Page 23 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes

It should feel ridiculous. It should feel cliché. But when he leads me out to the private terrace and sinks into the steaming water, knees wide, arms resting on the ledge behind him like a king on a throne, it doesn’t feel ridiculous at all.

I slip out of my bra and panties before I can overthink it, already flushed from the heat of being near him and the weight of his stare. He watches me the entire time. Unblinking. Devouring.

By the time I step into the hot tub, my legs feel unsteady.

He doesn’t speak, just reaches out and guides me onto his lap with hands that know exactly what they want. I settle over him, chest to chest, the water lapping against my shoulders as he pulls me in tighter.

“I should be resisting this,” I murmur, voice shaky.

“But you’re not.”

“No.”

His mouth brushes mine. “Good.”

And then he shifts—just slightly—but it’s enough. He slides inside me with one long, hard thrust. My breath leaves my lungs.

He groans low, deep in his chest, like this moment is undoing him, too.

He holds me there, buried deep, his hands locked on my hips, like he can’t decide whether to let me move or make me stay still and feel all of it. I’m stretched, already too full, already shaking, but I don’t want distance. I want more. I want all of it. All of him.

I start to move slowly, rocking my hips in shallow, aching rolls, and his breath stutters against my collarbone. His head falls forward, mouth grazing my skin. He doesn’t rush me or take over, but I can feel the restraint in him like a live current. His hands tremble where they grip me. His jaw locks. Every muscle is tight beneath my palms, his control sharp and coiled and barely intact.

The first time he took me, it felt overwhelming.

This time, it feels…dangerous.

Not because he’s rough or careless. Because he isn’t. He touches me like he knows exactly what I need—how to give it, how to drag it out. Something in the way he watches me now, with that devastating focus, makes it hard to breathe.

He says I’m his.

Hekeepssaying it.

And I know what he’s like. I’ve heard the rumors. The exes, the gossip, the clipped mentions in magazines about women who got too close and got shut out just as fast. Sebastian Wolfe doesn’t date. He doesn’t commit. He builds empires and keeps his distance and leaves people guessing.

Except right now, there’s nothing guarded in the way he touches me. Nothing distant in the way he holds me close, even as he thrusts up into me hard enough to take my breath away. My head falls back and he catches it with one hand, cradling my neck as his mouth finds mine again, all heat and possessiveness and something darker beneath it.

I kiss him back like I mean it. Because I do.

And that terrifies me.

I need to keep perspective. This is temporary. Physical. A product of high stress and proximity and the very real, very hard fact that I am not immune to a man who looks and touches and speaks the way he does. But there's something else happening here. Something I don’t want to name out loud because once I do, I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull it back.

I like the way he takes control of my body. That’s easy to admit. But I also like the way he looks at me when I’m speaking, even when I stumble. I like that he asks questions no one else bothers to. That he pushes. That he listens. I like the way he never lets anything slide, and the way he makes me feel like everything I do matters more than it should.

And God help me, I like the way he says my name.

The first time he groans it into my mouth, I shatter.

The orgasm hits hard and sudden, pulled from me like a secret I wasn’t ready to tell. My body clamps down around him and he lets out a strangled sound, one hand fisting in my hair as his hips jerk, rougher now, less controlled. He’s right there with me, cock pulsing inside me as he follows me over the edge, the heat of him spilling deep.

I don’t move.

I stay curled around him, forehead to his shoulder, thighs trembling. His hands stroke down my back, slower now, softer.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do I.

Because if I open my mouth, I might say something I can’t take back.