Chapter 33 Adrianna
Chapter Thirty-Three
Adrianna
The moment Nathan whispers, “I’ve always been yours,” something inside me breaks.
Not painfully.
Not violently.
But like a lock finally clicking open after years of rust and stubbornness.
And then he starts to play.
Softly at first. Barely more than a breath against the air.
The chords rise—gentle, tentative, then fuller, richer—until the melody blooms, filling the studio like warm light.
I swear I’ve heard it before.
Not with my ears.
With my heart.
Because this?
This is the sound that swells inside me every time he touches me. Every time he looks at me like I’m the beginning and end of every journey he’s ever taken.
Our song.
It’s our song.
Then he sings.
And God—his voice.
That deep, smoky bass that used to give me butterflies when we were teenagers now lights me up from the inside like someone struck a match.
“When I left, I thought I knew it all.
But I was young, a fool, afraid to admit I was wrong.
Years go by like sand falling through time…
but still you’re the one I can’t get out of my mind.
Seeing you again—
I know you’re the sun in my sky,
my everything…”
My breath shatters.
My knees go weak.
Tears prick hot and fast at the corners of my eyes.
“I can’t get enough of you…
Don’t leave me in the dark…
I don’t want to be alone anymore, baby.
You’re the spark.
You are the spark.”
By the time he finishes, I’m not the same woman who walked into this studio.
I’m not the girl who tried to talk herself out of wanting him.
I’m not the coward who hid behind “give me space” and “time” and “let’s go slow.”
I’m the woman who hears the truth—Nathan’s truth—and feels her own rise to meet it.
All the doubt?
Gone.
All the hesitation?
Ash.
All the fear of falling first again?
Burned away by the heat building low and insistent in my belly.
What replaces it?
Need.
Pure, electric, undeniable need.
But more than that—certainty.
I want him.
Now.
Always.
More fiercely than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I step into him.
My fingers fist into the front of his shirt like I need him to stay upright—or like I need me to.
His breath catches.
Those hands—those beautiful hands that just spun magic into the world—place the guitar down and slide to my waist with the gentlest pressure, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he holds too tight.
I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“It’s beautiful, Nathan,” I whisper, my voice trembling with everything I can’t say yet. “That song? It’s everything.”
He lowers his forehead to mine, eyes burning, breath warm and unsteady.
“It’s my love song to you, Sparky,” he murmurs, voice gravel and devotion. “Without you, there is no song.”
And just like that—I fall.
Completely.
Irrevocably.
Beautifully.
Right into him.
“I need…” My voice shakes.
“What do you need?” he asks, eyes glittering with promise.
“I think I need a minute to myself.” His face starts to fall, then I add, “With my husband.”
The word husband does something to him—his eyes darken, his jaw flexes, his hands tighten on my hips.
I take out my phone with trembling fingers and text my Mom.
Can you grab Bella from school today? Last-minute thing.
Three seconds later, she texts back.
Of course! Enjoy!
Christ, that woman.
I set the phone aside.
When I look up, Nathan is already watching me like I’m the only star in the sky he’s been trying to navigate by.
“Ad,” he whispers, voice rough as gravel. “You sure? Cause if we do this now, I am never giving you space again.”
I nod, throat too tight to speak.
He lets go of me hesitantly, then crosses the room in three long strides, hits a button on the console, and soft golden light floods the studio.
Warm. Dim. Intimate.
Then he comes back to me—slowly, like he’s memorizing each step.
His hand cups my cheek.
“Sparky,” he murmurs, “last chance to tell me no. If I touch you right now, I’m not stopping.”
A shiver races down my spine.
“I don’t want you to stop, Nathan.”
He doesn’t kiss me right away.
No—Nathan leans his forehead against mine, breathing me in, grounding us both in the moment like it matters.
Like I matter.
Then he lifts me—just lifts me as if I weigh nothing, as if carrying me is instinct carved into his bones—and I gasp, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he walks us to the wide leather couch along the studio wall.
He lowers me with such care, such quiet devotion, that my throat tightens.
We sink into the cushions together, tangled and hungry, but everything about the way he touches me is slow.
So.
Goddamn.
Slow.
His mouth brushes mine, barely a whisper of a kiss at first.
Then again—deeper, warmer—like he’s relearning me piece by piece, breath by breath, memory by memory.
I kiss him back like I’ve been waiting sixteen years to breathe again.
Because I have.
A flood of moisture rushes between my thighs, and I clench them together to give me some relief. But it doesn’t work.
His hands roam my body not in a rush, not greedy, but reverent.
Almost shaking.
As if I’m something precious he’s afraid might vanish if he holds too tight.
And his voice—God, his voice—he whispers against my skin, the words hot and aching.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“I never should’ve left.”
“I love you. Fuck, Sparky, I love you. I love you.”
Each confession lands on my body like a vow.
Each one melts something old and wounded inside me.
“Nathan, please,” I beg.
I slide my hands beneath his shirt, tracing the warm ridges of muscle, feeling the tremble in him that mirrors my own. He shudders, dropping his forehead to mine, eyes squeezed shut like he’s overwhelmed.
“You have me, Sparky,” he breathes, voice ragged, “All of me. Christ, you’re so fucking wet. So tight. Ad, you’re everything.”
His fingers push inside my tight, aching pussy, and I moan and flex my hips.
