Page 198 of Silver Fox Puck

His eyes go wide. Dark. Dangerous. Like something feral just clicked into place.

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“Yeah.”

We’re half-naked in seconds. His hands tear my dress shirt over my head. My fingers fumble at his belt like I’m unwrapping something that is going to save my life. Clothes scatter. My bra dangles from a doorknob. He rips my panties down and lifts me, pressing my back to the wall again as my legs wrap around his waist.

My skin is on fire. My breath’s coming too fast. And still—it’s not enough.

He kisses me again, biting my lower lip, and then his cock is nudging against me. Thick. Hot. Ready.

“Please,” I whisper. “I need it. I needyou.”

Grant groans like I just pulled the pin on a grenade.

And then he thrusts up, sinking into me in one long, breathtaking stroke that punches the air from my lungs.

My head tips back against the wall as my mouth falls open. No words. Just sensation. Just the stretch and the slide and the way I swear Ifeelhim in my throat.

His hands are on my hips, holding me like he never intends to let me go again. He starts to move—slow at first, like he’s savoring every pulse, every gasp. But it doesn’t stay slow. Not with the way I’m gripping him. Not with the way we’re both breaking apart.

“Jesus, Kenz,” he groans. “You feel—fuck.”

“Don’t stop,” I choke out. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He slams into me harder, faster, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the narrow hallway. My body rocks with every thrust, and I’m not sure what’s louder—his breathing or mine. His name spills from my mouth like a prayer. A promise.

My orgasm blindsides me—sharp and fast and impossible to hold back. I cry out, clutching at him, coming so hard my whole body goes weightless.

And he follows—growling against my neck, grinding deep, his body tensing as he pours into me.

We don’t move for a long second. Just breathe. Just exist.

Then he lowers me slowly to the floor, his arms still wrapped around me, his forehead resting against mine.

We’re both shaking.

Laughing, too. Soft and strung out on us.

And I know, in the beautiful mess we’ve made—

This is ours.

Not stolen. Not hidden. Not tentative.

It’s safe.

It’s real.

It’sus.

“I love you,” I breathe, right against his lips.

He chokes on a sound. A breath. Maybe a prayer.

I cling to him, to the heat of his body and the weight of his love, and I realize—I’ve never felt more wanted in my entire life. Not just for my body. But forme.

“Say it again,” he growls.

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