Page 37 of Ruined by My Ex’s Dad (Silver Fox Obsession #2)

He didn't insult my intelligence with instant denial. Instead, he considered the question with the same thoughtfulness he brought to every significant decision.

"Once, I would have said yes without hesitation," he admitted finally. "The ends justified the means, particularly when those ends built something lasting, something that provided jobs and security for thousands of people.

”Andnow?“

His eyes met mine, something vulnerable in their depths. "Now I find myself considering impacts beyond bottom lines. Consequences beyond quarterly reports. Legacy that extends beyond buildings and acquisitions.“

” Because of me?“

"Because of us," he corrected, moving closer. "Because you've shown me possibilities I'd dismissed as irrelevant. Connections I'd convinced myself were unnecessary. Ways of measuring success that have nothing to do with power or control or material acquisition."

He stood before me now, close enough that I could catch the familiar scent of cedar and bergamot, could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes that spoke of a life fully lived.

"I'm not a perfect man, Savannah. Not even a particularly good one by conventional standards." He took my hands, holding them with unexpected gentleness.

"But I am a man capable of growth. Of change. Of becoming something more than the sum of my ambitions."

The honesty in his voice and the vulnerability in his expression made my throat tighten with emotion. This wasn't a practiced speech, nor was it a calculated seduction. This was raw truth, offered without expectation or manipulation.

"I don't want perfect," I said softly. "I just want real. And you, Lucas Turner—for all your complications, all your contradictions—are the most real thing I've ever known."

"To our future," I said, meeting his eyes.

"To partnership," he countered, touching his glass to mine.

The scotch burned pleasantly going down, but I barely noticed, too focused on the way Lucas was looking at me. As if seeing me for the first time. As if cataloging every detail to commit to memory.

"Show me," I said softly, setting down my glass.

"Show you what?"

"The office space you had Elena prepare. The closet space you cleared." I moved closer, close enough to see the heat beginning to kindle in his eyes. "Show me how you've made room for me in your life."

He took my hand without a word, leading me through the penthouse I'd come to know so well.

The second bedroom had been transformed—my makeshift office setup from previous overnight stays was now properly arranged with a new desk, ergonomic chair, and proper lighting.

Professional and elegant, but unmistakably designed for serious work.

"It's perfect," I breathed, running my fingers along the desk surface.

"I wanted you to have everything you need to work comfortably from here," he said, watching my reaction carefully. "Your independence was non-negotiable."

In the master bedroom, he opened the walk-in closet to reveal exactly what he'd promised—half the space cleared, new organizers installed, hangers waiting. But what caught my attention was the small velvet box sitting on the center shelf.

"What's that?" I asked, nodding toward it.

"A housewarming gift," he said, retrieving the box with careful hands. "For the woman brave enough to share her life with Lucas Turner."

Inside was a key, not the simple gold of my necklace, but platinum, intricate, clearly custom-made. Hanging from a chain that matched the metal of his watch, now circling my wrist.

"A key to what?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew.

"Everything," he said.

"The penthouse. The Napa house. The cabin in Tahoe. My life, Savannah. All of it."

The gesture was overwhelming in its completeness, its absolute commitment. I looked up at him, this powerful man who was offering me not just access to his world, but equal partnership in it.

"I love you," I said, the words feeling insufficient for the enormity of what I felt.

He set the box aside and pulled me against him, his mouth finding mine with desperate intensity. This wasn't the controlled passion I'd grown accustomed to, but something rawer, more urgent. A claiming that went both ways.

"Mine," he murmured against my lips, hands already working at the buttons of my blouse.

"Yours," I agreed, my own fingers busy with his shirt. "Just as you're mine."

The confirmation seemed to unleash something in him.

He lifted me easily, carrying me to the bed—our bed now—and laid me down with reverent care.

But there was nothing gentle in the way he stripped away my remaining clothes, nothing controlled in the heat of his gaze as he took in every inch of exposed skin.

"I need to touch you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "Need to feel you respond to me. Need to know this is real."

"It's real," I promised, reaching for him.

This wasn’t careful, wasn’t slow—this was desperate, a claiming that went both ways.

”You are mine," Lucas breathed against my lips, already undoing my blouse, fingers grazing bare skin as he worked the buttons open one after another.

"Yours," I said back, my fingers fumbling at his shirt, tugging it free of his pants, greedy for the heat of his skin. "But you’re mine, too. All of you."

That made him growl—a rough, low sound in his throat. He yanked my blouse off and tossed it aside. His mouth was on my neck, then lower, teeth scraping along my collarbone, leaving marks that would last for days.

He lifted me, carried me to the bed—our bed. He laid me down, not gentle now, eyes dark as he stripped the rest of my clothes away, like he couldn’t get me naked fast enough.

He knelt over me for a second, looking down at every inch of exposed skin. His hands roamed, rough palms on my thighs, my hips, squeezing my ass, pushing my legs open wider.

"I need to touch every part of you," he rasped. "Need to feel you shake for me."