He kisses me again—longer, deeper, until I can’t tell where his breath ends and mine begins.
The rest of our clothes fall away in quick, tender pieces.
Skin meets skin.
Heat meets heat.
And all the years between us collapse into nothing.
Nathan growls against my lips, applying more pressure against my clit. He curls his fingers, then he finds it—that secret spot that sends more fluid leaking between my legs.
“Come for me, Sparky. Let me feel this pretty pussy squeeze my fingers, then I’ll fill you with my cock. You want that?”
I nod, because I’m close. So close.
“That’s my girl. Christ, I can feel you trembling. You’re close?”
“S’close.”
“So good. Come, Ad. Come for me, right now, so I can fuck you bare on this couch.”
I scream his name, and barely register the fact that he’s rearing up, spreading my legs wide. He’s so goddamn sexy. His muscled chest is heaving, and his eyes are glowing with passion when he finally sinks into me.
And me? I’m so gone for him—completely undone—because this doesn’t feel like sex.
It feels like coming home after being lost for half my life.
It feels like forgiveness and belonging and the truth neither of us dared speak until now.
It feels like love—real and fierce and terrifying—crashing through me in a tidal wave I’m helpless to resist.
His fingers lace with mine.
His forehead presses to mine.
His breath breaks on my lips as he whispers my name like a prayer he’s been saving for years.
And as he moves with me—slow, deep, reverent—I realize something with absolute clarity.
I am his.
I’ve always been his.
And somehow, impossibly, he’s mine, too.
He rocks against me. That big, gloriously thick dick of his is stretching my pussy, the base pressing perfectly up against my bundle of nerves.
The pressure builds faster this time.
“Eyes on me when you come this time. I want to watch,” he demands. And I comply.
Because why would I ever deny him?
And when he comes right there with me? The look on his face? Christ, it’s priceless. Precious. Mine.
When it’s over, he flips up and now I’m draped across his chest, breathless, boneless, his heartbeat thundering under my cheek.
I think this is it.
I think this is where we settle into each other’s arms and float.
But Nathan Thorn is not done with me.
Not even close.
He strokes a hand down my hair. “Sparky, I need you to hear something.”
I lift my head, still dizzy. “What?”
“I need you to know that without you, I’m nothing—”
“Um, no. You’re Nathan Thorn.”
“And without you, Nathan Thorn is just a sad, lonely man in love, missing the best piece of himself. I didn’t marry you to protect Bella—though I swear to do that. I married you because you were always meant to be mine, Ad. And I was always meant to be yours.”
My breath disappears.
Completely gone.
“You want to stay married even after the custody trial?”
“I wanna stay married forever, but I don’t think there will be a trial.”
“What?”
“I hired Sigma International Security to work on Russo. What they found out is a lot, Ad.”
“What do you mean? The mob stuff? My friend Hilary found an article and showed me.”
“You know about the mob stuff? Good, I’m glad because that will make what I’m about to say more believable,” Nathan says and nods. “See, the man’s a fucking criminal, but not a very good one. And from the intel they gathered so far, I don’t think Bella is even his.”
“Not his?”
“No. In fact, my investigators think he’s just some low-level wannabe who might have known your sister a while back.
It’s not even clear if they had a relationship.
But they think he caught wind of Bella’s passing, found out she had a daughter, and thought he could use it for his own personal gain.
See, what we really think he’s trying to do is get his hands on the bakery to use it as a money laundering front. ”
“That piece of shit! It makes sense, though. Even in the digital age, the bakery is still a mostly cash business,” I whisper, shocked.
“Yeah, well, Russo and his fucked up plans are over. He just doesn’t know it yet. My lawyers have contacted his, demanding a paternity test. I think he was counting on scaring you and you not having anyone to back you up. He never thought you’d risk losing Bella and go to trial.”
“He’s right. I would have given him everything,” I confess.
“I know, Sparky, but that’s because you’re such a good person.”
“You really believe that?”
“Of course, I do. I know you better than you think.”
“So, you’re saying we don’t have to worry about Russo?”
“Nope. Not anymore. You see, the guys at Sigma let his, for lack of a better term, bosses, know the shit he was pulling. They also let them know that we planned on launching an in-depth investigation into Russo, which might lead to certain affiliations coming to light. They didn’t want that,” Nathan tells me.
“You fixed it, then? You did all of this without even telling me?” I ask, but I’m not angry.
How can I be when this miracle of a man basically saved us from who knows what would have happened?
A tiny sliver of fear slithers up my spine because with the threat of Russo gone, is there any reason for Nathan to stay?
“I would do anything for you, Sparky. Anything at all. But what I need to know is what you think about us, Ad? Are you ready to trust in me? In this?”
I don’t even realize I’m crying until he wipes a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
“Oh, Nathan, are you sure?” I whisper.
He cups my face with both hands and kisses me—slow and deep and absolutely certain.
“Fuck, yes. I mean every single word I’ve said,” he says against my lips. “Every. Single. One. I want you. I want Bella. I want this family. I love you, Sparky.”
And just like that—I fall for him.
Fully.
Hopelessly.
Irrevocably.
Again.
And I decide to trust in us because really, what value is there in a life half-lived? And without Nathan, that’s all I’ve ever been doing.
“I love you, too. Always.”