Page 4 of Sexting the Silverfox Daddy

Seconds later, Dimitri pushed through the door.

"Escort Miss Ginnie to her room." My voice was hoarse with suppressed fury. "Make sure she's gone by morning."

"Yes, Boss." Dimitri approached Ginnie. "Ma'am, please come with me."

Ginnie looked at me with a mixture of anger, desperation, and resentment, but finally followed Dimitri out of the room.

The room fell silent again, but the air still reeked of her nauseating sweet perfume, like invisible filth clinging to every inch of space and my senses.

That smell, mixed with the ashes of betrayal and the humiliation of being played, made the rage building in my chest nearly explode. Even more infuriating was that my body still maintained some state of arousal—three years of celibacy had made me hypersensitive to any form of stimulation.

This disconnect between body and mind made me even angrier.

I jerked to my feet and strode toward the private bathroom connected to the study. I needed to wash away this suffocating scent, and more importantly, wash away the contaminated feeling left by that brief but dangerous moment of weakness.

Icy water cascaded down as I stood under the spray, letting the bone-chilling streams pound my body. Water droplets slid down the tense muscle lines, trying to wash away the lingering sensation of Ginnie's fingertips and the physical reaction she'd deliberately provoked.

I closed my eyes, the water's roar drowning out everything else in the enclosed space. The ice water gradually calmed the agitation that had been forcibly stirred up and then forcibly suppressed, but it also made me aware of an unsettling fact—I'd been without a woman's touch for too damn long.

Three years. Three full years of celibacy, not because of any noble loyalty, but because I hadn't met anyone worth it. The women who tried to get close to me were either after power or money—not one genuinely attracted me. Their greed and scheming were written all over their faces, disgusting.

But tonight, Ginnie's seduction reminded me of one fact—I was a man, a man with normal needs.

Hot water replaced the cold, steam filling the space, muscles relaxing slightly under the warm flow, but the ice in my heart and will to control everything only solidified further.

After drying off, I put on a dark velvet robe, the belt tied loosely, chest partially exposed, still carrying the bathroom's heat.

I walked to the study's large floor-to-ceiling windows and poured myself a glass of aged Burgundy. Outside, scattered city lights twinkled in the darkness, outlining my cold and dangerous kingdom.

I took a sip, the deep red liquid releasing slightly bitter tannins on my tongue like some kind of sobering agent.

The exhaustion still penetrated to my bones, but the irritation Ginnie had brought and that stirred-up physical agitation had been forcibly suppressed back into the unfathomable depths of my heart under the alternating hot and cold water.

What replaced it was a deeper, almost nihilistic emptiness. Maybe Ginnie was right, maybe I did need a woman—but definitely not one like her. What I needed was someone who could truly attract me, someone who came to me out of pure desire, not for power and money.

But did such a woman exist? In this world polluted by interests and schemes?

Just then, my phone on the desk lit up silently, the blue glow unnaturally bright in the dim study. That light was like phosphorus fire in the night, instantly catching my attention.

I walked over and picked up the phone. The screen showed a message from an unknown number.

Anonymous: Late-night insomnia, my body's burning hot for you. Craving your fingers exploring every inch of my skin, wanting you to take me right now and completely dominate me.

And there was a photo—in the dim, suggestive lighting, an exquisite collarbone displayed like a work of art, skin glowing with an enticing pearl-like luster in the light.

Her neckline hung loose and open, revealing an expanse of snow-white skin while cleverly concealing the most crucial parts.

Those curves were barely visible in the shadows, every inch of skin radiating primitive, naked seduction, like a rosebud waiting to bloom, tempting exploration of the unknown territory beneath that thin fabric.

The desire that had been forcibly suppressed by the cold shower and wine suddenly exploded violently in my bloodstream without warning.

This time, it wasn't a forced physical reaction, but pure, primitive attraction instantly sweeping through my entire body.

This photo contained none of Ginnie's artificial coquettishness, no calculated manipulation—just the most primitive, honest seduction.

Under the robe, my recently cooled skin felt like it was instantly set ablaze.

Ginnie's clumsy tricks had left only the ashes of humiliation and anger, but this message, this photo, was like a bucket of hot oil poured precisely on those ashes, instantly igniting a towering inferno—a near-ravenous interest consumed me.

This text came so directly, so inappropriately timed, yet so perfectly timed.

Dangerous sparks danced in my eyes, but my fingertips carried an almost cruel sense of control as I coldly typed out characters.

Me: Sending such tempting invitations to strangers in the middle of the night, little rose—you sure you're ready to face the consequences? Good girls should know that playing with fire usually burns hotter than they imagine.

Send.

I casually set the phone on the cold desktop, the blue glow already dimmed, the screen returning to silence. But I knew this was just the calm before the storm.

I knew she'd respond. They always respond.

Time passed—I don't know how long—before the message showed as read.

A reply was coming.