Page 24 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

Slow, Nico. Patience.Best to check in. “Still okay?”

She answers by rolling her hips once, tentative but unmistakably seeking friction. My breath escapes in a hiss. “Yes,” she whispers, cheeks flaming. “More than okay.”

I capture her mouth again. My hands slide down the planes of her back, cupping her hips to guide a second slow grind on my thigh. Tiny ripples fan outward from us, lapping the tub’s edge. Behind my ribs, my heart thuds—not the warning pang Iassociate with stress, but a heady, vigorous beat. Being here with her, tending her, arousing her—it feels strangely restorative, like tonic pouring through cracked glass.

I deepen the kiss until she whimpers softly into my mouth. One of her hands travels up my neck, fingers threading into my hair. I murmur, “Tell me if you want less.”

“I want…more.”

That’s all the confirmation I need. Our rhythm finds an effortless cadence—slow, exploratory shifts of hips and mouths. I let my hands drift, mapping the curve of her waist, the arch of her spine. Her skin is slick and silken beneath the water. Each soft gasp fuels my own need, coils it tighter.

And then I remember the necklace, the contract, the suite’s all-seeing security. My natural caution kicks in. I draw back, resting my forehead against hers. “Condom,” I remind myself aloud, though the bath is hardly the place for penetration. Still, rules are rules. We part across the tub so I can put it on, and then I pull her onto my lap once more.

The fit is exquisite. Watching her jerk, devouring her moans as she takes me inside of her, the press of her perky tits against my chest, it’s all too much. And not enough.

I lean back, watching as she figures out how to ride me in the water. It’s like watching a newborn foal learn to run—the thing they’re perfectly evolved to do. I don’t know what Tabitha’s day job is, but I’ll be damned if she wasn’t put on this earth to fuck men into oblivion. My balls ache for this.

I thumb over her nipples as she rides me like a mermaid from a lucky sailor’s dream. Her back arches, sending her tits against my palms harder. Always seeking more pleasure, our girl.

Her cheeks flush pink, and her lips purse as her gasps go louder, her eyes rolling back. I’m almost there, but hers first, always. She wraps her lithe arms around my neck, and I hold her to me as she comes. Love to feel that pulse around my cock. Before I know it, the surge rushes through me too.

Gasping in the foggy bathroom, I take a beat to relish the blankness in my head. It comes so rarely. But as the post-orgasm haze clears, thoughts roll back in like the tide.

The month ahead may be full of polished galas and tedious board dinners, but at the moment, none of that matters. Only this. Only now.

12

SALVATORE

I surfacefrom sleep the way divers return to daylight—slow, disoriented, lungs aching for air. For half a breath, I expect to see Alana’s ghost hovering over the bed, like every dawn since the breakup.

But no. The pillow beside mine holds a tumble of auburn hair instead of black, and the only scent teasing my senses is rosewater and faint almond—not the citrus perfume Alana favored.

It takes a full heartbeat for the change to register. Then another, and another. Alana isn’t here. And for the first morning in half a year, she isn’t even a memory clawing at my chest.

Instead, I’m spooning Tabitha. My hand rests on the curve of her waist, fingertips grazing the thin silk of a camisole she must have borrowed from one of the adjoining closets. She must have climbed into my bed sometime in the night.

She settles back against me with a sigh, utterly trusting, like a stray cat that decided I’m safe enough to nap beside. I lie perfectly still, cataloguing the foreignness of the moment,breathing her in. This moment feels strange. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

How did one night with Tabitha knock Alana out of my morning thoughts? Tabitha is a treasure, to be sure, but it doesn’t seem right that she’d make me forget, even for a few minutes.

And then I put my finger on my mood. Good. It feelsgood. That’s why I didn’t recognize it at first. When was the last time I woke up feeling good?

A sliver of winter sunlight slips between the blackout curtains, striping her bare shoulder. It also illuminates the pearl panic necklace glinting at her throat—a reminder that, legally speaking, she holds veto power over anything that might happen. The thought pleases me. Too many dominants think they hold all the cards, but control is worthless if there’s no freedom to surrender in the first place.

If she can’t say no, it’s not a yes.

But comfort can breed misconceptions, and her soft wriggle against my thigh tells me she’s waking up aroused. We’ve already given her one whirlwind introduction to sensual excess. It wouldn’t surprise me if her body expects an encore.

Mine does too, but I’d rather just enjoy her presence. I exhale, easing my arm away. She stirs, spine arching. When my heat leaves her back, she turns to face me, lashes fluttering.

“Morning,” she whispers, voice husky with sleep. A rosy flush spreads across her cheekbones when she registers how close our faces are.

“Morning.”

Her eyes flick down, and a sly smile curves her lips. She’s noticed the half-hard line tenting the sheet at my hips. Without hesitation her hand slips under the linen, fingertips grazing the waistband of my boxers.

I catch her wrist and guide it back between us. “Not right now.”

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