Page 60 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

And maybe we do. Because as we stand there, lost in each other, the future stretches out before us—a canvas waiting for us to paint our story, stroke by stroke, kiss by kiss. Clear. Strong. Ours.

Our kisses weave a path, a trail of silent confessions that lead us into Isabella’s bedroom. The outside world, with its chaos and questions, shrinks away until it’s just the two of us, grappling with gravity as we collapse onto her bed. She lands astride me, a queen taking her throne.

“Let’s get this off,” I murmur against her lips, my fingers finding the hem of her sweater. It’s a delicate dance, peeling away the layers between us, but when her skin meets the cool air, I can’t resisttracing the lines of her body, every curve now more pronounced with the life we’ve created together. Her baby bump, a tender swell beneath my touch, becomes the epicenter of my world.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” I whisper, awe coloring my voice as much as desire.

“Me neither.” Her breath is warm on my cheek, her agreement sending a thrill through me.

“Your turn,” she says with that impish glint in her eye, one that sparks a challenge. I rise to meet it, sitting up so she can undo each button on my shirt, her fingers deft and teasing all at once. Freedom comes when the last button slips free, and my shirt falls to the floor, forgotten.

Next comes her bra, and I make quick work of the clasp because, let’s be honest, I’ve had practice. But there’s no rush; not tonight. I take my time, savoring the reveal, the weight of her in my hands. As my mouth finds the peak of her breast, her back arches, and the sound she makes is pure poetry—no words, just raw emotion that I’m learning to read like my favorite book.

“Adrian ...” The way she says my name—it’s half-moan, half-plea, and entirely irresistible.

“Right here, Isabella.” Pulling her closer, I press kisses along her neck, her collarbone, cataloging each sigh and shiver. Her skin is a canvas, and I’m an artist obsessed, painting with the brush of my lips and the pigment of passion.

“God, your body ...” I groan, my hands roaming with reverent curiosity. “It’s like I’ve won the golden ticket to the best kind of wonderland.”

“Keep talking like that, and you’ll never need a lawyer again,” she teases, her wit slicing through the heat between us, grounding me. It’sone of the things I love about her—sharp as a tack, even when she’s unwinding beneath my touch.

“Promise?” My laugh is a low rumble against her throat, and I can feel her smile against my skin.

“Maybe.” She’s coy, playful, the tension of our earlier confessions dissolving in this intimate space.

“Then I’ll have to make sure I’m acquitted on all charges,” I say, as I map the territory of her body once more, committing every detail to memory. Because, despite the frayed edges of our past, this connection we’re forging—it’s uncharted, it’s ours, and I’ll be damned if I don’t explore every inch of it.

I slide her trousers down her legs with a careful urgency that mirrors the rapid beating of my heart.

“Pants off,” she says with a playful smirk, tugging at my belt. I hasten to comply, unbuckling and pushing the material over my hips. The pants join hers on the floor in a haphazard tangle of discarded professionalism.

Her fingers trace the outline of my arousal through my briefs, and it’s all I can do not to lose myself right then and there. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Only if you’re lucky,” she quips, and her lust-laden gaze sends electricity skittering across my skin.

I’m spreading her legs now and she’s so damn responsive. Her panties are just a whisper of fabric, barely there, and when I push them aside and feel how wet she is, it’s like every nerve ending in my body ignites.

“Fuck, Adrian. That’s too damn good.” She doesn’t just want my fingers—it’s clear from the way she arches into my touch,seeking more.

“Say no more.” My words are a growl as I shed the last barrier between us. There’s something exhilarating about this, about being completely bare with her, without any pretense or armor.

As I enter her, there’s a gasp—a shared intake of breath that feels like we’re diving into uncharted waters together. Her hands come to rest on my chest, nails pressing lightly into my skin as if she’s anchoring herself to the reality of us, here, now.

“God, Isabella,” I whisper against her lips, my thrusts deliberate, each one a testament to the feelings I’ve tried to keep buried. Every movement is a conversation, our bodies communicating in a language that’s been coded just for us over countless stolen moments and heated glances.

“Adrian,” she cries out again, and I can hear the love there, woven through the threads of her voice. It’s always been there, lingering beneath arguments and banter, waiting for us to acknowledge it.

And as I move within her, feeling the pulse of her around me, understanding dawns in crystalline clarity. This is love—messy and raw and utterly irrefutable. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I pick up the pace, my hips snapping against hers with a fervor that matches the racing of my heart. Her legs lift, the heels of her feet pressed against my back as I hoist them over my shoulders, allowing me to reach deeper, to claim every inch of her. Her moans fill the air, a melody of unrestrained pleasure that spurs me on.

“Adrian,” she gasps, and it’s like a key turning in a lock—a release of something primal within me.

“Isabella,” I grunt, my focus narrowing to the incredible sensation of her around me, the heat, the tightness, the sheer intensity driving us both towards the edge.

We’re teetering there, on the brink, when it happens—our climaxes hit us like a tidal wave,overwhelming and all-consuming. I continue to thrust, gentler now, as we ride out the aftershocks together, our breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath.

Spent, I collapse beside her, our sweat-slicked bodies pressing close. Our lips meet in a kiss that’s somehow more intimate than what we’ve just shared, a silent promise sealed in the softness of her mouth.

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