Page 30 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

“Acoustics,” he offers, a sly grin playing on his lips. “Got to make sure the baby can’t hear us … talking.”

“Talking,” I say, the word dripping with disbelief. But curiosity—or maybe it’s just the magnetism that always seems to draw metoward him—prods me forward. We’re in my bedroom before I even know what I’m agreeing to, and then his hands are on my waist, pulling me close with an urgency that sends my heart into overdrive.

His lips crash against mine, the kiss igniting sparks that flicker through my veins like a live wire. We’re against the wall, his body pressing into mine, and the world narrows down to the feel of him, the taste of him, the undeniable heat. My fingers tangle in his hair, which is as perfectly disheveled as ever, holding him to me because, for all my sarcasm and self-control, I can’t seem to let go.

“Bed,” he mumbles between kisses, his voice husky. “We should … check the bed.”

“Quality control?” I gasp out, trying to keep a shred of levity while my senses are drowning in Adrian Cole.

“Absolutely,” he says against my neck, his breath hot on my skin. “Need to make sure it’s … suitable for when I stay over.”

“Practical,” I manage to say, half-laughing, half-moaning as he steers us toward the bed. Because apparently, this is happening—we’re doing this very thorough inspection of sleeping arrangements.

“Always,” he replies, but there’s a twinkle in those dark brown eyes that tells me practicality is the last thing on his mind. And honestly? Right now, it’s the last thing on mine, too.

He takes a seat at the foot of the bed, but I’m already eager to get him out of his clothes. His shirt falls to the floor, a casualty in our silent war of desire. He watches me with those dark eyes, daring me to bare myself to him. I rise, my movements deliberate as I tug my shirt over my head and let it drop.

“Your turn, counselor,” he teases, his voice low. “I can’t believe you wore that to class.”

“Hey, if I’m going to be spreading my legs in front of a bunch of parents, I should at least be comfortable.”

“Butyou’re spreading them for only me now. You don’t need anything to do that.”

I kick off the sweats without grace but with a hint of defiance. “Next?” I ask, pretending this is just another negotiation, another dance where I know all the steps.

“Surprise me.”

Challenge accepted. The bra goes first, the clasp giving way under my fingers. His gaze is nothing short of devouring, and it sends shivers down my spine.

I step into his space. “Assistance, please?” My voice is a mix of sass and silk.

With a smirk, Adrian peels away the last barrier, my panties joining the rest of my discarded armor. Now it’s just us, raw and unshielded.

“Leg up,” he commands, and I comply, resting my foot on the plush duvet. His touch is like fire and ice as he traces my thigh, sending anticipation skyrocketing. He’s at my mercy when he looks up at me like that, and I’m at his when he whispers those words, “You’re so wet.”

“Need you,” I admit, because there’s no point in lying, not when every cell in my body is screaming for him.

His finger slips inside, and it’s everything—too much and not enough all at once. I bite my lip to keep from crying out because if I start, I might never stop.

“More,” I gasp, the edge of pleasure sharpening with each movement of his fingers. He obliges, and another digit joins the first, stretching me deliciously.

My muscles clench around him, and I lean heavily into his solid chest—my anchor in a sea of sensation. His hands are magic, commanding responses from my body I didn’t know were possible.

I arch against him, breath hitching. “I want all of you,” I manage to say, every nerve ending begging for more than just the tease of his fingers.

He pauses, the question heavy in the air between fast breaths. “You’re certain?” His voice is rough like gravel, coated with concern and desire.

In response, I nod fiercely, unable to form words as moans take their place. With a final caress that almost undoes me, he withdraws his fingers. I nearly whine at the loss until I see him rise before me, an Adonis in my storm-tossed sea.

Eager to assist, I reach for his waistband, fumbling with the button on his pants. They drop to the floor with a soft thud, followed by his boxer briefs, and suddenly there’s nothing left to hide the raw hunger we have for each other.

“How do you want me?” Adrian’s voice is low and steady, an anchor in the whirlwind of my thoughts.

Without a word, I lie down on my side, eyeing the expanse of the bed invitingly. I pat the space beside me, and he catches the hint like it’s a lifeline. “Exactly like this?” His body aligns with mine, the heat of his chest searing against my back.

“Exactly,” I whisper, and then add with a reckless abandon only this man can draw out of me, “And no condom.”

He doesn’t hesitate, entering me gently from behind. The sensation rips a cry from my lips, a stark sound in the quiet room. He starts slow, but even his gentlest thrusts are enough to stir the storm inside me again.

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