Page 16 of Ruined by My Ex’s Dad (Silver Fox Obsession #2)

I moved behind her, close enough to feel her warmth but not touching her.

"What do you think?"

She turned to face me, perched on the edge of my desk.

"I think this room belongs to a man who values substance over appearance. Who appreciates history, craftsmanship." Her eyes held mine. "A man who might actually be worth the risk I'm taking."

The admission hung between us, weighted with everything it acknowledged—that this wasn't merely physical, that we were both stepping into dangerous territory with eyes wide open.

"And what risk is that, exactly?" I asked, stepping between her knees, hands coming to rest on the desk on either side of her, caging without touching.

"You know exactly what I'm risking," she said, her fingers finding the buttons of my shirt again. " Me falling back into my old habits. My independence. My heart, possibly."

She tilted her head, challenge in her eyes.

"The question is, what are you risking, Lucas?"

It was a fair question—one I'd been avoiding since that night at the wedding.

What was I truly putting on the line? My relationship with Miles, already strained but still important? My company's reputation for ethical dealing? My carefully constructed life of control and order?

"More than I have for anyone in a very long time," I admitted, the honesty surprising even me.

Something softened in her expression.

"Then I think I can agree to your terms. For now."

Her hands finished unbuttoning my shirt, pushing it off my shoulders with a confidence that belied her earlier uncertainty.

I allowed it, curious to see how far she would take this moment of control.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to my chest, just above my heart. A gesture so unexpectedly tender it stole my breath.

Her hands explored the planes of my torso, learning me with deliberate care.

"You're in excellent shape for a man your age," she murmured, a teasing light in her eyes.

I raised an eyebrow.

"For a man my age?"

"Mmm."

Her nails scraped lightly down my abdomen, sending heat pooling low in my body. "Does that bother you? The reminder that I'm closer to your son's age than yours?"

I caught her hands, holding them still against my stomach.

"Is that what you think this is about? Some mid-life crisis? Proving I can still attract a beautiful young woman?"

"Isn't it?" The question held genuine curiosity beneath the challenge.

"At least partly?"

"No."

I released one of her hands to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze.

"What lies between us has nothing to do with age, Savannah. Nothing to do with my son. It's about recognition. Connection. The inexplicable pull I've felt toward you from the first moment I saw you."

Her breath caught.

"Pretty words."

"I'm not a man who deals in pretty words," I said, voice hardening slightly.

"I deal in truth. In clarity. In getting exactly what I want through direct means."

"And what do you want, Lucas?" Her hand moved lower, palm pressing against the evidence of my desire.

"This?"

I caught her wrist, stilling her exploration.

"That's part of it, yes. But only part."

Before she could respond, I kissed her harder than before, demanding rather than coaxing. She responded immediately, arms winding around my neck as she pressed herself against me, soft curves molding to hard planes.

I lifted her, setting her more fully on the desk, stepping between her thighs as my hands found the hem of her dress.

She helped, raising her hips as I slid the fabric up, revealing the lace beneath. Black, impossibly delicate, clinging to the curves I'd spent days remembering.

Black, like the night we'd met. The memory sent fresh heat coursing through me, my cock hardening painfully against my trousers.

"Second rule," I murmured against her neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to her collarbone, tasting the salt of her skin.

"Honesty. Always."

"Agreed," she gasped as my teeth grazed the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat.

"Though that hardly seems like a hardship."

"You'd be surprised."

My hands found the zipper of her dress, lowering it with deliberate slowness, watching goosebumps rise on her skin as the metal teeth parted.

"Most people find absolute honesty terrifying."

The dress slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her waist. The lace of her bra was nearly transparent, the rosy peaks of her nipples clearly visible, already tightened with arousal.

My mouth watered at the sight, remembering their taste, their texture, the way they'd hardened further against my tongue.

"Try me," she challenged, even as her body arched toward me, seeking more contact, her thighs parting wider to accommodate me between them.

I cupped her breast, feeling its perfect weight in my palm, my thumb circling but deliberately avoiding the sensitive peak, teasing.

"I've thought of nothing but you since that night. Have imagined you here, in my space, in my bed, beneath me, above me, in every position my mind could conjure. Have fucked my hand to the memory of you coming apart in my arms."

