Page 4 of Ruined by My Ex’s Dad (Silver Fox Obsession #2)

Savannah

W aiting was a new kind of torture.

I paced the length of my hotel suite, champagne still sweating on the table, untouched.

My heart thudded in my throat like it knew precisely how reckless I was being.

What the hell had possessed me to invite a stranger to my room?

Almost a year of rebuilding after Miles.

Months of therapy, promising I’d stop chasing validation from emotionally unavailable men.

And here I was—about to welcome the walking embodiment of unavailable into my bed.

I didn’t even know his name.

But maybe that was the point.

No name meant no expectations.

No history meant no disappointment.

No future meant no heartbreak.

Just heat. Just now. Just this.

This wasn’t me.

Or maybe it was—the part of me I kept buried under politeness and caution. The one that just wanted to feel something real, even if it was temporary. Even if it didn’t last past sunrise.

I should have called it off.

Should have curled up in bed with a face mask and my therapist’s voice in my head, reminding me to choose better.

But I didn’t want better.

Not tonight.

I wanted to feel wanted.

Desperate, hands-in-my-hair, ruin-me-and-leave-me-shaking kind of wanted.

I’d kicked off my heels and removed my jewelry but left the dress on. The silk clung cool and smooth against skin that still pulsed with heat.

I could feel where he’d touched me—phantom impressions of his hands at my waist, firm and possessive, like he was staking a quiet claim.

And his mouth... God, his mouth.

The way his lips had moved over mine—deliberate, savoring, like he was tasting something he'd waited for—had unraveled me in seconds.

His tongue had stroked languidly into my mouth, not demanding, just… knowing.

Tasting.

Tempting.

That single kiss had obliterated every other in my memory, leaving behind nothing but ash and comparison. All those others felt pale now, forgettable. This one had ruined me for all of them.

When the knock came, I froze, suddenly unsure.

But my body moved before my mind could catch up, opening the door in one swift motion.

He stood there, tall and composed, silver hair gleaming under the hallway lights like liquid metal.

His dark blue eyes locked onto mine with that same searing intensity I’d felt at the bar—a slow, deliberate sweep that sent a jolt straight through me.

It wasn’t just a look; it was a claim, silent and scorching, and it left my skin humming.

Heat bloomed low in my stomach as his gaze lingered, unblinking. I felt seen—completely, unnervingly seen—and stripped bare in a way that had nothing to do with my dress.

A subtle scent drifted from him—something clean and masculine with a hint of spice—and it wrapped around me like a memory I hadn’t made yet.

“I wasn't sure you'd come," I said, hating the breathless quality of my voice.

"I wasn't sure you'd still want me to."

I stepped back, allowing him to enter.

As the door closed, the air in the room seemed to change—growing heavier, charged with potential and anticipation.

"I almost talked myself out of this," I admitted.

"Why didn't you?"

I moved closer, drawn in by an invisible pull to this man.

"Because for once in my life, I want to do something reckless. Something that's just for me."

I placed my hands against his muscular chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath expensive fabric. "Something that feels like freedom instead of another cage."

He covered my hands with his, the simple touch causing my arousal to ratchet up a notch.

"And I'm freedom to you?"

"Tonight you are." I rose on tiptoe, bringing my mouth close to his. "A beautiful mistake that's all mine."

"I'm not in the habit of being anyone's mistake," he murmured, his breath warm against my lips.

I smiled. "Then be the exception. For me."

When our lips met this time, there was none of the questioning hesitation from the garden.

This kiss was certain, demanding, a claim being staked. His hands moved to my waist, fingers splaying across the silk of my dress, and I arched into him, seeking more contact.

More pressure.

More everything.

He backed me against the wall, one hand tangling in my hair as the other traced the curve of my hip.

I gasped as he deepened the kiss, his tongue meeting mine in a rhythm that sent heat pooling low in my belly.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough against my ear.

What I wanted.

Such a simple question that no one had bothered to ask me in so long.

Miles had always assumed he knew—what I wanted, what I needed, what I should be.

This stranger was already giving me something my ex never had: the dignity of choice.

"I want to forget," I whispered.

"I want to feel something real."

Something flashed in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or understanding.

His thumb brushed across my lower lip. "Then let me make you feel."

