Page 19 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

“Isabella,” he breathes, a sound that is both a question and an answer as he crawls over me, his weight a welcome pressure. “You’re too sexy for words.”

I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer still, deepening our kiss until it’s all I can taste, all I can feel.

His hand finds its way through my hair, tangling in the long strands as if he’s trying to memorize the texture. My own fingers trace the contours of his back, feeling the muscles flex beneath his shirt.

“I need you,” I whisper against his mouth, my voice a mix of desire and a warning. But who am I kidding? The only thing I’m warning him against is stopping.

“I’m all yours tonight,” he growls as my fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, more than eager to get rid of the fabric barrier.

The shirt falls away and I toss it aside without a second thought. Our lips crash against each other again, the urgency undiminished. My hands roam over his chest and abs, tracing the lines of muscle that I’ve limited to only visualizing under his tailored suits these past ten weeks.

“Your turn,” he murmurs against my lips, his fingers already working the buttons of my blouse with deft precision. It slips off along with my skirt, leaving me in my mint blue bra and panties; thank god for matching sets. My pride in my appearance flares briefly before being drowned out by the heat of his gaze.

It’s like we’re doing this frantic dance of push and pull, and I find myself on top, straddling him as I help peel off his pants. They join the growing pile of discarded clothing. Now he’s down to those white boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination, and honestly? I’m not complaining.

Adrian’s hands are everywhere, mapping my body with an eagerness that sends shivers up my spine. He caresses my ass, hips, waist …, and I throw my head back, enjoying the hell out of the feel of his touch. “I love how you touch me,” I admit, breathless.

“I won’t stop then,” he teases, and damn him for making me want to laugh at a time like this.

His fingers slip around to the clasp of my bra. In one swift motion, it’s undone, and the cool air hits my skin as my bra joins the rest of our clothes on the floor. His mouth descends onto my newly freed breasts, suckling and licking, sending waves of pleasure through me. Every sensible part of me has checked out for the night, leaving only raw need in its wake.

“Off,” he commands softly, assisting in sliding my panties down my legs. I should feel vulnerable, bare before him, but there’s no room for insecurity when his dark eyes are alight with desire.

“Sit,” he says, that one word laced with a promise. And who am I to deny him—or myself?

I position myself above his face, and the moment his tongue meets my clit, a moan rips from my throat. My hands find the wall behind him, pressing against it for support as waves of pleasure beginto build from where he’s focused all his attention. This man knows exactly what he’s doing, and I’m just along for the ride—a ride I never want to end.

His fingers dance inside me, a perfect rhythm with the relentless flicks of his tongue. My face presses against the cool wall, my breath comes in ragged gasps. It’s as if every nerve ending is concentrated right there, where his mouth works its magic.

“Keep going,” I manage between moans, my words dissolving into the thick air of the room. “Just like this.”

He hums against me, the vibrations sending another jolt through my body. “I want you to come for me, Isabella. Come hard.” His tone is both commanding and reverent, like he’s both king and worshipper at the altar of my pleasure.

And I’m about to make a generous donation.

My climax barrels toward me like a freight train, no brakes, full speed ahead. Adrian doesn’t falter, doesn’t tease, just drives me home until the world blurs, colors burst behind my closed eyelids, and I shatter spectacularly. The waves of pleasure are so intense, I’m pretty sure they’ve reached tsunami status.

“Oh, god … Adrian, that was …”

“It was something, wasn’t it?” he pants.

As the tremors fade, I collapse onto him, but not before catching that smug, self-satisfied grin with a sloppy kiss. We’re a mess of tongues and lips, a tangle of limbs fueled by pure, raw chemistry. Or maybe it’s just leftover adrenaline. Either way, I’m not done with him yet.

“Your turn,” I pant, reaching down to slide his boxer briefs off with a swift tug. They join the rest of our discarded clothes on the floor, casualties of our little war of lust.

There’s nothing quite like the feel of him, hot and hard, in my hand. I give him a few experimental strokes, earning a groan that could eitherbe from pleasure or the realization that I’ve got him by the ... well, you know.

“Now it’s your turn to come hard,” I whisper, stoking the fire, watching him unravel under my touch. And if I’m being honest, I can’t wait to watch him lose it, to see that composed exterior crack just for me. Because, damn it, I might hate how much I want him, but I absolutely love making him fall apart.

Chapter eight

Adrian

I’m barely holding on to reality, the sensation of Isabella’s mouth on me sending me close to the edge. She’s got skills that could turn a saint into a sinner, and I’m no saint. The way she works me—holy hell, it’s like she’s got a PhD in pleasure. I groan, my head hitting the pillow like a sack of bricks as her tongue does this thing that should probably be illegal.

“Isabella,” I manage to gasp out between ragged breaths, “as much as I enjoy your current … uh, position, I need you to stop.”

She looks up at me, her green eyes glinting with mischief and not a hint of innocent confusion. This woman knows exactly what she’s doing to me. With deliberate slowness, she releases me from the warm haven of her mouth, and I swear I nearly see stars.

---