Page 22 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

I thrust again when he says my name to remind her how good this feels. Let her think of how good itcouldfeel.

“I don’t know.”

“All you have to do is safeword.” He kisses her shoulder. “And we stop.”

“Or tap Dante’s shoulder, and we stop,” Nico says.

I press my forehead to hers. “Don’t you want to try everything, baby?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

With that, the three of us work like a well-oiled machine. I stop thrusting to give Sal a chance to get seated. Nico doesn’t jump into her mouth yet—we have to let her adjust. Feeling her pussytighten as Sal works himself into her…there’s nothing fucking like it. She’s shaking on me, those little whimpers coming out faster and faster as her fingernails claw into my shoulders. Sweat trickles down her forehead, and I lick it off. “You’re taking our cocks so good.”

“It’s…a lot.”

“That’s right. We are.” I kiss her as Sal starts to thrust, and when he pulls back, I go forward. When I pull back, Nico takes her mouth. Sal and I slow down—no sense in rushing this, and she needs to learn how to breathe around a cock. But she gets the hang of it in no time, and we’re off.

There’s nothing quite like making a woman airtight.

I feel it before they can. Her little pussy twitching on me. And then, there’s those damn sounds again. Fuck, it’s the best music. She’s coming, squirming between us. Her little claws dig trails in my skin as she bucks on me and Sal. She’s practically hysterical now, tears streaming down her face as she chokes and rides us harder, until finally, I can’t hold it back anymore, and I join her.

I don’t mean to come inside of her. Condom or not, I don’t usually do that. But it feels too fucking good, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Nico retreats to finish, and Sal grips her shoulders as he comes too.

11

NICO

The soundof four people collectively gasping for breath echoes on the hardwood. We’ve spread out on the bed as much as possible to cool down. It won’t be long before Sal retires to his suite—he’s not usually up this late. Dante will either go for snacks or sleep. He needs something to replenish himself.

Me? I have other needs.

“Tabitha,” I murmur softly in her delicate ear. “How would you like a bath?”

“Mm,” she answers in a sigh. Those grassy green eyes are half-lidded. Sated. “That sounds nice.”

I guide her to the bathroom, and as expected, Pietro did not skimp. The oversized, deep tub is heated to keep the water warm for an extended period. Once full, steam coils in lazy ribbons, fogging the beveled mirror and softening the gilt sconces until the entire room looks like a watercolor painting of a luxurious brothel.

Tabitha sits on the wide marble ledge, knees drawn up, arms folded under her breasts for warmth while I adjust the watertemperature with one hand and steady her with the other. She’s flushed—partly from the heat, partly from the exertion of the past hour—and wearing nothing but the pearl panic necklace and a sheen of perspiration.

I’m just as bare, though I keep a thick towel knotted around my waist for now. My muscles still hum with the satisfied heaviness that follows a well-played scene, yet a different instinct is tugging at me now—the impulse to take care of her.

I offer both hands, help her climb down the single step, and guide her into the tub. She gasps when the heat meets her calves, then sighs as she settles onto a submerged seat.

I drop the towel, slide in behind her, and pull a bar of almond-scented soap from the little caddy. The water laps at our bodies. The jets are off, leaving only the low hum of the suite’s climate system to fill the silence. Tabitha leans back against me, as if she trusts me completely.

I’ve done nothing to warrant that kind of familiarity. But I want to. I always want to.

“Does a bath normally come with the package?”

“Only for the lucky few,” I answer, working up a slick lather. “Raise your arm.”

She obeys. I glide the suds along her forearm in slow strokes, rinse them away, then repeat on the other side. As a dom, I love what I do. Managing a sub’s needs, making them reach greater heights of their pleasure, a true honor.

But it’s the aftercare that I live for. Moments like this. Quiet, meditative, showing I care for not only their pleasure, but also their comfort. It’s immensely satisfying to provide aftercare,and it gets me off almost as much as kink play. Ordinary acts, performed with intention, become extraordinary. Bathing my subs is a different kind of intimacy, and as the years go on, I find I crave that more and more.

Eventually she tilts her head, studying me with newly sober eyes. “Can I ask something?”

“Anything.”

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