Page 17 of Ruined by My Ex’s Dad (Silver Fox Obsession #2)

I complied, increasing the force of my thrusts, the desk creaking beneath us.

Papers scattered to the floor, my laptop teetering precariously at the edge until she shoved it aside, clearing space as she leaned back on her elbows, changing the angle again.

"Touch yourself," I urged, overwhelmed by the sight of her spread across my desk, dress bunched at her waist, breasts spilling from black lace, lips swollen from my kisses.

"Show me what you need."

Her hand slid between us, fingers circling her clit as I continued to pound into her.

The sight of her touching herself while taking me nearly undid my control completely.

"That's it," I encouraged, voice rough with strain.

"So beautiful. So fucking perfect."

Her movements grew more desperate, less coordinated, her inner muscles beginning to flutter around me—the prelude to release.

"I'm close," she gasped. "So close."

I shifted my angle slightly, hitting deeper, and reached down to replace her fingers with mine.

"Come for me," I demanded, circling her clit with firm pressure. "Let go, little fox. Let me see you fall apart."

The endearment seemed to trigger something in her. She cried out my name, back arching off the desk as her climax claimed her, inner walls clamping down on my cock in rhythmic pulses that threatened to drag me over with her. I fought it, determined to watch every second of her pleasure.

Her eyes flew open in the midst of her release, locking with mine with an expression of wonder and surrender. The raw vulnerability in that gaze, the complete abandon, the trust implicit in letting me see her like this—it shattered my last vestiges of control.

I thrust once more, hard and deep, burying myself to the hilt as my orgasm tore through me.

I came with a guttural groan, emptying myself inside her in hot pulses, marking her in the most primal way possible.

Mine , some ancient part of me insisted.

Mine, now.

For long moments, we remained joined, breathing ragged, bodies trembling with aftershocks. Her face was pressed into my neck, her arms still wrapped around me as if she couldn't bear to let go. I held her equally tight, something protective and fierce rising in me at her vulnerability.

"Third rule," I murmured against her hair, "no regrets."

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against my chest.

"Is that for me, or you?"

A perceptive question.

One that made me pull back slightly to study her face, flushed with pleasure, eyes bright with satisfaction, and something more complex.

"Both, perhaps."

I helped her off the desk, steadying her when her legs trembled. The sight of her dress around her waist, hair tousled from my hands, lips swollen from my kisses, sent a fresh wave of possessiveness through me.

Mine, a primitive part of me insisted.

Not Miles's.

Not anyone's but mine.

The thought brought with it a sudden, sharp awareness of exactly what I'd done. What line I'd crossed.

I'd taken my son's ex-girlfriend on my office desk. Had claimed her in the most primitive way possible, marking her internally in a manner I'd never done with any other woman. Had broken every ethical boundary I'd established in my professional and personal life.

And I couldn't bring myself to regret it.

That was the most disturbing realization of all—not the act itself, but my complete lack of remorse.

The knowledge that I would do it again, would take her again, would claim her in every way possible if she allowed it.

She was watching me, those green eyes missing nothing.

"Having second thoughts already?" she asked, pulling her dress back into place with a composure that impressed me. "So much for rule three."

"Not second thoughts," I said, helping her with her zipper.

"Just... clarity."

"About?"

I considered deflecting, offering some platitude that would preserve my dignity, my image.

But I'd imposed the honesty rule.

Would be a hypocrite to break it now.

"About how far I'm willing to go for this," I admitted.

"For you."

Something flashed in her eyes—surprise, perhaps, or wariness.

"And how far is that, exactly?"

I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, studying the complex woman before me. The woman who had cracked foundations I'd thought impenetrable. Who had made me question priorities I'd thought immutable.

"Further than I've gone for anyone in a very long time," I said, echoing my earlier words. "Perhaps further than is wise."

She held my gaze, an unspoken question in her eyes. After a moment, she asked softly, "Was it like this with Miles's mother?"

The question caught me off guard. Not because it was inappropriate—we'd long since crossed the line of appropriate conversation—but because it touched on a past I rarely discussed. A youthful mistake that had shaped the course of my life.

"No," I said finally.

"Nothing like this. Catherine was... a college mistake. A single night with a broken condom. We barely knew each other."

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "That explains a lot about your relationship with Miles."

"I tried to do right by them both," I said, finding myself wanting her to understand.

"Financially, legally. But I was young and focused on building my company. Catherine wanted nothing to do with me and decided she wanted to raise Miles alone. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I even knew I had a son.

By the time Miles was old enough to form a relationship with, he'd already decided I was the villain in his story. We are only now learning to form a relationship as father and son.”

"And you never corrected that impression?"

I shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation yet feeling compelled to continue.

"I was never good at being what he needed …at being... warm. I provided opportunities, education, and connections. But never what he actually wanted."

"Which was?"

"A father who put him first," I said simply. "Something I didn't know how to be."

Her hand came up to cup my cheek, a gesture so unexpectedly tender it nearly undid me. "Thank you for telling me."

I covered her hand with mine, turning to press a kiss to her palm. "Honesty, remember? Rule two."

She nodded, something shifting in her expression—resolution, perhaps, or acceptance. "Then I should be honest too. This isn't just physical for me anymore, Lucas. If it ever was."

The admission hung between us, weighted with all its implications.

This wasn't moving into territory neither of us had mapped, neither of us had prepared for.

I should have been alarmed. Should have stepped back, established firmer boundaries, protected us both from the inevitable complications.

Instead, I kissed her again—gently this time, with none of the earlier desperation but with a tenderness that surprised even me.

"Stay," I said against her lips. "Not just for tonight."

It wasn't a question, wasn't quite a command. Something in between—an invitation, a request, a hope I hadn't known I harbored until the words escaped.

Her answer would determine everything that followed. Would set the course for whatever this was becoming.

And for the first time in decades, I found myself genuinely uncertain of the outcome. Unsure, and yet strangely exhilarated by the possibility in that uncertainty.

Whatever came next, one thing was clear: the lines I'd crossed tonight couldn't be uncrossed.

The boundaries I'd broken couldn't be rebuilt.

The foundations I'd thought unshakable had shifted irrevocably.

And the woman who had caused that seismic shift now stood before me, considering my invitation with those perceptive green eyes. Eyes that had seen through my carefully constructed facade from the first moment. Eyes that now held my future in their depths.

"Yes," she finally said, the single syllable changing everything.

"Not just for tonight."

I pulled her to me, something fierce and triumphant rising in my chest. Something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Whatever came next—whatever consequences awaited, whatever damage we might inflict on each other, whatever bridges we might burn—we would face it together.

For better or worse, Savannah Blake was mine now.

And I was indisputably hers.