Page 7 of Sexting the Silverfox Daddy

Gennady

Blood dripped from my fingertips, thick and warm, blooming like dark crimson petals against the cold, cracked concrete.

I slowly wiped my fingers on a cloth, careful and deliberate, never taking my eyes off the severed ear lying at my feet. It rested there like some grotesque trophy, a quiet reminder of what betrayal costs in my world.

"P-please... please," Antonio's voice was barely more than a whimper now. Blood was gushing from the gash on the side of his head, and his whole body trembled with every pulse of agony. He was curled in the chair, tied and broken, convulsing like a dying animal.

"You still got one ear left, Antonio." My voice was low, calm—too calm. The kind of calm that makes men piss themselves. "Now tell me. Who told you to torch Warehouse Three?"

His mouth moved, trying to form words, but all that came out was blood.

I sighed and passed the bloodied blade to Dimitri. "Make him talk. If he still won't, take the other ear. Then fingers."

Dimitri took the knife without a word, without hesitation. No pity in his eyes. In our world, mercy's just another word for weakness. And we can't afford weakness.

That's when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I frowned. No one—no one—disturbs me during business. I pulled it out, ready to ignore it.

Unknown number.

My heart stopped.

My rose.

I shot a glance at Antonio still twitching under Dimitri's hands, then turned all my attention to the screen.

Rose: G, I need you. Now.

A photo followed.

I opened it—and every drop of blood in my body changed direction.

She was lying on a bed, dressed in nothing but a thin white camisole. Her hand covered her chest—barely. The photo was cropped just above her lips, showing only the soft curve of her chin and a strand of fiery red hair spilled over the pillow.

But it was her posture—the tension in her body, the arch of her back, the way her lips were parted—that hit me like a punch to the gut. Lust. Raw, unfiltered need. She didn't even need to show her eyes; I could feel them on me.

Fuck.

The tension that had gripped my body from the violence didn't vanish—it just... shifted. My cock hardened instantly, pressing against my slacks, and just like that, the ruthless executioner turned into a man ruled by hunger.

"Boss?" Dimitri looked up, noticing my distraction.

"I've got urgent business," I rasped. "Get everything out of him. Clean the place."

I didn't wait for a reply. I was already moving, walking out of the warehouse with blood still clinging to my shoes and her image burning behind my eyes.

I slid into the backseat of the Maybach, snapped at the driver, "Drive. Anywhere. Just don't stop."

"Yes, Boss."

The engine hummed to life, purring like a beast beneath me. I pulled out my phone again, staring at the photo, still burning hot in my palm.

Me: You know what you're doing, don't you?

Her reply came instantly.

Rose: Seducing a dangerous man... and winning?

My rose was learning. Fast. She was turning into a full-blown siren—and I was the poor bastard teaching her how.

Me: Congrats. I'm sitting in a damn car, hard as a rock 'cause of you. Happy now?

Rose: Hard's not enough. I want you unhinged.

Jesus. That mouth. Was this really the same shy girl from a few days ago? I was watching her transform—right in front of me—into something wild, untamed... mine.

Me: Keep talking like that, baby, and I'll show you unhinged.

Rose: Then prove it. Tell me what you want to do to me. Right now.

I glanced at my driver, then reached forward and hit the partition button. A tinted glass wall slid up, sealing me into privacy.

Me: First thing? Rip off that damn camisole. I wanna see you, all of you. I wanna run my hands over every inch until you're crying my name.

Rose: God, G… I'm shaking just reading that.

Me: Then take it off. Now. Let me see all of you.

There was a pause.

Then, my phone buzzed again.

The new photo nearly made me lose it.

She was naked, lying on her back, one arm across her stomach, the other between her thighs. Pink nipples tight, legs drawn up just enough to tease but not hide. Her red hair spilled like fire over her shoulders. Her skin glowed under soft light—flawless, smooth, begging to be touched.

I groaned, hard and aching.

Me: You're unreal, rose. I swear to God I could run to you right now and wreck you for that.

Rose: That's the plan. I want you unhinged. Tell me what you'd do to me.

I growled under my breath. My self-control was slipping fast.

Me: I'd make you regret teasing me. I'd use my mouth to ruin every inch of you. You'd cry, you'd beg—and I still wouldn't stop. Not until the only word you remember is my name.

Seconds passed. Quiet. Then:

Rose: G... I'm soaking wet. Your words are driving me insane. Tell me more. Tell me how you'd claim me.

My belt was already undone. I didn't even remember unbuckling it. My hand slid lower, needing relief.

Me: I'd start with your lips. Rough, slow, deep. Then I'd move down, take my time. Make you tremble until your whole body begs for me. And then I'd take you. All of you. Until you forget your own name.

Rose: I can feel your hands already. Your fingers gripping my waist. Do you want me to scream your name?

Every word she sent was like striking a match, making me almost forget where I was and the bloody chaos from before.

My hands moved faster, picturing her pinned beneath me, legs wrapped around my waist, that hot, slick sensation driving me to the edge.

I gritted my teeth, muttering a curse under my breath, my body wound tight as hell.

Me: Scream it, baby. Let me hear how badly you want me.

Rose: I'm. What about you? Tell me what you'd do for me right now.

I leaned back in the seat, closed my eyes, and felt that fiery urge coursing through me. Her words—even just through text—echoed in my head, soft yet urgent, like it was sinking straight into my bloodstream.

