Page 8 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

My legs circle around him, pulling him closer, and I can feel him—hard and insistent against me. A moan escapes my lips, low and needy, as he trails kisses down my neck, each one a promise of things to come.

“Adrian,” I gasp out, half in warning, half in plea. But who am I kidding? There’s no turning back.

Button by button, he opens my shirt, his fingers brushing against my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He presses a kiss to my chest, just above the swell of my breasts—a tease, a torment—and thenhis mouth is on mine again, demanding, commanding, drawing me deeper into this whirlpool of want.

In retaliation, or maybe desperation, I reach for his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. My fingers shake with a mixture of anticipation and something else—something wild. Finally, the shirt parts, and I push it from his shoulders, adding it to the heap on the floor.

“God, Isabella,” he growls against my lips, and there’s a hint of surprise in his voice, as if he can’t quite believe we’re doing this either.

“Shut up, Adrian,” is all I manage before our mouths collide once more, in a kiss that feels like it’s been brewing since the day we met—a clash of every heated glance and sharp word we’ve ever exchanged.

His fingers trace the clasp of my white lace bra with an infuriating precision, flicking it open as if he’s practiced this sleight of hand a thousand times. The fabric falls away, tossed carelessly to the floor. His mouth is on me then, hot and insistent, drawing moans from deep within my throat that I’m powerless to stifle.

“Adrian,” I breathe, but it’s lost in the warmth of his mouth as he worships my skin.

Then, his arm sweeps across my desk, sending pens and paper clips flying in a metallic hailstorm.

“Hey!” I protest, but he’s unrepentant, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a devil-may-care smirk.

“It was a mess anyway,” he teases, and there’s that charm, that damn irresistible charm.

I want to argue, to tell him off for being such an overbearing Neanderthal, but his hands are already deftly unbuckling my trousers, sliding them down my legs, and any thoughts of reproach evaporate like mist in the heat of his gaze.

“Spread your legs for me,” he commands softly, and I do, because my body seems to have signed a treaty with the enemy.

His lips press a path down my stomach, setting every nerve ending alight, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake. He kisses along my thighs, and by the time he reaches the edge of my panties, I’m practically squirming beneath him. The fabric is a barrier he wastes no time in discarding, peeling them away to reveal my aching center.

“God, you’re so wet,” he observes with a mixture of awe and satisfaction. I flush, but there’s no denying the slickness he finds there, evidence of my traitorous desire.

He starts at my clit, rubbing in torturous circles that have my hips chasing his touch. And when his mouth finally closes over me, his tongue swirling in a rhythm that should be patented, pleasure rockets through me, sharp and sweet. I cry out, hands fisting in his hair, urging him closer, deeper.

“Adrian,” I gasp, my voice a blend of frustration and ecstasy as his fingers slide inside me. They move with a skill that suggests a man who knows exactly how to play the human body like a virtuoso. It’s maddening. It’s perfection.

“Relax,” he murmurs against the sensitive flesh before his tongue flicks out, teasing and tasting, coaxing my body into a state of delirium.

I scoff inwardly. Easy for him to say.

“Right there,” I urge, my breath hitching as he hits a spot that sends stars dancing behind my eyelids.

“Like that?” he asks, voice laced with smug knowledge as he curls his fingers, relentless in his pursuit of my undoing.

“Exactly like that,” I admit between uncontrollable moans, teetering on the edge of a precipice that promises oblivion in its depths.

Each stroke of Adrian’s tongue and fingers is precise, each swirl calculated to drag out the sweet torture. My climax builds, threatening to consume me whole, until it crashes over me with the force ofa tidal wave. I’ve never come this hard, body shaking, voice rising in a pitch that could shatter glass.

“Damn ...” is all I manage to gasp out as he plants an approving kiss on my trembling center.

He leans forward, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that’s all heat and promise. It’s a seal of satisfaction for the pleasure he’s just wrung from my body. As he rises to his full height, there’s a fluid grace to his movements, the kind you wouldn’t expect from a man who spends his days in a courtroom. He unbuckles his belt with a practiced ease, suit pants following gravity’s call to the floor.

I sit up, hands eager to explore what I’ve only admired from a distance wrapped in tailored fabric. His black boxer briefs prove no match for my curiosity, and they’re gone with a swift tug. My palm meets the heat of his erection, and I can’t help but marvel at him—hard, imposing, and all mine for the taking. A soft groan escapes Adrian as I tighten my grip, slow strokes drawing out the anticipation.

“Protection?” I ask, my voice strained with restraint.

He nods once, then reaches for his pants on the ground. “I have it.”

I huff. “Of course you do.”

He retrieves his wallet and takes out the condom package, still perfectly intact. “It’s important to be prepared for such a situation. Don’t you agree?”

---