Page 31 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

His hand reaches for my face, tilting it back for a kiss filled with passion that rivals the building tempest in my core. As he picks up the pace, my cries grow louder, punctuated with a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush.

“Fuck,” spills from my lips, my vocabulary reduced to its simplest form under the onslaught of pleasure.

“Is that my cue to fuck you harder?” he teases, a chuckle vibrating through his frame.

The thought alone has me panting. “Or would you prefer this?” Before I can answer, his arm snakes around me, fingers finding the bundle of nerves that promise oblivion.

“Both,” I demand, caught between his skilled hand and the relentless push and pull of our bodies.

His fingers work their magic, his touch a symphony on my skin, hitting all the right notes. Each deep thrust sends waves of pleasure that crash over me, building up and threatening to sweep me off my feet—or in this case, off the bed.

“Oh God,” I gasp as the world blurs into a haze of Adrian and touch and heat. “Please,” I manage to breathe out, clinging to the last shreds of reality. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growls, and there’s a new urgency in his movements, a promise of something wild and untamed.

The tension coils tighter inside me, and then it breaks, shattering into a million pieces of pure ecstasy. As I ride out the high, he slows down, his movements turning tender, almost reverent. But I’m greedy—I want all of him, every part of this complicated, infuriating man who’s somehow become my anchor.

“Can I—” he starts to ask, but I’m already answering with a pleading whisper, urging him on.

“Please,” I say again, because it seems to be the only word I remember how to say. He complies, his rhythm picking up once more, each thrust pushing me further into delirium until finally, he shudders above me, a groan escaping him as he finds his own release.

Afterward, he slides out and flips me onto my back without a word, his lips finding mine in a kiss so full of hunger it could start the whole damn thing over again. But he pulls away, regret shadowing his eyes.

“I wish I could stay,” he murmurs, and I know he means it. It’s in the line of his shoulders, the reluctance in his touch.

“Go be Super Dad,” I tell him, trying to infuse some levity into the moment. “I understand you have priorities.”

“Thanks.” He climbs off me and searches for his clothes among the pile we’ve made. He dresses quickly, efficiency in every movement. I linger a bit longer, watching him, memorizing the way the light catches the angles of his face.

“I’ll walk you out.”

At the door, he pauses, promising more stolen moments like these in the future. There’s an ache in my chest—an awful blend of longing and trepidation—as I nod, my heart stuttering a silent beat of agreement.

The kiss he leaves me with is soft, a silent conversation between two souls who’ve collided in the most unexpected way. Then he’s gone, and I’m left staring at the closed door, wondering if I’ve just opened Pandora’s Box or found the missing piece to a puzzle I didn’t even realize was incomplete.

“Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I mutter to the empty room, a half-hearted laugh escaping me. But beneath the humor, there’s a thread of hope—because whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. And for the first time in a long while, I’m not alone.

Chapter twelve

Adrian

Leo, Isabella, and I spill out onto the sun-soaked sidewalk, a wave of relief washing over me as the meeting with Aurora and NexGen finally ends. The city buzzes around us, its lunchtime hunger palpable in the air. Or at least, in my own stomach.

“Going to grab lunch with my wife,” Leo announces, adjusting his tie as if it might strangle him at any moment. “We’re meeting at that new bistro place down the street. Don’t wait for me.”

Isabella’s eyebrows hike up, surprise etched on her face. “You’re married?” she blurts out.

“Yeah, I thought you were still playing the field ... or at least the couch of your therapist,” I quip, earning myself a glare from Leo.

He sighs, the weight of matrimony apparently heavier than his briefcase. “Trying to work things out. You know, I really think it’s going to work out this time,” he admits, then strides off toward matrimonial duty and, presumably, a bistro with overpriced sandwiches.

“See you back at the office, Romeo!” I call after him, but he’s already lost in the crowd.

“I had no idea Leo was married. Does he have kids too?” Isabella asks, turning to me, her green eyes narrowing in that way that says thisconversation is about to go deeper than I’m comfortable with before lunch.

“Never did,” I reply, hands sliding into my pockets. “That’s part of the whole drama. She wanted them, but Leo was too busy courting lady justice. Maybe now that he’s made partner, he’s ready to start a family.” I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant, though the concept feels more foreign to me than the idea of decaf coffee.

“Seems like you did the whole life thing backwards—had a kid then inherited the firm,” she observes, a note of something I can’t quite place in her voice.

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