Page 39 of Ruined by My Ex’s Dad (Silver Fox Obsession #2)

Through it all, I kept Savannah by my side, my hand rarely leaving her back, her waist, her arm—not from possessiveness now, but from a simple need to maintain contact, to ground myself in her reality as my world reconfigured itself around this new truth.

By the time we made our excuses and departed, the energy between us had built to something nearly tangible—a charge that made the elevator ride to the penthouse suite I'd reserved for the night feel endless, electric with anticipation.

The moment the room door closed behind us, I had her against it, mouth claiming hers with the hunger I'd been controlling all evening.

She responded with equal ferocity, fingers yanking at my tie, at the buttons of my shirt, her leg hooking around my hip to pull me closer.

"That speech," she gasped as my lips found her neck, the sensitive spot beneath her ear that never failed to make her shiver.

"Where did that come from?"

"From here," I murmured, placing her hand over my heart. "From truth I've been avoiding for too long."

She tugged my head back, forcing me to meet her gaze. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The business implications? The gossip? The scrutiny we'll face?"

"I don't care." I worked at the hidden zipper of her dress, needing to feel her skin beneath my hands.

"None of it matters compared to this. To us."

The dress fell in a whisper of silk, revealing a body I'd memorized yet never tired of discovering. Black lace against pale skin, the contrast a masterpiece I wanted to study for hours. But patience was beyond me tonight.

I lifted her, carrying her to the massive bed that dominated the suite, laying her against cream-colored sheets with reverent care that belied the urgency pulsing through me.

Standing back, I shed my remaining clothes, my cock already hard and aching for her.

Her eyes darkened as she took me in, her tongue darting out to wet her lips in a gesture that nearly undid me.

"Come here," she whispered, reaching for me. "I need you."

I joined her on the bed, covering her body with mine, the sensation of skin against skin electric.

I kissed my way down her body, taking my time despite the urgency thrumming between us.

I unhooked her bra with practiced ease, revealing breasts that filled my hands perfectly.

I took one nipple into my mouth, sucking firmly while my thumb circled the other, drawing a moan from her that sent heat straight to my groin.

"I meant everything I said tonight," I murmured against her heated skin, trailing kisses down her stomach. "Every word. Every implication."

My fingers hooked into her lace panties, sliding them down her legs with deliberate slowness. When she was finally naked beneath me, I paused to drink in the sight—her flushed skin, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the glistening evidence of her desire between her thighs.

"Lucas," she breathed, spreading her legs in invitation. "Please."

I settled between her thighs, inhaling her intoxicating scent before tasting her with a long, deliberate stroke of my tongue.

She cried out, hips bucking against my mouth as I found her clit, circling it with increasing pressure. I slid two fingers inside her, curling them to find the spot that made her gasp my name.

"That's it," I encouraged, watching her face as pleasure built. "Let go for me."

Her hands clutched at the sheets, at my hair, her body tensing as I increased the rhythm of my fingers, the pressure of my tongue.

When she came, it was with a cry that might have been heard in the hallway, her body arching off the bed, inner muscles clenching around my fingers in waves that seemed endless.

I kissed my way back up her body as she trembled with aftershocks, positioning myself between her thighs. The head of my cock slid through her wetness, teasing her entrance without pushing in.

"I love you," I said, holding her gaze as I finally, slowly entered her.

"I need you. I choose you. Above ambition. Above achievement. Above control."

Tears gathered in her eyes as I filled her completely, my hips flush against hers. I began to move, each thrust slow, deliberate, and deep, watching her expression shift with every sensation.

"Lucas," she gasped, her legs wrapping around my waist to take me deeper. "Please."

"Tell me what you need," I urged, slowing my movements to a pace that bordered on torment for us both. "Anything. Everything. It's yours."

What she said next stopped my breath, stole my carefully maintained rhythm, and shifted something fundamental between us.

"I need you to let go," she whispered, her eyes holding mine with unflinching directness.

"Not to give me what you think I want. Not to control the experience. Just... surrender. To this. To us. To me."

The request struck at the core of who I'd been for decades. Control wasn't just my preference; it was my identity. My safety. My certainty in an uncertain world.

Yet looking into her eyes, feeling her tight heat surrounding me, I found myself nodding. "Yes."

