Page 26 of Sly Like a Fox (Romance Expected Dating Service #3)

Jenna

The next morning, I wake in his arms. We were too tired to make love again last night, but this closeness, being new, is welcome and precious even without a different kind of pleasure.

I sit cross-legged on his bed, wearing one of his T-shirts that hangs loosely on my frame.

My hair’s still damp from the shower we shared a short time ago, and the familiar ache of too little sleep tugs at the edges of my awareness.

Somehow, I’m awake. I have to be. We’re running out of time.

Fenton looks good in fresh sweatpants with his chest and feet bare. The man who made love to me with desperation in a linen closet is the same one pacing in gray sweatpants, plotting how to dismantle a criminal empire.

He glances toward me as we walk toward his office together. “Coffee’s on autotimer, thank God. We’ll need it.”

“Probably a gallon, at least.” I force a smile I don’t quite feel.

What’s ahead presses against my ribcage.

When we reach the office, we both take seats at the folding table he’s unearthed from somewhere, along with chairs, and stacks of documents he must have started printing last night before we went to bed.

“I think we should be done,” he says suddenly. “There’s no reason to keep doing this. To go to that lake house…”

I study his face, noting the strain in his expression that suggests internal conflict. “What’s really bothering you about it, Fenton?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, apparently choosing his words prudently.

“Three years ago, I would have accepted that invitation without hesitation. The chance to gather evidence on his entire network, to ensure complete justice for every family he’s destroyed, would have been worth any personal risk. ”

“And now?”

“Now, I have something to lose beyond my own life.”

The admission touches me more deeply than any romantic declaration could. For someone who’s spent three years living with death as an acceptable price for justice, the fact that he’s considering backing away from his mission to protect me represents a fundamental shift in his priorities.

Instead of gratitude, I experience a surge of anger that surprises me with its intensity. “You’re planning to make this decision unilaterally without consulting the person whose life you’re supposedly protecting?”

His expression shifts to surprise. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“I’m not some helpless victim who needs shielding.” I stand up and move closer to his chair, my voice rising with frustration. “I’m a capable partner who chose to be part of this operation. You don’t get to suddenly decide I’m too fragile to handle the risks we agreed to face together.”

He looks shocked. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

I cross my arms as I loom closer. “Isn’t it? You’re making calculations about my safety without considering my opinion about what risks I’m willing to take.”

“Because I love you.”

The words stop me cold, not because they’re unexpected but because of the raw emotion behind them. My anger doesn’t dissipate, though. If anything, it intensifies.

“And I love you, too, which is exactly why you don’t get to make decisions that affect our future without including me in the conversation. I don’t want to be the reason you don’t finish your goal.”

Fenton runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with emotions he’s not used to processing. “Jenna...”

“No. Listen to me.” I pace to the window, looking out at the city lights while trying to organize my thoughts.

“For three years, you’ve been planning to destroy the man who killed your parents.

You’ve built your entire identity around this mission, and now, when you’re finally close enough to achieve complete victory, you want to walk away because you’re afraid something might happen to me? ”

“I want to walk away because losing you would be worse than letting Anklor escape perfect justice.”

I nod and face him again. “That’s not your choice to make alone.”

The argument escalates as we circle around the fundamental question of trust and partnership.

Am I his equal partner in this mission, or am I someone to be protected from its dangers?

The emotional intensity builds until we’re both raising our voices as suppressed fears and frustrations pour out in accusations and counter-arguments.

I finally stop pacing and face him directly. “You’re being condescending. You’re treating me like I don’t understand the risks or like I’m not capable of making informed decisions about my own life.”

He closes his eyes, looking genuinely pained. “I’m treating you like someone I can’t bear to lose.”

I don’t deny that, waiting until he opens his eyelids again and is looking at me before speaking. “I’m treating you like someone whose dreams and goals matter to me. This isn’t just about revenge, Fenton. It’s about justice for your family and every other family he’s destroyed over the years.”

“Justice doesn’t matter if you’re dead.”

We stare at each other, both breathing hard from the emotional intensity of our confrontation. The silence stretches between us, weighted with everything we’ve said and everything we’re still afraid to say.

It suddenly hits me that I’m being…unreasonable.

I want him to have the justice he’s pursued, but his protective instincts come from love rather than condescension.

He’s not trying to take over or diminish my agency.

He’s terrified of losing the person who’s become more important to him than his quest for revenge, and I’m terrified of being the reason he abandons everything he’s worked for.

I move toward him, my voice dropping to something softer. “I’m scared, too. I’m terrified that accepting this invitation will get us both killed, but I’m also terrified that declining it means letting Anklor win through intimidation.”

“So what do we do?”

Instead of answering immediately, I close the distance between us.

The space feels charged with electricity from our argument but also with something deeper and more fundamental.

Love, yes, but also trust and partnership and the recognition that we’re stronger together than apart.

“We stop trying to protect each other from choices that affect us both.”

He reaches for me, his hands settling on my waist. “Jenna...”

I reach up to cup his face, noting the way his pupils dilate when I touch him. “We figure this out as a team. Not you making decisions for me, or me making decisions for you, but us making decisions for us.”

The kiss starts as comfort, a way to bridge the emotional distance our argument created, but it quickly becomes something hungrier and more desperate. The heated argument about trust and partnership has left us both raw and needy.

He whispers against my lips between kisses. “I love you. I love you so much that the thought of losing you makes me want to abandon everything else.”

