My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 311: Elena Ashford’s Bold Moves
Elena Ashford collided with him like a guided missile launched from a sugar-high teenage warhead.
Arms wrapped around his bicep—possessive, immediate—pressing her body against his side like they’d been lovers for years instead of strangers who’d barely exchanged ten sentences in ten years of knowing her.
Her cheek nuzzled into his shoulder. Her breasts—fuller than her mother’s, soft and warm even through the uniform—pushed against his arm like they were personally offended he wasn’t already groping them.
Her platinum hair tickled his jaw like it was trying to flirt on her behalf.
"I can’t believe you’re actually here!" she squealed, voice bright and breathless. "Mom said you might come but I didn’t think—I mean I hoped—but you’re really here!"
Phei stood frozen. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮
Not because she was touching him.
Because across the room, the Ashford Madam was watching.
She hadn’t moved.
Not one step since Elena burst through the door like a glitter bomb with daddy issues.
She stood exactly where the golf club had fallen—heels back on, posture immaculate, hands clasped loosely at her waist—wearing a smile so carefully constructed it could have been carved from porcelain by a sculptor who hated joy.
But her eyes told a different story.
They tracked Elena’s arms around Phei’s bicep. Tracked the way her daughter pressed close without hesitation, without shame, without any awareness that moments ago that same arm had been wrapped around her waist, holding her against the desk, buried inside her while she screamed his name like a prayer she’d been holding in since the Renaissance.
The realization hit her like ice water poured straight into her soul.
She wants him too.
Of course she did. The Madam had known—had always known—that Elena was obsessed with the Maxton boy. Why else had she bothered threatening Harold? Why else had she arranged for him to come here personally instead of sending the apology through intermediaries like a normal person?
Why else had Elena been treating her like an actual mother lately—warm, grateful, almost affectionate—when their relationship had been cold formality for years?
It was all for him.
All so Elena could have him in our house. Close. Available. Hers.
And what had the Madam done?
Fucked him.
Fucked the man her daughter wanted. Took his cock down her throat and up her cunt and screamed his name and begged for more and came so hard she’d probably need to redecorate the office to hide the evidence.
Stop.
Her smile didn’t waver. Her hands didn’t tremble. But inside, something cracked like fine china under a sledgehammer.
She watched Phei place a single finger on Elena’s forehead and gently push her away—not cruelly, not coldly, just... firmly—and watched her daughter pout like a child denied dessert after already eating the whole cake.
Well, her mother ate the whole cock-cake...and wanted more.
Something in her chest loosened.
He didn’t let her cling.
Was it pride? That he’d set a boundary her daughter couldn’t charm her way past? Or was it something darker—possessiveness, jealousy, the ugly satisfaction of watching him refuse what she herself had just surrendered like a starving woman at an all-you-can-eat buffet?
She didn’t want to examine it too closely.
Instead, she watched them—Phei’s patient, slightly exasperated expression; Elena’s theatrical wounded pride; the way they looked almost cute together, like something from a drama about star-crossed youths if the youths were horny Legacy princesses and the drama was rated NC-17.
This is right, she told herself. This is how it should be.
Her decision to let him go was correct. It had to be. She would forget him eventually. It was one night. One mistake. One moment of weakness that would fade with time, with distance, with the careful application of denial she’d perfected over decades of being the perfect, untouchable Ashford Madam.
I’ll forget him.
I have to.
Phei, meanwhile, was peeling himself off Elena for the third time.
"You’re so mean," she whined, grabbing for his arm again. "I just want to—"
"Personal space," he said flatly. "It’s a concept. Look it up."
She giggled—bright, musical, entirely unrepentant—and pinched his cheek like he was a particularly godly toy she’d found under the Christmas tree.
"So grumpy! Is that any way to treat your biggest fan?"
Fan?
Right.
Phei studied her while she beamed up at him, blue eyes sparkling, platinum hair swaying with every animated gesture. She was trying so hard to seem harmless.
Playful.
Just a silly girl with a crush.
He knew better.
He knew her reputation. The parties she hosted. The boys she collected. The way she and her friends treated men like entertainment—objects to be used, discarded, passed around like party favors at those infamous gatherings where the lines between watching and participating got very blurry and someone always ended up with video evidence.
If he let his guard down for one second, he’d end up in one of those orgies she orchestrated.
Well, he thought, watching her bounce on her heels like an over-caffeinated puppy, that’s not necessarily a bad idea. The orgy, I mean. Just not one she controls. One I make myself. With her in it. And her mother. And maybe half the Legacy princesses who’ve been eye-fucking me since day one.
He filed the thought away for later.
Unlike what her reputation and family name suggested, Elena Ashford wasn’t the graceful, sharp, calculating ice princess you’d expect from Legacy royalty.
She was dangerous in an entirely different way.
Slim and lithe like her mother—that genetic blessing ran true—but her proportions were shifted just enough to make the difference devastating. Her breasts were slightly fuller, straining against her uniform blouse in a way that demanded attention like a neon sign saying "look here, idiot."
Her waist narrowed dramatically before flaring into hips that shouldn’t have existed on someone so slender—that impossible ratio that made men stupid, that perfect hourglass compressed into a petite frame that screamed "I was engineered in a lab to ruin lives."
The uniform she wore was definitely not the one she’d arrived home in.
Phei would bet money she’d changed specifically for this moment. The blouse was unbuttoned one button too many at the bottom, offering a glimpse—just a glimpse—of toned feminine abs beneath.
The kind of stomach that came from pilates, personal trainers, and whatever rich girls did to look effortlessly perfect while everyone else was sweating in gyms.
Gods, that’s hot.