Her breath hitched, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of green remained.

"That's... thorough."

"I'm a thorough man." I finally brushed my thumb across her nipple, watching her reaction intensify, before lowering my head to take it into my mouth, dampening the lace with my tongue, feeling it tighten further.

"I've neglected responsibilities, delegated decisions I typically handle personally, and spent hours staring at reports without absorbing a single word.

All because I couldn't focus on anything but the memory of how your cunt felt around my fingers, how you tasted on my tongue, how you sounded when you came for me. "

Her hands clutched at my shoulders, nails digging half-moons into my skin as I switched to her other breast, teeth grazing the sensitive peak through wet lace.

"Lucas... God..."

"Your turn," I prompted, hands sliding up her inner thighs, feeling the muscles tremble beneath my touch.

I reached the edge of her panties, tracing the lace border where it met soft skin. "Honesty, remember?"

She swallowed, body quivering as I teased along that delicate edge.

"I've been the same. Distracted. Useless at work. I've snapped at my team, missed deadlines..." Her voice broke as my fingers finally slipped beneath lace, parting her folds to find her already dripping with arousal.

"Fuck... I can't sleep without dreaming of you inside me. Can't focus without remembering how you stretched me, filled me, made me feel things I'd forgotten were possible."

The raw honesty in her voice, the vulnerability in her admission, snapped something in my control. I claimed her mouth again, two fingers sliding into her heat, curling to find that spot I'd discovered our first night.

She cried out against my lips, hips bucking into my hand.

"So wet," I murmured, adding a third finger, stretching her.

"So ready. Is this all for me, Savannah?"

"Yes," she gasped, inner muscles clenching around my fingers.

"Only you."

She wasn't passive; her hands found my belt, working it free with surprising dexterity, given her state.

The sound of my zipper lowering was loud in the quiet room, punctuated only by our ragged breathing and the obscene wet sounds of my fingers working inside her.

"I need your cock," she whispered, pushing my boxers aside to wrap her hand around me. "Now."

I groaned as she stroked me from base to tip, her grip perfect—firm but not too tight, twisting slightly on the upstroke in a way that made my knees weak.

"Careful, little fox. It's been days of wanting you."

She smiled, something wicked and feminine in the expression as she circled her thumb over the sensitive head, collecting the moisture there.

"Good. I don't want careful. I want you desperate."

"Mission accomplished," I growled, withdrawing my fingers from her heat to grasp her wrist, stilling her movements before I embarrassed myself.

"Protection," I managed, some last vestige of rationality breaking through the haze of desire.

"Pill," she gasped, legs wrapping higher around my waist, pulling me closer so the head of my cock nudged against her entrance. "And I'm clean. You?"

"Yes." I'd never taken a woman without protection before, had never trusted enough, wanted enough. The realization should have alarmed me, should have triggered caution. Instead, it only intensified my need. "You're sure?"

In answer, she guided me to her entrance, tilting her hips to take just the tip inside. "Completely."

I grasped her hips, holding her steady as I pushed forward, sinking into her in one long, slow thrust that tore groans from both of us.

The sensation was overwhelming—tight, wet heat gripping every inch of me, with nothing between us, just skin against skin, the most intimate connection possible.

"Fuck," I breathed, holding still with monumental effort, forehead pressed against hers. "You feel..."

"Like heaven," she finished, inner muscles fluttering around me.

"Like coming home."

I began to move, setting a deep, measured rhythm, each thrust bottoming out inside her. Her legs tightened around me, ankles crossing at the small of my back, changing the angle so I hit that perfect spot with every stroke. Her head fell back, exposing the elegant line of her throat.

"Look at me," I commanded softly, one hand sliding into her hair, gently turning her face to mine. "I want to see your eyes when you come for me."

Her gaze locked with mine as I drove into her, the connection almost unbearably intimate, more so than the physical joining of our bodies.

This was the recognition I'd spoken of, the inexplicable knowing that had haunted me since our first meeting.

I watched her face as pleasure built, memorizing every detail—the flush spreading across her cheeks, the slight parting of her lips with each exhale, the way her eyes darkened further when I hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"Harder," she demanded, nails raking down my back hard enough to leave marks. "I won't break."