My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 309: Make Me... Goddess: The Soul that still Remembers

Chapter 309: Make Me... Goddess: The Soul that still Remembers

Phei didn’t do one-night stands.

Never had. Never would.

Every woman he’d touched—kissed, fucked, worshipped—he’d pursued afterward. Relentlessly. Patiently. Ruthlessly.

Because once he let someone inside his orbit, once he tasted them, smelled them, felt their body yield under his like it was finally home, there was no going back. No casual dismissal.

No polite "this was fun but let’s pretend it never happened" bullshit.

Once he claimed, he kept.

And this woman?

This goddess?

She wasn’t just another body. She was the first who’d taken all of him—fourteen inches, fiery and unrelenting—and hadn’t just survived it; she’d demanded more. She’d cradled his head against her breasts like he was something precious while her perfect composure shattered into a thousand little screams.

She’d moaned his name like a prayer she’d been holding in for decades. She’d looked at him—really looked—and let him see the starving, lonely creature beneath the Ashford Madam armor.

And now she wanted to pretend none of it mattered?

No.

No fucking way. Nine circles of hell would freeze over, thaw, and refreeze as a skating rink before I let her walk away from this like it was a casual Tuesday hookup.

But he also wasn’t stupid.

Emotional intelligence existed for exactly these moments—when a woman built walls so high she couldn’t even see over them anymore, when fear wore the mask of logic, when she tried to kill the thing, she wanted most because letting it live might destroy everything else, she’d spent decades protecting.

So, he didn’t argue. Didn’t roar. Didn’t grab her and kiss her until she admitted she was lying through her perfect white teeth.

Instead, he gave her the only thing she thought she could still control: his compliance.

He inclined his head—small, respectful, the exact degree of deference the Ashford Madam was accustomed to receiving from subordinates, petitioners, and boys who knew their place in the world and stayed in it.

"I understand," he said quietly. "I respect your decision."

Her shoulders relaxed a fraction—like a prisoner hearing the cell door lock for the night.

He turned slightly, eyes sweeping the desk—papers still scattered, one corner still faintly damp with their release—and spotted it.

The golden card.

Small. Plastic. Embossed with two simple words in elegant black script: Direct Access.

He reached out and plucked it from the chaos of documents before she could react.

Her head snapped up.

"Phei—"

He tucked the card into his shirt pocket—right over his heart—and met her eyes.

"I’m taking this."

She stood so fast the chair rolled back and hit the wall with a dull thud that echoed like a gunshot in the heavy silence.

"Give it back." Her voice cracked on the last word—not anger, not yet. Something closer to panic. "Now."

He laughed—low, dark, genuinely amused for the first time since she’d put the armor back on.

"Make me, Goddess."

The word hung between them like smoke—Goddess—soft, reverent, possessive.

Her cheeks flushed deeper. She opened her mouth—probably to swear, to threaten, to remind him of propriety and power and consequences—but nothing came out.

Instead, she rounded the desk.

Heels clicking sharp against the hardwood, each step deliberate, until she stood directly in front of him—close enough that he could smell her again: that expensive floral perfume now laced with the unmistakable musk of sex, of him, of them.

She extended her hand.

Palm up. Fingers steady.

"Give. It. Back."

Phei looked down at her outstretched hand, then back up at her face.

Gods. How badly I want to grab that wrist, pull her flush against me, bury my face in her hair, and hold her there for an hour—two hours—until she stopped pretending she didn’t want the same thing.

He didn’t move.

Just watched her.

Watched the way her breath hitched when he didn’t immediately obey. Watched the way her eyes flicked to his mouth for half a second before darting away. Watched the tiny tremor in her fingertips—the same tremor she’d had when she’d first touched his cock, when she’d first realized she was going to take all of him and survive it.

She stepped even closer.

Close enough that the tips of her breasts brushed his chest through the thin fabric of her bandeau.

"Phei," she said—quieter now, almost pleading. "Please."

That word—please—from the Ashford Madam—nearly undid him.

He raised the card slowly—higher—until it hovered just out of her reach.

Her eyes followed it upward.

Then she looked back at him.

And blushed.

Deeply. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Crimson blooming across her cheekbones, down her throat, disappearing beneath the white lace like wildfire under snow.

