail of silent confessions that lead us into Isabella’s bedroom. The outside world, with its chaos and questions, shrinks away until it’s just the two of us, grappling with gravity as we collapse onto her bed. She lands astride me, a queen taking her throne.
“Let’s get this off,” I murmur against her lips, my fingers finding the hem of her sweater. It’s a delicate dance, peeling away the layers between us, but when her skin meets the cool air, I can’t resist tracing the lines of her body, every curve now more pronounced with the life we’ve created together. Her baby bump, a tender swell beneath my touch, becomes the epicenter of my world.
“I can’t wait to meet them,” I whisper, awe coloring my voice as much as desire.
“Me neither.” Her breath is warm on my cheek, her agreement sending a thrill through me.
“Your turn,” she says with that impish glint in her eye, one that sparks a challenge. I rise to meet it, sitting up so she can undo each button on my shirt, her fingers deft and teasing all at once. Freedom comes when the last button slips free, and my shirt falls to the floor, forgotten.
Next comes her bra, and I make quick work of the clasp because, let’s be honest, I’ve had practice. But there’s no rush; not tonight. I take my time, savoring the reveal, the weight of her in my hands. As my mouth finds the peak of her breast, her back arches, and the sound she makes is pure poetry—no words, just raw emotion that I’m learning to read like my favorite book.
“Adrian ...” The way she says my name—it’s half-moan, half-plea, and entirely irresistible.
“Right here, Isabella.” Pulling her closer, I press kisses along her neck, her collarbone, cataloging each sigh and shiver. Her skin is a canvas, and I’m an artist obsessed, painting with the brush of my lips and the pigment of passion.
“God, your body ...” I groan, my hands roaming with reverent curiosity. “It’s like I’ve won the golden ticket to the best kind of wonderland.”
“Keep talking like that, and you’ll never need a lawyer again,” she teases, her wit slicing through the heat between us, grounding me. It’s one of the things I love about her—sharp as a tack, even when she’s unwinding beneath my touch.
“Promise?” My laugh is a low rumble against her throat, and I can feel her smile against my skin.
“Maybe.” She’s coy, playful, the tension of our earlier confessions dissolving in this intimate space.
“Then I’ll have to make sure I’m acquitted on all charges,” I say, as I map the territory of her body once more, committing every detail to memory. Because, despite the frayed edges of our past, this connection we’re forging—it’s uncharted, it’s ours, and I’ll be damned if I don’t explore every inch of it.
I slide her trousers down her legs with a careful urgency that mirrors the rapid beating of my heart.
“Pants off,” she says with a playful smirk, tugging at my belt. I hasten to comply, unbuckling and pushing the material over my hips. The pants join hers on the floor in a haphazard tangle of discarded professionalism.
Her fingers trace the outline of my arousal through my briefs, and it’s all I can do not to lose myself right then and there. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Only if you’re lucky,” she quips, and her lust-laden gaze sends electricity skittering across my skin.
I’m spreading her legs now and she’s so damn responsive. Her panties are just a whisper of fabric, barely there, and when I push them aside and feel how wet she is, it’s like every nerve ending in my body ignites.
“Fuck, Adrian. That’s too damn good.” She doesn’t just want my fingers—it’s clear from the way she arches into my touch, seeking more.
“Say no more.” My words are a growl as I shed the last barrier between us. There’s something exhilarating about this, about being completely bare with her, without any pretense or armor.
As I enter her, there’s a gasp—a shared intake of breath that feels like we’re diving into uncharted waters together. Her hands come to rest on my chest, nails pressing lightly into my skin as if she’s anchoring herself to the reality of us, here, now.
“God, Isabella,” I whisper against her lips, my thrusts deliberate, each one a testament to the feelings I’ve tried to keep buried. Every movement is a conversation, our bodies communicating in a language that’s been coded just for us over countless stolen moments and heated glances.
“Adrian,” she cries out again, and I can hear the love there, woven through the threads of her voice. It’s always been there, lingering beneath arguments and banter, waiting for us to acknowledge it.
And as I move within her, feeling the pulse of her around me, understanding dawns in crystalline clarity. This is love—messy and raw and utterly irrefutable. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I pick up the pace, my hips snapping against hers with a fervor that matches the racing of my heart. Her legs lift, the heels of her feet pressed against my back as I hoist them over my shoulders, allowing me to reach deeper, to claim every inch of her. Her moans fill the air, a melody of unrestrained pleasure that spurs me on.
“Adrian,” she gasps, and it’s like a key turning in a lock—a release of something primal within me.
“Isabella,” I grunt, my focus narrowing to the incredible sensation of her around me, the heat, the tightness, the sheer intensity driving us both towards the edge.
We’re teetering there, on the brink, when it happens—our climaxes hit us like a tidal wave, overwhelming and all-consuming. I continue to thrust, gentler now, as we ride out the aftershocks together, our breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath.
Spent, I collapse beside her, our sweat-slicked bodies pressing close. Our lips meet in a kiss that’s somehow more intimate than what we’ve just shared, a silent promise sealed in the softness of her mouth.
Lying there, panting, I realize there’s something we’ve yet to discover. “Hey,” I say, a smirk tugging at my lips despite the seriousness of the moment. “We still don’t know if we’re having a mini-you or a mini-me.”
Her eyebrows lift in mock surprise, as if she could have forgotten such a monumental detail. “Oh, right. I’ll go get the results.” She rolls out from under the covers, legs wobbly but determined, and disappears into her office.
When she returns, envelope in hand, there’s a spark of excitement in her eyes that mirrors my own anticipation. We sit side by side, the bed suddenly feeling like the most significant place on earth.
“Ready?” she asks, her voice a whisper of silk and steel.
“Born ready,” I reply, though my heart pounds like it’s my first day in court.
She tears open the envelope, and for a heartbeat, time suspends. Then she looks at me, her smile bright enough to rival the sunrise. “A girl.”
“Damn.” My throat is unexpectedly tight. “I’ve always wanted a girl.”
“Me too,” she whispers, leaning into me. Her warmth seeps into my bones as we share a look that says everything.
I pull her closer, marveling at how life can surprise you—in the best possible ways. “I love you, Isabella.”
For a moment, she just stares, those green eyes holding oceans of emotion. Then, she breaks into a smile that could outshine the stars. “ I love you too, Adrian Cole.” Her words are simple, but they’re everything.
We kiss again, sealing the deal on this crazy, beautiful thing called love. And yeah, it might be messy, but it’s ours, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.