Page 20 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

“Come here,” I say, half-command, half-plea. I reach over to the nightstand, my fingers fumbling for a second before they grab hold of the foil packet. It’s a miracle that I don’t rip the damn thing to shreds as I roll the condom onto my cock, which stands at attention like a soldier ready for battle.

Straddling me, she positions herself above me, and I can’t help but assist, guiding her hips until I’m sinking into her. There’s a tightness in my chest that matches the one where we’re joined.

“Jesus, you’re—”

“Biggest you’ve ever had?” I finish for her, a cocky smirk playing on my lips. I can’t help it; her awe strokes more than just my ego.

“Shut up,” she retorts, but there’s a breathlessness to her words that tells me she’s not really annoyed. “It feels … so good.”

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” I assure her, and I mean it. Every inch of her envelops me like I’m made to fit inside her, and maybe in this moment, I am.

“Then let me make it feel even better,” she challenges, as if she’s daring me to doubt her ability to rock my world. I chuckle because she clearly doesn’t know who she’s dealing with—or maybe she does, and that’s why she’s here.

“Go ahead, impress me.” I lay back, hands behind my head as I admire the view.

Her body is something else, curves that make my palms itch to touch, to explore. But I resist because this—watching her take control—is a rare and beautiful thing.

“Ride me until you come again,” I instruct, or maybe plead—it’s hard to tell when my thoughts are fogging up like a car window on a cold day.

Isabella doesn’t need telling twice. She finds a rhythm that has both of us gasping for air, and I think this must be what heaven feels like—if heaven comes with a side of sin and sweat-slicked skin.

Her hips move with a rhythm that has me nearly spellbound. My fingers trail up her stomach, lingering on the softness there before reaching the swell of her breasts. Her skin is like silkunder my touch, and I’m half convinced she’s some sort of sorceress, because every move she makes has me more entranced.

“Adrian,” she gasps, and the way my name sounds on her lips is better than any symphony.

“Turn around for me,” I growl, my voice rough with need. She doesn’t hesitate, adjusting herself with a fluid grace that makes it clear she’s as into this as I am. Now she’s facing away, riding me reverse cowgirl, and damn if the view of her round ass isn’t a vision straight from my wildest fantasies.

“Feels even better,” she cries out, and I can hear the pleasure in her voice, thick and undeniable.

“Don’t stop,” I command, not above begging if that’s what it takes to keep this moment going.

Her moans fill the room, a sweet chorus that’s music to my ears. “Adrian!” she screams as she rides me, and hearing her cry out my name is a rush of power and pleasure that I can’t get enough of.

We’re in sync now, chasing that edge together, and when we come, it’s like an electric current passes between us, binding us together in the most intimate of ways. She collapses onto my legs, and I can’t help but give her ass an appreciative rub—god, she’s incredible.

“Come here,” I say softly, helping her up and laying her down next to me. We kiss, fervently, like we’re trying to memorize the feel of each other’s lips, and I’m not thinking about tomorrow or consequences or anything past this room and this woman.

I rise to take care of the condom, a brief interlude in the bathroom, and when I return to bed, I pull Isabella close. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, the picture of serenity.

“Stay the night?” I ask, almost holding my breath for her answer.

“Yes,” she murmurs, her eyes already closing. I wrap my arms around her tighter, marveling at how right it feels.

And then I’m drifting too, pulled under by the weight of sleep and the warmth of Isabella beside me. It’s been too long since I’ve felt peace like this. Maybe I could get used to it.

***

Sunlight trickles in through the blinds, casting a warm glow on the tangled sheets. I blink awake and immediately feel the soft weight of Isabella’s arm draped over my waist. It’s a strange sensation—comforting yet disconcerting. For years, my mornings have been about as peaceful as a courtroom brawl. But here she is, her breath a steady whisper against my skin, stirring something in me that feels a lot like tranquility.

I carefully slide from under her arm, half-expecting to wake up from this anomaly of a morning. As I stand beside the bed, I can’t help but watch her sleep—a little creepy, sure, but I’m too caught up in the unexpected softness of the moment. There’s no trace of her usual firecracker energy, just the gentle rise and fall of her chest. All I can do is smile at the sight.

Trying to shake off the sentimentality, I head into my walk-in closet to retrieve a pair of joggers and a white T-shirt, then pad into the kitchen. The sizzle of bacon hits the pan, eggs follow suit, and I’m slicing avocado like some sort of brunch maestro. Brewing coffee fills the silence, its rich aroma wrapping around me. Seriously, since when do I play breakfast chef for anyone? My ex-wife would’ve keeled over at the sight.

But Isabella isn’t Colette. She doesn’t throw fits over me not wanting an abundance of staff or pout if I work late. And she certainly doesn’t need me to take care of her—hell, she’d probablyargue that point until we’re both blue in the face. Yet, here I am, wondering how Isabella would react to more mornings like this. Would she laugh it off? Raise an eyebrow with that “Are you serious?” look of hers?

As I lay out our impromptu feast, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m standing at the edge of a cliff. One wrong step and I’m free-falling, no legal strategy or boardroom maneuvering to save me. I should probably get my head checked for even considering this; perhaps Isabella King might be the one person who can handle the plunge with me.

Just then, Isabella steps out from the hallway, her arms outstretched as she yawns. She’s got nothing on but one of my old T-shirts that she must have found somewhere in the pile of laundry I’ve been meaning to fold. It’s oversized on her tall but delicate frame. And she looks sexy as hell.

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