I reached up, dragging him down until his weight pressed me into the mattress. His body was hot and heavy, all muscle and want. He slid his hands up my ribs, cupping my breasts, thumbs flicking over tight nipples until I arched up for more.

He bent to suck one into his mouth, tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp. I twisted under him, needy and shameless, legs spreading, grinding my hips up to feel him—hard and thick through his pants.

"Off," I ordered, voice rough with need, tugging at his belt.

He obliged, standing to strip in one fast, practiced motion.

His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, and my mouth watered at the sight. He stroked himself, eyes locked on me, pupils blown wide.

"Spread your legs for me," he said, voice all command, no patience left.

I obeyed, knees falling wide. He crawled between them, pausing to run his tongue up my thigh—slow, hot, teasing. Then he buried his mouth between my legs, tongue flicking, sucking, licking me until I was shaking, fists twisted in the sheets, breath coming fast and sharp.

"Lucas—fuck?—"

He just smiled, a smug glint in his eyes, and kept going. His tongue circled my clit, slow at first, then faster. He slid two fingers inside, crooking them up to stroke that spot that made my whole body tighten.

"You taste like you belong to me," he growled, pulling back to watch me come undone.

I broke for him, shaking, crying out his name as I came hard against his mouth. He licked me through it, then crawled up my body, kissing me roughly, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

"I want you inside me," I said, voice shaking, "Now."

He lined himself up, rubbing the head of his cock through my slick, coating himself, teasing me with just the tip.

"This is different," he said, voice raw. "You feel it too?"

I nodded, too far gone for words. "Please. I need you."

He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, filling me until there was nothing left but him—stretching, claiming, making me his. He held still, forehead pressed to mine, breath harsh against my cheek.

"You feel like home," he whispered, eyes on mine, like he needed me to know the truth.

Something in my chest shattered. I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, locking him in place.

"Move," I begged, nails raking down his back. "Show me. Make me yours. Completely."

He started to move, slow at first, deep and deliberate, every thrust sending sparks up my spine. He rolled his hips just right, grinding against my clit, making me whimper, desperate for more.

"Look at me," he demanded, hand on my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I want to see you when you fall apart."

He fucked me with purpose, hips snapping, cock dragging along every nerve ending. I clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, body arching to take everything he gave.

"You’re mine," he gritted, snapping his hips harder. "Say it."

"Yours," I gasped, voice breaking. "Always. Only yours."

He slid a hand between us, thumb circling my clit in tight, fast strokes. My orgasm crashed over me like a wave, tearing through me, making my whole body clamp down around him.

"That’s it," he groaned, not slowing. "Come again. I want to feel you milk my cock."

He kept moving, pushing me higher, dragging out every aftershock. When he came, he buried himself deep, pulse throbbing, breath ragged in my ear as he spilled inside me.

He didn’t pull out right away. He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard, his weight pinning me down, anchoring me in the moment.

We lay tangled together, sweat cooling, hearts racing. I felt his fingers trace lazy circles on my belly, his other hand still tangled in my hair.

I let myself drift, sinking into the softness of his touch, the ache between my legs, the thick, pleasant soreness that said I’d been truly claimed.

He pressed a kiss to my temple, then another to my lips—gentle this time. "No regrets?"

I smiled, shaky and honest.

"None. Only that it took us so long to get here."

He rolled to his side, pulling me with him, our legs still tangled. I traced the lines of his chest, the scars and hard muscle, memorizing every detail.

"I want you here," he said, quiet but firm. "In this bed, every night. I want to wake up with you. I want everyone to know you’re mine."

My throat tightened. "You have me. All of me."

His eyes softened, and for the first time, I saw the fear beneath his confidence—the need.

"And you have me," he said. "Every broken, selfish piece."

He reached down, cupped my sex, thumb stroking gently, teasing me back to life.

"Already?" I laughed, breathless.

"I can’t get enough of you," he said, voice rough with honesty. "I never will."

He kissed me again, softer now, hands roaming, relearning every inch of me.

This was different from the first time. There was no rush, no desperation—just connection, skin on skin, the trust that comes when you’ve finally stopped running.

He slid inside me again, slow and deep, rocking into me with lazy, languid thrusts. My body was sensitive, raw, but the pleasure built slowly, blooming everywhere he touched.

He rolled us, pulling me on top, letting me set the pace. I rode him, hips rolling, head thrown back as he worshipped my body with his hands and mouth, letting me take everything I needed.

When I came again, it was with his name on my lips, his hands guiding my hips, his eyes locked on mine. He followed, surging up to kiss me as he found his own release, groaning into my mouth.

We collapsed together, limbs tangled, skin slick with sweat and satisfaction.

After, he pulled the covers over us, keeping me close, refusing to let me drift too far.

"You’re not leaving," he said, as if daring me to argue.

I shook my head. "Not tonight. Maybe not ever."

He laughed, the sound low and satisfied. "Good. Because I’d just have to drag you back."

We lay like that, quiet and safe, the city lights spilling in through the window, the world outside fading away.

For the first time, I believed him.

I was home.