He kissed me again, harder this time, his body pressing mine into the wall with delicious pressure.

I fumbled with his tie, the silk slipping through my fingers before coming loose.

His jacket followed, dropping to the floor with a soft thud.

"This dress," he murmured, fingers tracing the thin straps, "has been driving me mad since the moment I saw you."

"Then take it off," I challenged.

His smile was slow, predatory. "Not yet."

Instead, his hands slid beneath the hem, fingers skimming up my thighs with deliberate leisure.

I shivered, anticipation building as he explored the sensitive skin at the apex of my thighs, discovering the lace that was already damp with want.

"Already so wet," he murmured, approval coloring his voice.

I should have been embarrassed by how quickly he'd aroused me, but there was no shame here in this anonymous space we'd created.

Only honesty.

Only need.

He kissed his way down my neck, teeth grazing my collarbone as his fingers slipped beneath lace to find me slick and aching.

I gasped, hips bucking against his hand as he began to stroke me with the same confidence that radiated from his every move.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze as he worked me higher. There was something unbearably intimate about it—being watched as pleasure built, being seen at my most vulnerable by a complete stranger.

"That's it," he encouraged as I began to tremble.

"Let go. Let me see you."

The orgasm crashed through me with unexpected force, pulling a cry from my throat that I muffled against his shoulder.

He held me through it, murmuring praise against my hair, fingers never stopping until the aftershocks had faded.

In the aftermath, I felt oddly exposed—not physically, but emotionally.

As if he'd seen some essential truth about me that I usually kept hidden.

Before I could retreat behind my walls, he lifted me, carrying me to the bed with an ease that sent another flicker of heat through my body.

He laid me down on the cool sheets, his larger frame following, hovering over me with that same intense focus.

I reached for the buttons of his shirt, needing to touch skin, to feel something solid and real beneath my fingers.

He let me undress him, watching my face as I revealed a chest broader than I'd expected, lightly dusted with hair that narrowed to a trail disappearing beneath his waistband.

A body earned through discipline rather than vanity, powerful and unexpectedly beautiful.

"Your turn," he said, hands returning to the straps of my dress.

He slid them down slowly, the silk whispering against my skin as it pooled at my waist.

His sharp intake of breath as he discovered I wore nothing beneath the bodice was more gratifying than any rehearsed compliment.

"You're exquisite," he said, and though the words were common enough, his tone made them sound like a revelation.

His mouth found my breast, tongue circling each nipple until I was arching beneath him, hands clutching at his shoulders.

The dual sensation of his mouth and the fabric bunched at my waist was maddening—half-dressed, half-exposed, caught between states just as I was caught between passion and vulnerability.

He slid the dress lower, past my hips, down my legs, until it joined his clothes on the floor.

The lace followed, leaving me bare beneath his gaze.

"You're overdressed," I managed, reaching for his belt.

He smiled, helping me with the remaining barriers between us.

When he was finally naked, I took a moment to simply look at him—the powerful thighs, the flat stomach, the evident arousal that made my mouth go dry with anticipation.

"Protection?" he asked, proving himself more considerate than I'd expected in this moment of abandon.

I nodded toward the bedside table, where I'd placed a condom from my toiletry bag in a moment of hopeful preparation.

He reached for it, tearing the packet open with his teeth in a gesture so casually masculine that it sent another pulse of desire through me.

When he settled between my thighs, his weight braced on his forearms, I had a moment of clarity—a brief flash of recognition that this was madness, taking a stranger to my bed, giving my body to someone whose name I didn't know.

Then he entered me in one smooth thrust, and thought became impossible.

"Oh," I gasped, the sensation of fullness overwhelming.

He stilled, watching my face. "Okay?"

I nodded, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him closer, deeper. "Don't stop."

He began to move, setting a rhythm that had me clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into skin.

Each thrust built on the pleasure still lingering from before, climbing toward something that felt dangerously close to transcendent.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice strained with his own control as his gaze moved between my face and where our bodies connected.

"So beautiful taking my cock like this."

Something about the raw intensity in his voice broke through my careful walls.

Tears pricked at my eyes—not from pain, but from the strange, overwhelming intimacy of being truly seen.

He noticed, because, of course, he did. Nothing escaped those intense blue eyes.