Page 112 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes

“We’ll give you whatever you want,” he says, peppering my face with kisses.

Relief hits me so fast and hard that I almost laugh.

Max rises too, moving to stand behind the couch, his hands settling gently on my shoulders. His thumbs massage slow circles against the tense muscles there.

“Is that…okay?”

“We’re not going anywhere, baby,” Silas says, voice low and rough. “You’re stuck with us. If Sebastian is what you want, then we’ll figure it out.”

I nod, a tight, jerky movement, because I’m afraid if I speak, I’ll cry.

Max squeezes my shoulders once, then leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. Silas’s hand finds mine, weaving our fingers together.

I let out a shaky breath, the knot in my chest loosening just enough to let hope filter through.

“You’re sure?” Max asks.

“I’m sure.”

That’s all the permission they need.

Silas’s hand tightens around mine before he releases it, rising fluidly to his feet. He holds his hand out to me, palm up, an invitation and a command all in one. My heart stutters against my ribs, but I take it without hesitation, letting him pull me up.

Max’s hands slide down my arms, a lingering caress, before he steps around the couch to join us. His fingers brush the inside of my wrist, a featherlight touch that makes me feel all tingly.

They guide me toward the bedroom, moving around me with a coordination that always leaves me a little breathless. They’re a team in everything they do, but when it comes to me—when it comes tothis—they move in sync in a way that makes it feel inevitable.

Max closes the door behind us, shutting out the rest of the world. Silas stops in the middle of the room, turning to face me, his eyes already dark with desire.

“We’re going to take care of you,” he says, his voice roughened with promise. “You don’t have to think. You don’t have to plan. Just let us.”

My throat tightens. I nod again because words feel too small for what’s building inside me.

Max steps up behind me, his hands finding my hips, guiding me backward until I’m flush against his chest. His breath stirs the hair at my temple, and I feel the rumble of his voice more than I hear it.

“You’re ours, Genevieve.”

The quiet certainty of it undoes something deep inside me.

They strip me down, peeling away the layers of fabric until I’m standing there in nothing but my underwear and the soft flush rising up my neck.

Max’s hands are steady as he unclasps my bra, sliding the straps down my arms, baring me to their hungry, heated gazes. Silas presses a kiss to my bare shoulder, then another, working his way slowly down my arm.

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

I reach for him instinctively, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, needing something to hold onto. He hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my skin, and leans in to kiss the pulse fluttering wildly at my throat.

Behind me, Max’s hands move across my waist, my hips, higher until they brush the underside of my breasts. His mouth brushes the curve of my ear, a whisper of breath that makes my knees wobble.

“Bed,” he commands.

I let them lead me again, pliant under their hands, trusting them to catch me.

Silas pulls back the covers, and Max lifts me gently, setting me down in the center of the mattress. They strip with the same unhurried care, their movements fluid, unselfconscious. My heart pounds harder at the sight of them—these two men who have seen me at my weakest, my most broken, and still chose me anyway.

Silas crawls onto the bed first, settling beside me, his hands bracketing my face as he leans down to kiss me. The kiss is slow, deep, his mouth coaxing mine open, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips with maddening patience.

Max joins us a moment later, his hand stroking the length of my thigh, a soothing counterpoint to the heat building between me and Silas. He peppers kisses along my jaw, my shoulder, grounding me even as Silas steals every coherent thought from my head.