Chapter Twenty-Five
Nathan
The second she comes—the second her whole body bows beneath my mouth and she cries out my name like it belongs to her—I know I’m a goner.
There’s no coming back from this.
No pretending.
No denying.
No running.
I lift Adrianna—my Adrianna—into my arms, her limbs loose and trembling, her breath soft and shaky against my neck. She feels boneless and warm and so damn trusting it cracks something inside me.
I carry her to the bed.
Lay her out like the feast she is—like art, like worship, like she’s the only thing in this entire damn world worth touching.
Because she is.
Ad is all of that and more.
Next, I crawl over her, bracing myself above her, staring down like I still don’t believe she’s real.
Her thighs fall open the moment my hands touch them—not shy, not hesitant—but with a quiet kind of confidence that punches the air from my lungs.
God, she’s beautiful.
I drag my palms up her thighs, slow and greedy, spreading her open for me.
For us.
My cock aches—harder than I can ever remember—and when I settle between her legs, fitting myself to her slick, hot center, a shudder ripples through both of us.
I don’t grab a condom. I fucking won’t. Not unless she asks.
I want nothing between us.
“Look at me, Adrianna,” I whisper when her eyes flutter closed. My voice is rough, ruined, perfect. “Look at how good we fit together. You were fucking made for me.”
“Nathan,” she whimpers.
Then, I push in.
One long, unbroken stroke.
Her gasp is everything—past, present, future.
And the way she clenches around me, tight and welcoming?
It nearly undoes me on the spot.
“Always so fucking perfect,” I growl against her mouth, rolling my hips deeper, burying myself completely, like I’m trying to carve my name into her soul.
My rational thought? Gone.
My control? Shot to hell.
There’s just her—her heat, her breath, her eyes holding mine like she’s seeing straight through the years we lost.
“You feel so good, Sparky,” I whisper, my forehead pressing to hers. “So fucking perfect. Need you. Always you. Only you.”
She arches into me, gripping my sides, nails scoring my skin, and every sting, every gasp, every tremble she gives me ignites something feral.
I kiss her—hard.
Hungry.
Desperate.
Like I’ve been starving for her since the day I left town and didn’t look back.
The music in my blood crescendos, louder than it’s been in years—a crashing, soaring symphony that only she could ever conduct.
And it’s like being inside her fixes all the broken chords inside of me.
We move together—thrust for thrust, breath for breath, need for need— and when we go over the edge, it’s not falling.
It’s flying.
Together.
Exactly how it should’ve always been.
I bury my face in her neck as we shake through it, my heart slamming against hers like it wants inside her ribcage.
And I know—with absolute, brutal clarity—that I will never touch another woman again.
That there is no world, no fame, no fortune, no fucking universe where anyone else exists for me but her.
Adrianna Bosco—no.
It’s Adrianna Thorn now.
Goddamn, that sounds perfect.
Exactly how it should have been years ago, but I vow then and there not to waste time on regret.
Because she is mine now.
My wife.
My muse.
My fucking heartbeat.
And I’m never letting her go again