Page 20 of Sexting the Silverfox Daddy
Gennady
Her kiss was soft as a feather, but it hit me right in the chest, where it hurt the most. I looked down at the woman trembling in my arms, her face pale from fear, her eyes brimming with a desperate need for me.
My phone kept buzzing in my pocket, screaming for me to deal with those fucking bastards who'd tried to take her. But right now, my world was just her.
Моя розочка was breaking apart.
"Okay," I said, brushing my fingers along her cheek, feeling her shake beneath my touch. "I'm not going anywhere."
Her eyes lit up with something like gratitude, and she clung to me like I was her lifeline in this fucked-up, dangerous world.
I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick text to Dimitri: Handle it. Bring me a live one. Then I powered it off. Tonight, she had my full attention.
"Come on," I said softly, guiding her toward the bed.
The room's dim lighting cast a warm glow, the heavy curtains shutting out the chaos of the world outside. But her body was still wound tight, fear coursing through her like a live wire. She didn't just need safety—she needed to feel in control again.
"Cassie, look at me." I cupped her chin gently, tilting her face until her eyes met mine.
Her gaze was still clouded with the panic from tonight, that helpless terror that made my chest ache.
Моя розочка, she was supposed to be safe under my watch, not nearly taken by those fucking idiots.
The thought made me want to rip heads off, but more than that, I wanted to fix her, to erase that fear.
"You're still shaking," I said, my hand gliding over her shoulder, feeling the tension knotted in her muscles.
"I can't stop," she admitted, her voice thick with frustration. "Every time I close my eyes, I see those masks, feel their hands on me."
I got it. She needed to take back control of her body, to overwrite those memories with something stronger, something better.
"Then let me help you."
My voice dropped, low and possessive, the tone I knew she responded to. Her pupils flared, her body shifting subtly, like a spark had been lit.
"Do you trust me?" I asked, locking eyes with her.
"Yes," she said without hesitation.
I leaned down, kissing her hard, almost biting, pouring every ounce of need and possession into it. She tensed at first, then melted into me, her body softening under my hands. The kiss was raw, hungry, claiming.
"Tonight, it's just you and me," I murmured against her ear. "My voice, my touch, my everything. Nothing else matters."
She nodded, and I saw it—the fear in her eyes giving way to something else. Desire. A need to let go, to let me take over.
I started unbuttoning her blouse, slow and deliberate, each move heavy with purpose. This wasn't just about getting her clothes off—it was about stripping away the fear, the doubt, the chaos of tonight.
"You're beautiful," I said, meaning every word, watching her skin flush under my gaze.
"Gennady," she whispered, her voice shaky.
"No. Don't talk. Just feel."
I reached for a silk scarf from the bedside, gently tying it over her eyes. Not to control her, but to free her—to let her shut out the world and just be here, with me.
"Now, you don't have to think," I said, my voice low, almost hypnotic. "Just feel me."
She closed her eyes beneath the scarf, surrendering completely. That trust, that total submission, hit me like a freight train. It wasn't just about desire—it was a responsibility. I had to make her forget the terror, the rough hands, the cold threats. I had to rebuild her sense of safety, my way.
My hands moved with deliberate force, pinning her wrists above her head against the soft mattress, my grip firm enough to leave faint marks but never crossing into true pain.
I leaned down, my body pressing heavily against hers, the weight of me a dominant anchor that she couldn't escape—nor did she want to.
Her breath hitched, a mix of anticipation and lingering vulnerability, as I trailed rough kisses along her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin with my teeth, hard enough to elicit a gasp but followed immediately by the soothing swipe of my tongue.
"You're safe," I growled into her ear, my voice a commanding rumble that brooked no argument, sealing the promise as I tightened my hold on her wrists.
She arched beneath me, her body responding instinctively, a tremor running through her as the blindfold amplified every sensation—the heat of my skin against hers, the scrape of my stubble on her collarbone.
I released one hand only to grasp her thigh, hoisting her leg up and around my waist with a possessive yank, spreading her open for me.
My fingers dug into her flesh, kneading roughly, marking her as mine in that primal way, while my other hand kept her pinned, controlling her movements.