Me: I'd drop everything. Hunt you down. Fuck you against the nearest wall until you're sobbing for mercy.

She answered before I even finished catching my breath.

Rose: Then come for me, G. My body's yours.

My release hit me like a fucking freight train. I bit my lip hard to stay silent, growling low as the tension shattered. The phone buzzed again.

Rose: I came too.

And then—another photo.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed, and a photo popped up. Her fingers glistened with slick moisture, her nightgown hiked up to her waist, lace panties pushed aside, teasingly revealing her glistening pink core.

I was breathing hard, basking in the satisfaction of that recent release. My blood slowly calmed in my veins, but looking at her photo, I knew this was just the beginning.

A few minutes later, when I picked up my phone to reply, my eyes were suddenly drawn to something in the background of the photo.

On the nightstand—something small. A handmade stuffed colorful bunny.

My blood ran cold.

Blue fabric. White belly. And on the left ear—a tiny green patch.

That patch.

The one Anya insisted on sewing. Her "band-aid" for a bunny who "got hurt."

I knew that bunny.

And now, it was in my rose's bedroom.

The shock of uncovering the truth hit my brain like a bolt of lightning, making my breathing quick and uneven.

This wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be.

This was fate.

A raw, primal possessiveness exploded inside me, fiercer than any lust. My blood boiled in my veins, every inch of my skin burning, like a caged beast had broken free, roaring to get out.

I hit Dimitri's number.

"Pull the staff records from Anya's kindergarten. I want them on my phone. Ten minutes."

"Yes, Boss."

Ten minutes later, I had the list.

Three red-haired teachers.

Susan Miller. 35. Short burgundy hair.

Mary Johnson. 28. Copper curls.

Cassie Monroe. 24. Long, bright red hair.

I opened Cassie's photo... and everything stopped.

It was her.

Even though the photo was a formal work shot, I could still pick out her red hair, the shape of her lips, and the texture of her skin. She tried to keep a professional expression for the camera, but I could see the wild, pent-up desire lurking in her eyes. I could see it—her.

Cassie Monroe.

My rose.

Anya's teacher.

And she didn't know who I was.

Yet.

A plan began to form in my mind—dark, perfect. I'd approach her in person. Seduce her in real life, like what she did to me in this anonymous game. Make her mine again... this time for good.

But first, I needed to be sure. I needed to see her in person, to confirm she was the woman keeping me up all night.

Me: Your photos are driving me insane, розочка. But I need something more.

Rose: More? I've already shown you everything.

Me: I want your courage. Show me you're truly mine.

Rose: How?

Me: Put your clothes on. Go to your workplace.

Rose: Now? It's the middle of the night. The school's closed.

Me: Exactly. That's the test. I want you to walk to the side gate. Take off your panties. Hang them on the tree. Then walk away.

Rose: G, that's insane! What if someone sees me??

Me: No one will. But if you're scared—

Rose: I'm not scared. It's just... really bold.

Me: Do it for me, Rose. Prove it.

Rose: Give me 30 mins.

The thrill of the hunt started surging through my veins. I was going to see her, to confirm my discovery with my own eyes, to see if my rose was as captivating in reality as she was in the virtual world.

The night was deep, streets silent. I had my driver stop in the shadows near the kindergarten, then approached the side entrance on foot alone.

Five minutes later, I saw her.

A petite figure appeared under the dim yellow streetlight, walking cautiously toward the school. Even in the poor lighting, I could clearly make out her silhouette—that slender neck, narrow waist, fiery red hair, and that particular bearing of nervousness mixed with defiance.

She wore a dark coat wrapped tightly around herself, her steps quick but careful.

It was her. Cassie Monroe.

I held my breath, watching her approach the side entrance. She looked around, making sure no one was watching, then quickly walked to the low sycamore tree beside the door.

Very good, rose. Let me see your courage.

Her movements were somewhat shaky but determined.

I watched her retrieve something from under her skirt—a delicate pair of lace panties that gleamed faintly under the streetlight.

She hung the thin fabric on a branch, her movements quick and nervous, then hurried away, disappearing into the darkness.

Christ, she was adorably inexperienced.

I waited a few minutes, making sure she was long gone, then got out and walked toward the tree.

I waited until she was completely out of sight before emerging from the shadows. In the moonlight, those lace panties hung from the branch like a blooming flower, suspended there quietly.

I reached up and plucked them down. The slightly damp fabric felt soft between my fingers, still carrying a trace of warmth and her unique scent—light jasmine mixed with a hint of nervous excitement.

Cassie Monroe.

Моя розочка.

Anya's teacher.

My prey to hunt.

I carefully folded the panties and slipped them into my inner suit pocket, right against my heart. This would be the souvenir of our first "contact."

Settling back into the car, I felt a satisfaction I'd never experienced before. Now I held all the cards. I knew everything about her—her name, her job, where she lived, her daily routine. And she knew nothing about my real identity.

This would be the perfect hunting game.

I could get close to her, observe her, pull her into my world while she remained completely unaware.

And she, my clever but naive rose, still thought this was just a safe online game.

I touched the still-warm panties in my pocket, a dangerous smile curving my lips.

What expression would she have when she discovered the truth?

Couldn't wait to see that moment.