Page 15 of Protected By My Playboy Billionaire

“Little cocktease,” I whisper through gritted teeth. The sound persists, growing louder and more fervent with each passing moment. I swallow hard as I take a step back from the door. I can’t stand listening to her moan without being in there myself. If she wants to be late for class, then so be it.

With a muttered curse under my breath, I hastily retreat down the hallway, my pulse still racing.

“Fucking touching herself to me under my fucking roof.” I rub my face and storm into my bedroom. Why am I so angry? I look around, my clothes threatening to melt against my skin. I’m furious because I want tobe in there with her, and I’m not. A cold shower seems like the only solution to clear my mind and quell the rising tide of desire that threatens to consume me. I’m already taking my clothes off and throwing them on the floor on my way to the ensuite bathroom. My cock springs out as I kick my pants away from me.

Fuck this shit.I step under the shower and brace myself as I slam the water button.

As the icy water cascades over my heated skin, I try to push the vivid images of Elana out of my mind. This is Ethan’s sister. Pull yourself together. I have no business entertaining such thoughts about her, and she has no business touching herself while thinking of me.

Yet, as the cold water washes away the lingering traces of arousal, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have her beneath me, to hear those same sounds of pleasure escaping her lips as I watch. What does she look like when she falls apart? How much will she beg if I don’t let her? I shake my head, trying to dispel the tantalizing fantasies that refuse to be ignored. Before I know it, my fist is around mythrobbing cock.

“Fuck,” I hiss as I tighten my grip. No. I quickly release it.

I have to keep my distance from her. And I need to fuck someone. Today.

An hour later, I’m finally in my office. I’m trying to focus on work, but my mind keeps drifting back to Elana and that damn act she pulled this morning. Her moaning my name replays repeatedly in my head.

I didn’t wait for her to get out of bed; I just told Mac to take her to her classes. I couldn’t bear to face her after what I heard. I didn’t trust myself with what I’d say… or do.

As I’m lost in my thoughts, a knock on the door brings me back.

“Come in.”

Bethany walks in with my breakfast. Look who finally remembered to knock. She’s dressed in a gray dress that shows way too much cleavage. Her hair is in a tight bun, and her eyes glimmer with a hint ofmischief. She sets the tray down on my desk with the sluttiest smile she can manage.

Eye-fucking me, are you?

The low rumbling of arousal still lingers, and the roar of frustration is still eating away deep in my chest. I look at Bethany, who takes slow steps towards me. I just have to tell her to bend over my desk and she’ll do it before I’m even done saying it. I blink, arousal clouding my thoughts. I’m not going anywhere near that woman. The thought almost makes me shake my head in disgust.

“Your breakfast, Mr. Morgan,” she says, her voice smooth and seductive.

“Thank you.” I nod, trying to keep my tone neutral.

She flashes me a coy smile and leans in a little closer. Her breasts threaten to spill out of her dress, her perfume filling the air around me. “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Morgan. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Yeah, you can fuck off.

“No, you may leave.”

Her smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers and nods. “Of course, Mr.Morgan. Just let me know if you change your mind.” With one last lingering glance, she turns and heads towards the door, swaying her hips with deliberate grace.

As soon as she’s gone, I let out a frustrated sigh. I look at the time. It’s almost nine. I hope Elana isn’t too late for class and she wasn’t too disappointed when she discovered I already left. Why the hell do I even care? Because she’s Ethan’s sister. The soft beep from my desk phone is followed by Melissa’s crisp voice.

“Mr. Morgan, Ms. Larson is on the line. She wishes to speak with you.”

Mia Larson? My gaze drifts to the painting on the wall, reminding me of the art exhibition I attended last week.

“Put her through,” I respond, my curiosity piqued.

“Mr. Morgan?” Mia’s voice fills the line, and I can’t help but notice the subtle warmth in her tone.

“Mia,” I respond. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

There’s a momentary pause, and I can almost hear the hesitation in her voice. What’s on your mind, Mia?

“It was so nice seeing you at the art exhibition last week, but I was sorry to see you leave so quickly,” she begins, and I raise an eyebrow, sensing where this conversation might be headed. “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner sometime soon?”

Ah, there it is. Mia Larson, always direct and persistent, much like her father. I weigh my options for a moment. A night out with Mia might be just what I need to distract myself from thoughts of Elana.