Page 16 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

For a split second, she looks confused, like she expected something else—maybe immediate sex. But she complies, crossing the room in small, tentative steps. I notice the slip of white satin hugging her frame, revealing the lines of her shoulders and back with each movement.

Before she lies down, she faces me. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the slip’s strap and begins to tug it downward.

“Stop,” I tell her softly. Confusion lines her brow. “I don’t think we’re at that stage yet. I prefer to take things slowly, if that’s alright with you.”

She swallows her trepidation and nods. After that, every step is exquisitely graceful. She carefully climbs onto the bed, settling onto her stomach. It’s a big bed, so she looks almost lost in the center of it, auburn hair fanning out in a fiery halo.

Our fallen angel?

Nico and Dante position themselves off to the side, half-perched on a small chaise lounge. They’re watching this play out, curious.

I walk around the edge of the bed, standing near Tabitha’s shoulders. “I’m going to touch you now,” I say, giving her a chance to object. She doesn’t. Instead, she tenses, then forces herself to exhale.

My hands start a gentle massage, pressing lightly against the muscles around her shoulders and neck. I feel coiled tension in each inch of her body, like she’s bracing for something more extreme.

A flicker of sadness hits me. This situation is so unnatural—auctioning off her first time in a place like this. But we’re here now, and our job is to make it bearable, maybe even pleasurable for her.

“You’re safe,” I murmur, leaning down slightly so she can hear me without me raising my voice. “This is just a massage, to help you relax. Nothing more.”

She nods, a shaky little motion, and closes her eyes. Beneath my palms, I can feel the ridge of her shoulder blades, the delicate curve of her spine through the thin layer of satin. I start with slow, firm circles, mindful that she might spook if I press too hard. It’s always a delicate dance to gain someone’s trust.

Gradually, I move outward, kneading the knots near her neck, careful of the pearls. She emits a soft, trembling sigh. Her breath hitches once, but then she melts under my touch, letting me guide her into calm.

From the corner of my eye, I see Nico’s shoulders relaxing too, as if he’s relieved this is working. Dante, for once, is not makingjokes, just watching patiently. It’s strange, this quiet synergy—like we’re sharing one pulse, one unspoken mission.

Take care of her first, the rest can follow.

After a few minutes, I move my hands lower, just skimming the middle of her back, careful to keep the motion soothing. She shivers slightly, and I pause. “Am I hurting you?”

She shakes her head. “It actually feels…nice.” Another breath. “Thank you.”

My chest loosens at those words. “Good.”

Time stretches. The hush of the suite surrounds us. I continue the slow massage, working gently down her spine, occasionally pressing with my thumbs in deeper circles where I sense knots. Each time, she lets out small sighs or soft moans of relief. My own tension starts to ebb, replaced by a low, simmering contentment I haven’t felt in ages. Strange how something so tame can be so…intimate.

What I said was true—I want to take this slowly. Both for her benefit and my own. There’s no sense in rushing pleasure.

9

TABITHA

I’m pretty suremy brain is not operating on the higher levels. That’s the only explanation for the deep, weightless calm that’s settled over me, despite the fact that I’m in a lavish, kinky hotel suite with three men I literally just met—three men who collectively bought my virginity. But somehow, Salvatore’s hands on my back have coaxed me into a state I can only describe as…safe.

If someone told me two hours ago that this was possible—that I could berelaxedin a scenario like this—I’d have laughed in their face. Yet here I am, face buried in a silky black pillow, arms tucked under my chest, exhaling slow breaths while Sal’s strong hands work magic on the small of my back.

Dante is the one who occasionally murmurs a playful aside, his tone lighter. He’s on the bed, which is enormous, so he’s not close enough to touch me. Instead, he’s casually touching himself over his pants.

If I had to guess, I’d say he’s the youngest of the three. He has a mop of loose salt-and-pepper curls that remind me of asoccer player. Eyes like the sea. He’s the tallest too, with a lean, muscular frame.

Nico’s the quieter one, standing near a piece of furniture I can only describe as a large wood and leather letter X. He has a mismatch between his body and his attitude. There’s an orderliness about him, thanks to his perfectly trimmed gray crew cut and calculating hazel eyes. It’s almost like he’d be more comfortable in a boardroom than a bedroom.

But he’s built for more than filling out paperwork, well-muscled. He’s watching me like he’s studying for a test he very much wants to take.

Sal has to be the eldest of the brothers—smile lines bracket his mouth and flare at the corners of his eyes. His silver Caesar cut is sharp at the edges—almost a widow’s peak at his hairline that matches the angles of his short beard. And his eyes are dark, verging on black.

I keep wondering what they look like naked.

Part of me expected them to tear my clothes off the instant we got up here. But they haven’t. Instead, they gave me space to breathe.They’re hot too,a little voice in my head points out.

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