The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet (Thalassa and Elowen)

Chapter 942
Lysander, though fully clothed, exuded a potent masculine presence that filled the room. Thalassa, on the other hand, was still
bare, save for the sheet clutched around her.
Her arms looped around Lysander’s neck, inadvertently causing the sheet to slip.
Caught off guard by his sudden embrace, Thalassa’s heart raced as she fumbled with the falling sheet, trying to cover herself.
But it was a futile gesture; Lysander had already seen everything.
His deep gaze, smoky and intense, lingered on her slightly cherubic face.
Remembering her tender vulnerability the night before, a warmth spread through Lysander’s lower abdomen.
His voice, low and gravelly, broke the silence, “Why bother covering up? It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.”
Thalassa’s face flushed a deep crimson at his words. True as they might be, hearing him say them out loud sent a wave of
embarrassment through her.
Lysander cast a sideways glance at her, noting the blush spreading across her previously pale cheeks, tempting as a ripe peach.
Suppressing a bodily reaction, he focused ahead and strode into the bathroom, setting Thalassa down by the sink. “Clean up
and come out,” he said, his voice a command.
“Got it,” Thalassa murmured, her gaze lowered.
Once Lysander’s tall frame exited the bathroom, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to ease.
Thalassa quickly shut the bathroom door, fearing he might turn back. Once the door was securely locked, she relaxed her tense
shoulders and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water flow.
Her eyes accidentally caught sight of the sink, and her heart skipped a beat. The previous night, under Lysander’s assertive
guidance, that very sink had been the site of unrestrained passion.
The memories flooding her mind made her blood run hot, and she quickly averted her gaze, only for her eyes to fall upon the
dark gray tiles on the wall.

There, too, Lysander had pressed her against the wall, his hands lifting her, carrying her weight.
Thalassa’s breath hitched at the recollection, alone in the shower with cheeks as red as tomatoes.
She thought the bathroom would shield her from Lysander’s pervasive influence, but every corner was a reminder of the night’s
fervor. Every object she saw brought back vivid scenes from the night before.
Lysander’s heavy, scorching breath seemed to echo in her ears, sending shivers down her sensitive skin, her heart squeezing
tight.
Thalassa closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to dispel the lingering images.
Warm water cascaded over her head, drenching her hair, and droplets traced paths down her cheeks, falling to the ground with a
sound that filled the room.
Standing motionless under the shower head, Thalassa was lost in thought, the water’s rush failing to wash away the memories of
Lysander’s relentless pursuit of pleasure.
She remained there, unmoving, as the water enveloped her, making breathing more difficult, like drowning.
Panic set in as her breath was caught in the torrent, her heart sinking as if to the ocean floor. Her body seemed rooted in place,
unable to move.
Then came the urgent knocking.
Lysander’s forceful raps on the door echoed, but the locked bathroom door refused to yield from the outside.
Thalassa seemed not to hear.
With a “crack,” the bathroom doorknob was forcibly twisted, breaking a hole through the lock.
A towering silhouette stormed in, and in one swift motion, Lysander yanked Thalassa from under the shower. His rough hands.
swept her wet, seaweed-like hair off her face and onto the top of her head.