And I did.

I surrendered to the sensation, to the primal rhythm our bodies found together. I stopped thinking about technique, about her pleasure, about the perfect angle or pressure.

Instead, I felt the slick heat of her around me, the softness of her breasts against my chest, the way her breath caught with each deep thrust.

My pace increased without conscious decision, driven by need rather than strategy. The sounds she made—soft gasps and throaty moans—pushed me closer to the edge. I could feel her tightening around me, her second climax approaching.

"Come with me," she breathed against my ear, nails dragging down my back. "Let go. For me."

Her words, her touch, the scent of her skin—it all combined to shatter my control. I drove into her one final time, burying myself to the hilt as release tore through me. I felt her inner muscles contract around me as she followed, our bodies locked together in perfect shared ecstasy.

I didn't hold back the sounds that escaped me—didn't moderate my expression or control my reaction. For the first time, I allowed myself to be completely vulnerable in the moment of greatest pleasure, completely seen in my most unguarded state.

When the waves finally subsided, I collapsed beside her, pulling her against me rather than maintaining the careful distance I usually did until I'd regained composure. Our bodies remained connected, her leg thrown over mine, my arm holding her close.

"That's the first time," she said softly, tracing patterns on my chest with gentle fingers.

"First time for what?" I propped myself on one elbow, studying her face in the soft light.

"The first time you've ever truly let go with me." Her smile held a hint of wonder. "The first time you weren't directing, controlling, ensuring I got what I needed first."

I started to protest, but stopped myself.

She was right.

Even in our most passionate encounters, a part of me had remained detached, observing, calculating. Ensuring her pleasure was a point of pride, yes, but also a form of control.

"I didn't realize," I admitted, the honesty coming more easily now. "I thought I was being... generous."

"You were." She leaned up to press a kiss to my jaw.

"But there's a difference between generosity and surrender. Tonight you finally showed me both."

Something in her words shifted the dynamic between us in ways I was only beginning to comprehend. She hadn't just seen me naked physically; she'd witnessed a nakedness of spirit I'd shown to no one else.

"I love you," I said again, the words no longer foreign on my tongue. "And I'm terrified by how much."

"Good." She settled against my chest, her heartbeat synchronizing with mine in perfect counterpoint. "Fear means it matters. Means it's real."

I tightened my arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, her skin, the indefinable essence that had become necessary to my existence.

"What happens now? After tonight's declaration, there's no going back. The board will have questions. Investors will want assurances. The press will be relentless."

"Now," she said, "we face it together. Not as Lucas Turner, CEO, and Savannah Blake, marketing consultant. But as us. Partners. Equals."

"Equals," I repeated, testing the word, finding it fit more comfortably than I'd expected. "Even though I'm twenty years older? Even though my position gives me inherent advantages in certain contexts?"

She raised herself on one elbow, mirroring my earlier position, her expression serious now.

"Age is circumstance, not character. Position is external, not internal. What makes us equals isn't similarity of situation but compatibility of essence." Her finger traced my lips, silencing the objection I hadn't yet formed.

"You see me completely and choose me anyway. I see you completely and choose you anyway. That's equality in the only way that matters."

The wisdom in her words—so clear, so uncompromising, so perfectly reflective of the woman I'd fallen in love with—settled something in me that had been restless for decades.

A question I hadn't known I was asking finally found its answer.

"Move the rest of your things tomorrow," I said, the words emerging not as a command but as a request. "No more separate spaces. No more symbolic independence. Just us, building something together."

She studied me for a long moment, those green eyes missing nothing. Whatever she saw in my face must have satisfied her, because she nodded once, decisively.

"Yes," she said simply. "It's time."

As she settled back against me, as sleep began to claim us both, I realized the true significance of the evening. Tonight hadn't just been about publicly claiming Savannah, about acknowledging our relationship to the world.

It had been about her claiming me. All of me—the power and the vulnerability, the strength and the fear, the control and the surrender.

For the first time in my carefully ordered existence, I belonged to someone as completely as they belonged to me, not through possession or dominance or strategic advantage.

But through choice.

Through recognition.

Through the profound understanding that separate, we were formidable.

Together, we were unstoppable.