She whimpered softly, not from fear but from the overwhelming rush of surrender, her pulse racing under my touch as if begging for more.
I shifted, my free hand sliding down her body with unyielding intent, tracing the curve of her hip before delving between her thighs.
No gentleness here—I thrust two fingers inside her without warning, curling them harshly to hit that spot that made her cry out, her hips bucking against my palm.
She was slick, ready, her inner walls clenching around me in desperate need, but I set the pace, slow and torturous at first, then building to a relentless rhythm that had her moaning, her blindfolded head thrashing side to side.
The scarf robbed her of sight, forcing her to feel every inch of my dominance—the way my thumb circled her clit with bruising pressure, the way I leaned in to bite her shoulder, leaving a red imprint that would remind her of this moment later.
"You're mine," I whispered harshly in her ear, repeating it like a mantra but only once, my breath hot against her skin. "No one can hurt you."
Her response was immediate—a shuddering sigh of relief mixed with ecstasy, her body melting further into submission.
The words seemed to unlock something deep within her, washing away the shadows of past trauma as she gave herself over completely.
I withdrew my fingers abruptly, eliciting a frustrated whine from her lips, only to replace them with my cock, slamming into her in one powerful thrust that buried me to the hilt.
She screamed, a raw sound of pleasure-pain, her nails digging into the sheets since her wrists were still captive in my grasp.
I didn't hold back, pounding into her with rough, unyielding strokes, each one claiming her deeper, my hips grinding against hers in a rhythm designed to overwhelm.
My free hand roamed possessively—clutching her breast, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her arch and gasp, then soothing it with a firm squeeze.
She felt every impact, the way my body caged hers, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room, building a cocoon of intensity where nothing else existed but us.
Her breaths came in ragged pants, her body trembling with the force of it, waves of heat coiling tighter in her core as I controlled her completely, dictating the angle, the depth, the speed.
Yet through the roughness, I watched her—felt the way she trusted me, her muscles relaxing even as I pushed her limits.
I leaned down again, my mouth capturing hers in a bruising kiss, teeth tugging at her lower lip before I pulled back to murmur commands in her ear, my voice a low growl that vibrated through her.
"Feel this," I demanded, thrusting harder, "feel how I own you.
" Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her body writhing under mine as the blindfold heightened the sensory overload—the sting of my grip on her thigh, the ache building where our bodies joined, the security in knowing she was utterly safe in my control.
As her climax approached, I felt it in the way she tightened around me, her legs quaking.
I released her wrists at last, but only to flip her onto her stomach with a swift, dominant motion, pulling her hips up to meet mine.
My hand fisted in her hair, tugging her head back just enough to expose her neck, where I planted open-mouthed bites while driving into her from behind, deeper, rougher.
She pushed back against me, meeting my thrusts with eager abandon, her cries muffled into the pillow as the pleasure crested.
When she shattered, it was explosive—her body convulsing, a flood of warmth enveloping me as she sobbed my name.
I followed soon after, my own release a guttural roar as I emptied into her, collapsing over her back, my arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace that contrasted the earlier ferocity.
As we lay there, wrapped in each other, I felt her body finally let go completely. No more shaking, no more fear—just the quiet, steady rhythm of her breathing as she nestled against my chest.
"You feeling better?" I asked, brushing my fingers through her sweat-damp hair.
"Yeah," she murmured against my chest, her voice soft, content, at peace. "With you, I'm not afraid of anything."
A warmth flooded through me, fierce and overwhelming. I'd give anything to protect her—my power, my blood, my fucking life if it came to it.
My phone sat silent on the nightstand, the world outside waiting for my orders, my vengeance. But right now, my world was this room, this woman sleeping peacefully in my arms because she trusted me.
Tomorrow, I'd make those bastards pay for touching her. I'd tear their fucking world apart. But tonight, I just wanted to guard her dreams.
I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, whispering against her skin, "Sleep, Cassie. Tonight, tomorrow, every night after—I'll be right here."
It was a promise I could give her, a vow I made to myself. No matter how dangerous this world was, no matter how dark my life, I'd protect her. I'd make her feel safe.
Because she was my rose. My only rose.