Page 34 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

I poured a whiskey, neat, and downed it in a single swallow. The burn cleared my head for exactly three seconds before the fantasy came roaring back. I let it ride this time, let my hand drift to my belt, and palmed myself through the fabric, rough and efficient. I pictured her on her knees, lips around my cock, eyes locked on mine as she took me as deep as she could. I imagined her gagging, then swallowing, then smiling like she’d won a prize.

I worked myself, slow at first, then harder, faster, until the edge was sharp enough to draw blood. I gritted my teeth, bit down on her name, and came with a force that left me shaking, slumped in the chair, pulse stuttering. It was almost enough.

Almost.

After, I sat there in the dark, pants undone, whiskey gone, and wondered how long I could keep pretending I was in control.

A soft knock at the door. Not urgent. Just a warning. I tucked myself in, righted my shirt, and called out, “Enter.”

She stepped in, hair mussed from sleep, no makeup, eyes watery as her satin pajamas accentuated every curve and told me she wasn’t wearing a bra. She held her phone, but I barely noticed. All I could see was the way her mouth was swollen, lips bitten through, like she’d been thinking about the same thing I had.

“Sorry to bother,” she said. “I forgot earlier. Maribel said you needed these before tomorrow and I wanted to make sure you got them.”

Leaning forward, I glanced at her phone at the sent email, then opened my email to confirm. “Thank you, Eden.”

She lingered, then, “Is there anything you need?”

God, yes.

“No,” I said. “That’s all. Get some rest.”

She hesitated, then turned to leave. I watched her go, memorized the sway of her hips, the bare skin of her arms and neck.

When the door closed, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

I was fucked, and not in the way I wanted.

I finished the whiskey, set the glass aside, and forced myself to stare at the ledger until the numbers blurred into meaninglessness.

Sleep was out of the question. But there was always tomorrow.

And tomorrow, I’d either have to break her, or let her break me.

I didn’t know which would be worse.

Deciding I needed to get some rest before I lost my mind, I made my way out of the study. Knowing the rumor mill never rested, I turned toward the kitchen. The staff had no idea I prowled the halls at this hour, collecting stray threads of gossip the way my ancestors collected pelts. Maybe they thought I was asleep, or away, or too insulated in my own world to care what they whispered in the dark.

They were wrong.

I hovered outside the door, invisible in my own house, and let the voices wash over me.

“…see the way he looks at her? Like he’s about to devour her whole.” Maribel sounded gleeful, as if she’d won a bet.

The other, male, older, with a voice like gravel, chimed in, “It’s not just that. I’ve seen them alone more than I ever saw him alone with his last five assistants put together.”

“She’s not even his type,” another woman said, “Too smart, too… I don’t know. Not desperate enough?”

“Maybe that’s the new type,” he said. “Or maybe he’s just losing his edge.”

A clatter, the shush of a refrigerator door, then the sound of glass against marble.

“I heard he kissed her,” she stage-whispered, as if the very walls might be listening.

The man whistled, low and dirty. “She tell you that?”

“She didn’t have to. You ever see two people try so hard not to touch, they look like they’re about to break something? It’s obvious.”

“Obvious enough to get her fired, if she’s not careful.”