Page 9 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

Without ever taking my eyes off his, I grab the condom from him and remove it from the packaging. “Closer,” I breathe, and he takes a step forward.

My hand is wrapped around his cock in an instant, warming him up so I can slip the condom on. Once it’s securely in place, I press close to his ear, my own voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Don’t hold back.” The words hang between us, charged and heavy.

He tilts his head to the side. “What’s that mean?” He’s all teasing, and I know exactly what he wants to hear.

“Fuck me. Hard,” I urge, leaving no room for doubt or gentle intentions.

His smirk is devilish, filled with promises of everything unspoken. He pulls me to the edge where professionalism is long forgotten.

“Your wish is my command,” he says, humor lacing the lust in his tone. His cock aligns with my still-throbbing center, and I know right then, this won’t be a night easily erased by morning light

He eases into me with a tortuously slow thrust, and I can’t hold back the moan that escapes from my lips. Every inch of him fills me up, stretching me in ways that send pleasure spiraling through every nerve.

“Jesus, Isabella,” he groans against my mouth, his voice rough with desire. “You’re so tight ... it’s like you were made for me.”

I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer. Our kiss is a clash of need and eagerness, tongues tangling, breaths mingling. He’s massive, and logic says we shouldn’t fit together this seamlessly, yet here we are, moving as if we’re a single unit.

He starts off slow, his hips rolling in deep, languid thrusts that make me want to beg for more. But then he pulls out, leaving me empty and gasping. “Stand up,” he commands, and there’s no resisting the authority in his tone.

I’m on my feet before I know it, anticipation coiling tight in my lower belly. With my head down and elbows propped on the cold surface of my desk, I present myself to him. There’s a pause—a second where the air crackles with electricity—before he slides home once more. This time, there’s nothinggentle about it.

“God, you don’t play fair,” I pant, gripping the edge of the desk as he picks up the pace, harder and faster. It’s relentless, each thrust sending white-hot pleasure zipping through me.

“Neither do you,” he retorts breathlessly, driving into me with a force that has my whole body trembling.

The building pressure is exquisite, teetering on the edge of too much and not nearly enough. And when the dam finally breaks, it’s all I can do to remember my name. The world narrows down to the feel of Adrian inside me, the sound of our combined moans, and the shattering release that rips through me.

We hit our climax together, a symphony of cries and heavy breaths filling the room. As the waves subside, he flips me around, and our kiss is a tender contradiction to the fervor of moments ago.

Silence stretches between us, thick as the tension that knots in my stomach. The air feels different now—charged and heavy with unspoken questions. Adrian’s the first to break it, clearing his throat as though he’s about to deliver a closing argument rather than address our current state of undress.

“The files,” he says, voice rough, “we should ... get dressed.”

“Groundbreaking idea,” I mutter, scrambling for my blouse that’s lying crumpled like my newly complicated life.

As I button up, I can’t help but feel he regrets the whole sweaty, heart-pounding endeavor. And honestly, I’m not sure if I don’t regret it myself, despite the fact that Adrian’s body is something I’ll be daydreaming about during particularly dull depositions.

I stoop to retrieve my trousers, and he bends down as well, picking up the scattered documents along with his tie. The sight of him, all disheveled sex hair and business-like efficiency, sends a conflicting shiver down my spine.

“Here.” He hands the papers to me, eyes averted. “I’ll wait outside until you’re ready. Then I’ll take you home.”

“Thanks.” My cheeks flush hotter than they did when we were ... well, you know. “For the documents. And the ride. Not for—”

“Got it,” he interrupts, and there’s a huff of what sounds suspiciously like amusement. Did I just make Adrian Cole laugh? And we weren’t even arguing?

“Right outside,” he assures, and exits with a swiftness that suggests he’s escaping a crime scene.

With shaky hands, I finish buttoning up my shirt and step into my trousers, mind racing faster than my pulse had been minutes ago. How are we supposed to go back to snarky comments and glares in client meetings after he’s seen the color of my—well, best not to dwell on that.

God, tomorrow’s going to be interesting.

Chapter four

Adrian

Itap my pen against the desk, a metronome to the chaos of figures and clauses swimming on the screen in front of me. The numbers blur into a tangle of digits I can’t seem to make sense of. It’s useless—every time I try to anchor my thoughts to the merger details, Isabella’s image pirouettes through my mind, more distracting than a neon sign at midnight.

Her moans echo in my ears, the memory so vivid it’s like she’s hiding under my desk. And those lips, full and unyielding, taunting me with a smirk because they know just how badly they’ve short-circuited my brain. Damn it! Since when did Isabella King become my personal brand of cognitive dissonance?

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