Page 57 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
He senses it immediately.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “Don’t hide from me.”
I try to speak, to explain all the reasons this is a bad idea. He kisses the words right off my lips.
“I see you,” he says. “And I want you. If you’ll have me…”
He undresses me slowly, mouth tracing every inch of exposed skin. There’s no rush, no pressure. Just soft groans and tangled limbs and the way he says my name when I gasp.
This is nothing like it was with Sebastian. And I hate that my mind goes there. I just want to forget all of that.
I shouldn't be doing this. This is too fast, too much, too soon. Silas doesn’t know—not really—and if he did, if he knew what I was carrying, what I’ve already ruined, he wouldn’t be touching me like this. He wouldn’t be looking at me like I’m something sweet and worth holding.
He kisses my neck and I flinch—not from fear, but from the weight of it all. The guilt. The fear. The fact that I’m barely holding myself together, and he’s giving without hesitation.
My hands push at his chest, not hard enough to make him stop. “You don’t want this,” I whisper. “You think you do, but you don’t. I’m a mess, Silas. I’m scared and hormonal and pregnant with?—”
“I know what I want.” His voice is quiet, firm. His mouth brushes my jaw, then lower. “And I want you.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do.” He kisses me again, slower this time. “You’re not a burden. You’re not broken. You’re the bravest fucking woman I’ve ever met.”
His lips find mine. And every protest I have—every terrible what-if and trembling doubt—melts into the press of his mouth and the sure, steady way he touches me.
And when he sinks inside me, I stop thinking altogether.
The world narrows to the weight of him above me, the stretch and slide and heat of it. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, anchoring him there, the only solid thing I can hold onto.
He moves slowly at first—long, deliberate strokes that make my breath stutter. He’s watching me again. Not just looking, but seeing. Every flicker of expression. Every sound I can’t swallow.
His breath stutters against my neck. “Jesus, G. You feel—” His words cut off with a groan and buries his face in my shoulder. “—so fucking good.”
His hand finds mine, fingers threading tight, grounding me while he thrusts deeper, slower, until I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
I arch into him, chasing more—more friction, more pressure, more of whatever this is that makes my pulse race and my heart ache at the same time. I’m raw, nerves exposed, but he handles me gently.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, like it’s a fact. “Strong. Fucking impossible not to want.”
I close my eyes, but he kisses them open. “Don’t disappear on me,” he whispers. “Stay with me, G.”
I do. I hold on.
He moves again—deeper now, harder. The rhythm of it makes me gasp. Makes me moan into the space between us. His hand skims down my thigh and back up to grip my hip, anchoring me as he drives into me with a rhythm that feels more like worship than sex.
It’s not dominant. Not demanding. But it is consuming. His mouth is everywhere—my neck, my shoulder, my chest. Every sound he makes, every word he says, only drags me closer to the edge.
It’s not the same as it was with Sebastian—and that’s what undoes me. Because Silas doesn’t just want to fuck me. He wants to be close. He wants to wrap around me and whisper filth and sweetness in equal measure while I come apart in his hands.
“You feel so good,” he breathes against my ear. “So damn good, G.”
His pace shifts—deeper, harder, a little rough now that I’m gasping for it. Every thrust pulls another moan from my throat, louder than I mean it to be. I’m unraveling fast, but he doesn’t let go. He stays close, kisses me through it again and again until my body goes taut, my climax crashing into me so hard I feel like it will never subside.
He follows with a groan and a final thrust, spilling inside me. There’s no condom. No protection. Just skin and heat and the quiet, reckless intimacy of letting someone all the way in.
We stay like that for a while. Breathing together. Limbs tangled. No words, just the rise and fall of our bodies and the question hanging in the dark between us.
What now?
