Page 30 of Protected By My Playboy Billionaire

“They won’t even be allowed to look at you as far as I’m concerned.” I straighten my neck and look down at her.

“Because only you can?” It’s a rhetorical question, but I answer anyway.

“Now you’re getting it.” I flash her a grin, but what I actually want to do is show her exactly why no one else is allowed to look at her—especially in that dress.

Whatever she drank at the event shows itself as she takes a tiny step towards me until her chest brushes against mine, sending a thick wave of desire through me.

She looks up, her green eyes burning with liquid courage. “What runs through your mind when you look at me? Do you want to kiss me?” Her voice is so quiet that I almost have to read her lips.

“Do you want me to kiss you, little duck?” I cock my head to the side once more. She peels her eyes away from mine and drags them to my lips. She doesn’t need to say it for me to know the answer. All it would take is one swift movement, and my lips would be on her waiting ones.

As I admire the beautiful temptation before me, reality hits. Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s my non-existent patience, but I’ve crossed the line. I’ve allowed myself to show her a glimpseof what I want. Desire steps aside to make room for reason, and I force myself to step back, regaining control.

“You should go rest.” I almost snort at myself. It’s not even 10 pm yet. She blinks up at me, confusion etched on her face.

“I’m not tired,” she protests softly, her disappointment evident. “I’m hungry.” Her look tells me it’s not food she’s hungry for.

“In that case, I’ll see what I can whip up while you go up and change.” I try my hardest to sound casual and give her a lazy smile.

“I can help you.”

I shake my head. “Go change, Elana. Please.” Get this fucking dress out of my sight before I do something I shouldn’t.

She gives me a disapproving look before turning and walking towards the stairs. Her perfect ass is swaying, inviting me, mocking me as it gets further and further away. I close my eyes and look away before willing my legs to carry me into the kitchen.

Once in front of the fridge, I straighten my back and take a deep breath. My hand finds the handle, and I pull the door open. Many colors peek at me from theinside. After thoroughly scanning the fridge, I grab some Emmental cheese and ham and set them on the counter. I hope she’s in the mood for grilled cheese. I move through the kitchen, gathering what I need before getting to work.

The skillet hisses as I place it on the stove, which I had already turned on. The sound of sizzling fills the air as I lay a slab of butter on the skillet, letting it melt into a golden pool. Cooking in this tuxedo is not my brightest idea, but wasting time by changing upstairs—who am I trying to convince? Upstairs is where she is, where she’s most likely undressing right now, and I need to be far, far away from that.

While the butter melts, I take two slices of bread from the breadbox and lay them side by side on the counter. Then I slice the Emmental cheese and arrange it generously on one slice of the bread, followed by a layer of ham. The smell of melting butter and bread fills the kitchen, reminding me of a time long ago. My grandma used to make me grilled cheese sandwiches just like these when I was a kid. The memory seems like it’s fromanother life.

I place the other slice of bread on top, creating a sandwich. I open the drawer and retrieve a metal spatula. “But I melt spatulas.” I recall Elena’s comment, a small laugh threatening to escape my lips. I carefully transfer the sandwich onto the skillet, where it sizzles and crisps under the heat. I watch as the bread turns a golden brown, the cheese melting into a gooey filling. I haven’t made one of these in a long time. Unbuttoning the top buttons of my shirt, I toss my bowtie on the kitchen island before turning back to the stove. With a quick flick of the wrist, I flip the sandwich, allowing the other side to brown and crisp. Quickly, I assemble a second sandwich and slide it into the skillet.

As I set the plates down on the island, the aroma of the grilled cheese sandwiches fills the kitchen.

I hear Elana’s soft voice behind me. “It smells great.”

I turn to see her standing in the doorway, wearing a poor excuse for pajama shorts and a loose T-shirt. No bra, yet again. I can see her nipples through the thin material. Did the little alcohol she had take over her brain when she was deciding what to change into? Myeyes travel over her figure, taking in the curve of her hips and the way her T-shirt stops just below her belly button, leaving a line of bare skin.

“Go change,” I say tightly. “You’re not wearing that.”

“It’s just my pajamas. I’m not going anywhere.” Her shrug is anything but casual, and her voice gives her away. This is on purpose.

“I saidgo change.” I find it hard enough to keep my hands away from her as is. I don’t need her to make it harder.

Her eyes flash with defiance as she steps closer to me. “Why?”

I stalk towards her, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “I know exactly what you’re trying to do.” I try to keep my voice calm, but it comes out rough.

She tilts her head back to maintain eye contact with me. “What am I doing?” she asks, her voice breathy.

I stop in front of her, towering over her smaller frame. “Trying to break the last fucking shred of self-control I have left. Begging me to show you what happens to silly, half-naked horny girls whopush too far.” I’m fucking done playing it safe with her, especially when I’m the only one doing so.

She parts her lips and sucks in a sharp breath, the action pushes her nipples out farther. It takes all my strength not to take them between my fingers, to lightly pinch and roll them until she apologizes for teasing me, touching herself to me, and making me lose control. Her eyes widen, as if she can’t believe what I’d just said, as if she didn’t see this coming. And just like that, her bravado crumbles, and all that’s left of her is a speechless, breathless mess.

“Is that what you want, Elana? Is this what you so desperately yearn for each time you tease me? Because that’s exactly what you’ll get if you don’t cut this shit out.” I keep my voice low and my hands at my sides.

If I move them even an inch, I won’t be able to stop them from ripping the shirt right off her body. Only the soft jazz music playing from the living room can be heard as she stares at me, frozen in place. She’s not breathing.