Page 96 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes

Max squeezes my thigh gently, a silent agreement.

I blink rapidly, willing away the fresh sting of tears.

I know. I believe them. But believing it doesn't erase the fear, the overwhelming uncertainty threading through every inch of me.

I glance sideways at Silas, then at Max.

Two men who have every reason to run, to decide this is too complicated, too messy. They could walk away without a backward glance, and no one would blame them.

But they’re still here.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I start to believe maybe that’s enough.

Maybe it’s everything.

I tilt my head up, shifting slightly against Silas’s side. His arm tightens reflexively, as if afraid I’ll pull away. I don’t. I study his face instead—the faint lines around his mouth, the tension still braced in his jaw, the shadows under his eyes.

Without thinking, without second-guessing the impulse for once, I lean up and press my mouth to his.

His breath hitches against my lips, his hand cupping the back of my head, holding me there as he deepens it just enough to chase away any uncertainty. He kisses me deeply and it’s everything I need and everything I’m terrified of, all at once.

When I finally pull back, my heart is hammering against my ribs, but the weight in my chest feels lighter.

I turn toward Max, finding his dark eyes already on me.

I don’t hesitate. I lean in and kiss him too, my hand finding the side of his neck. Max responds immediately, his lips moving over mine with a tenderness that guts me more than any anger or heartbreak ever could.

When I pull away, there’s no hesitation left. Silas shifts first, brushing my hair back from my face with a touch so careful it makes my throat ache.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a rasp of sound against the quiet.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

He searches my face for a long moment, looking for any sign of doubt. When he finds none, he presses another kiss to my forehead, lingering there as if imprinting the moment into memory.

Max moves behind me, his arms sliding around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. His hands rest just above my stomach, and I sink into him with a shuddering breath.

They don’t rush.

There’s no frantic tearing of clothes, no desperate fumbling. Just slow, deliberate movements.

Silas kisses me again, slower this time, his hands mapping the shape of my body with aching tenderness. Max’s lips find the side of my neck, his breath stirring the fine hairs along my skin, sending a shiver through me.

Max’s hands lift the hem of my shirt, peeling it upward with patient care.

The rest of my clothes follow, each piece removed with the same careful slowness, until I’m bare between them, exposed in every way that matters.

Max lays me back against the pillows, his hands framing my face as he kisses me again—soft, slow, savoring every small sound I make. Silas’s hands are everywhere stroking, exploring, reminding me that I’m not alone.

When Max finally presses into me, it’s slow and careful, his forehead resting against mine, his breath ragged.

Silas stays close, his hand sliding down my arm, his mouth whispering promises against my skin.

I lose myself in the rhythm they set. No demands. No expectations.

Just love.

By the time I come apart, it’s with a shuddering gasp, tears slipping silently down my cheeks.