Chapter Twenty-Four
Adrianna
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Okay, so I’m not completely na?ve. I had an inkling when Nathan agreed to do this—to marry me—that we’d wind up between the sheets. You know, just for old time’s sake.
But this doesn’t feel like that.
This feels—well, it feels real.
Nathan is touching me like a man on a mission.
Like he likes what he sees despite the extra pounds and the years that’ve passed.
Because, yeah, we’ve both gotten older.
But where he’s only gotten hotter—more carved, more confident, more impossibly broad-shouldered—I’ve gotten, well, softer. Softer and rounder.
My curves are way curvier.
My thighs are thicker.
My stomach is less flat.
Everything is less firm than the teenage girl he left behind.
But honestly? I’m not half as self-conscious as I expected to be.
Not even when the last scrap of fabric falls between us and we’re both standing there completely naked and desperate for one another.
My eyes travel down his body, and I note the differences, the new tattoos, the scars, the extra hair he didn’t have when I knew him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and drops to his knees.
And my mouth gapes open.
Nathan Thorn—international rockstar, Grammy winner, tabloid heartbreaker—is on his fucking knees in front of me.
And suddenly, I’m a trembling mess.
But still, he’s looking up at me like I’m something holy.
His eyes darken, heat pooling in them so fast I almost stumble.
“Fuck, Sparky,” he murmurs, like the nickname never left his tongue. “Don’t you know how beautiful you are?”
The air leaves my lungs.
My knees actually wobble.
Then he leans in and presses his mouth to my skin—slow, reverent, open-mouthed kisses along my stomach, my hips, my thighs.
Every place I’m most insecure.
Every inch I’ve learned to hide.
He kisses like he’s worshipping me, and it does something dangerous to my heart.
“Nathan,” I breathe his name more than speak it.
Nathan groans in response.
Deep, guttural, primal.
And it’s like my voice is the only thing he’s ever wanted to hear.
My heart is pounding, and this all feels so surreal. I mean, Nathan Thorn is literally a fantasy come to life. And not just for me but for most of the world.
“Fuck, Ad, you’re so goddamn sweet,” he growls against my skin, and I gasp at how good he feels. How warm and real when he touches me.
My fingers are sliding into his hair before I’ve even decided to touch him.
“Need more. Come here,” he says, then he lifts one of my legs, draping it over his shoulder.
My breath stalls.
“Nate! You can’t!”
“Yes, I fucking can.”
His hands—large, hot, possessive—grab hold of me. One gripping my bare ass, the other anchoring my hip, holding me open for him.
“You trust me, sparky?” he asks, electric blue eyes piercing me. I nod once, hard and sharp.
And then his mouth finds my core.
And I swear the entire world shifts.
Nathan moans. Really moans. Like he’s starving.
Like tasting me is some kind of divine revelation.
“Goddamn,” he growls into me, voice vibrating straight through my bones. “You’re so fucking wet. So goddamn sweet.”
His tongue slides against me—slow at first, then deeper, firmer, devastating.
I gasp, clinging to his shoulders.
“Missed this. Missed you,” he whispers against my skin. “Taste so good, Sparky.”
A shudder tears through me.
My legs shake.
The room spins.
And he just keeps going—licking, sucking, devouring me like he’s memorizing every inch, every sound, every pulse.
Nathan Thorn is feasting on me like I’m the thing he’s been craving for sixteen years.
“Nathan!” I cry out, pulling his hair tighter.
Because while he’s eating me out like it’s his job, all I can do is fall apart for him.
Literally.