She glanced down—away—embarrassed, vulnerable, caught wanting something she’d just spent five minutes insisting she didn’t.

Phei’s chest ached.

Without conscious thought, his free hand lifted.

Fingers brushed a dark strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek—tucking it gently behind her ear. The touch was feather-light, almost reverent.

She shivered.

He cupped her cheek—thumb stroking once along her jawline, tilting her face back up so she had to meet his eyes.

Her gaze was clear. Sharp. Ashford-sharp.

But beneath it—only he could see it—was the tender, delicate thing she kept hidden from the rest of the world.

He leaned in.

Close enough that their breaths mingled.

hge closed her eyes letting him... kiss her.

"Look who’s falling for me," he whispered instead.

Her serious face snapped back into place like a mask clicking shut.

She lunged.

Tried to snatch the card.

He raised his arm higher—effortless—grinning now.

She jumped—once, twice—heels clicking uselessly against the floor, body brushing his with every failed attempt. Her breasts grazed his chest. Her hips bumped his. She smelled like sex and perfume and frustration and want.

Defeated, she stepped back.

Kicked off her heels—one, then the other—bare feet silent on the carpet.

Then she came at him again.

Jumping higher this time—graceful, determined—reaching for the card still held above his head.

He raised it another inch.

She collided with him—chest to chest, hips to hips—momentarily pinned between his body and the desk behind her.

They froze.

So close.

Her breath fanned across his throat. His heartbeat thundered against her breasts. Neither moved to pull away.

She looked up—eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed, hair slightly mussed from jumping.

He looked down—eyes dark, hungry, tender.

For one suspended heartbeat, the Ashford Madam disappeared.

Only the woman remained.

This time when she jumped—higher, more determined, body stretching upward like a flame reaching for air—Phei didn’t raise the card.

He leaned down instead.

And kissed her.

Mid-air.

His lips caught hers the instant she peaked—soft, sudden, perfect. A single, devastating press that swallowed her startled gasp. For one weightless heartbeat she hung there—suspended, mouth open against his in pure shock—before gravity reclaimed her.

She landed hard on her heels, stumbling back a step, hand flying to her lips as if burned.

Her eyes were wide, pupils blown, cheeks flaming crimson.

"You—" She exhaled sharply through her nose, a half-laugh, half-snort of pure exasperation. "That was your plan?"

Phei twirled the golden card between his fingers, grinning like sin.

"Worked, didn’t it?"

She stared at him—half furious, half dazed—then snorted again, louder this time, the sound almost fond despite herself.

"Unbelievable."

She turned on her heel, stalking toward the far corner of the office where a narrow cabinet stood beside the bookshelf. She yanked the door open, reached inside, and pulled out a sleek, graphite-shafted golf club—seven-iron, if he had to guess.

The clubhead gleamed under the desk lamp like it had been polished for exactly this moment.

Phei burst out laughing—genuine, delighted, head tipping back.

"Oh, this is going to go very, very bad..." he said between breaths, "...and very interesting."

She hefted the club in both hands—testing the weight, stance widening slightly like she’d actually played once or twice—and leveled it at him with mock menace.

"Give. It. Back."

He raised both hands in surrender—still holding the card high—grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.

"Make me, Madam."

She took one threatening step forward—

A sharp knock at the door.

"Mom? I’m here!"

The voice was bright. Young. Familiar.

Elena.

She froze—club still raised mid-swing, eyes going comically wide.

"Shit," Phei muttered under his breath.

She dropped the club like it was suddenly molten and bolted toward the scattered remnants of her shoes near the couch. One heel snagged on the carpet; she stumbled, caught herself, snatched both shoes up in one frantic grab, and jammed her feet into them while hopping toward the door.

Phei cursed again—quiet, resigned.

"These princesses are getting entirely too good at ruining my best moments."

The door opened.

Elena Ashford stepped inside—school blazer slung over one shoulder, hair in a loose braid, eyes already bright with whatever teenage chaos she’d brought with her.

They landed on Phei.

Her entire face lit up like sunrise.

"PHEIIIIII!!!!"

Oh boy.

Kill me already.

Yet another obsessed princess.