I nod, my lips still touching his. “I love you, too. So much that I want you to get the closure you need with Anklor.”

He strips off his shirt I’m wearing and inhales sharply when he sees I’m wearing nothing beneath. He steps back to look at me, his voice carrying wonder. “You’re so beautiful. I imagined this, but I couldn’t see how perfect you were last night in the linen closet.”

I touch his bare chest, tracing a finger around one areola. “So are you. I love how strong you are, but I also love how tender you can be.”

This time, our intimacy is different from the desperate coupling in the closet.

It’s slower and more exploratory without the pressure of immediate danger or a timeline driving us toward quick release.

We take time to truly connect, mapping each other’s bodies with thorough attention to every sensation.

He carries me back to his bedroom, laying me on the bed before joining me with reverent touches that make my skin burn with need. When he traces the side of my breast with exploratory fingers, I arch into his touch with a soft moan.

His voice is rough with desire. “I want to touch you everywhere and memorize every inch of you.”

I moan my approval. “Then touch me. I need to feel your hands on me.”

He spends long minutes exploring my breasts with his lips and tongue until I’m writhing beneath him. When he takes my nipple into his mouth, the sensation shoots straight through my pussy.

His name becomes a plea as I tug at his PJ pants, desperate to feel more of him. “Fenton...”

He moves lower, trailing kisses down my stomach while he grasps my hips. “Not yet. I want to taste you first.”

When his tongue traces my folds, I cry out with pleasure so intense it borders on overwhelming.

His tongue dips inside me, and he works my clit and opening methodically, using his lips and tongue to bring me to the edge of climax before backing away, building the tension until I’m begging for release.

He does that three times before I let out a sharp sound of annoyance.

I whisper, my hands tangling in his hair. “Please, no more teasing. I need you.”

He grins, looking unrepentant. “Tell me what you want.”

I don’t have to hesitate as I move my hands to his shoulders, lightly kneading him with my nails.

“Your cock inside me. All of you.” Making love with him in a bed, in the daylight, is so much different from last night’s frantic, more animalistic encounter.

My fox is practically purring in my head as he shifts position, clearly planning to fulfill the promise instead of teasing me this time.

He spreads my legs and nestles between them, positioning his cock at my entrance while his intense attention holds mine.

He grasps the base and guides it inside me as I arch my hips to meet him.

When he enters deeply but slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size, I feel complete in a way that goes beyond physical satisfaction.

He pauses when he’s fully seated inside me, his voice rough with emotion. “I like this position better than last night since I can get deeper inside you and see your face. You feel incredible, like you were made for me.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, lifting my hips to ensure he’s as deep as he can get. “I was. We were made for each other.”

The rhythm we establish is slow and deep, becoming more about connection than urgency. Each stroke brings us closer together emotionally as well as physically, healing the distance our argument created while reinforcing the bond that’s grown between us.

He changes the angle to hit spots that make me gasp with pleasure and dig my nails into his shoulders when his cock rubs against my clit through my walls. “I love how you feel around me and how you respond to my touch.”

“I love how you make me feel cherished and desired at the same time.”

Our lovemaking builds gradually, with layers of sensation and emotion combining until the physical pleasure becomes almost secondary to the emotional intimacy we’re sharing. When my climax finally hits, it’s not just physical release but emotional affirmation of everything we’ve built together.

He follows me over the edge moments later, my name on his lips as he comes inside me with an intensity that makes me feel treasured and claimed at the same time.

Afterward, we lie entwined in comfortable silence, processing both the physical satisfaction and the emotional resolution of our earlier argument.

The evidence from last night’s operation remains in the other room, waiting for decisions about our future that feel less urgent now that we’ve reaffirmed our commitment to each other.

I trace patterns on his chest. “So, what do we do about Anklor’s invitation?”

“Let’s finish looking at what we actually gathered before we decide if we need to risk everything for more.”

We return to his office wearing the same comfortable clothes and attack the documents with systematic attention that our earlier emotional intensity prevented.

The scope of evidence is remarkable. Financial records detail money laundering operations through multiple shell companies, communication logs showing bribes paid to judges, city officials, and federal regulators, and even recorded confessions tell of criminal conspiracy, probably kept as extortion, that will make conviction almost certain for some beyond Anklor.

I study a document that details kickbacks paid to federal judges. “This is more than enough to ensure Anklor’s conviction, plus enough evidence to bring down at least a dozen co-conspirators.”

Fenton points to a series of financial transfers that connect Anklor’s organization to corruption networks in three different states. “Look at this. These transactions show direct connections to criminal organizations we never suspected.”

As we review the intelligence methodically, a picture emerges of criminal activity far more extensive than either of us anticipated.

It’s not just local corruption. Anklor has connections to organized crime, money laundering, and racketeering that cross state and federal jurisdictions.

“With this evidence, federal prosecutors could dismantle his entire network without us needing to gather additional intelligence.”

Fenton nods, relief evident in his expression. “You’re right. The retreat might provide more details about future operations and other major players, but what we have is sufficient to ensure justice for everyone he’s harmed.”

We share a look of relief. We’ve achieved everything we set out to accomplish without needing to risk our lives in Anklor’s most dangerous environment. Visiting the lake house isn’t necessary to bring down Fenton’s nemesis. “We’re declining the invitation?”

He nods firmly, not looking at all sorry to pass up that opportunity. “We decline and work with law enforcement to ensure this evidence reaches the right prosecutors.”

I curl against his side, finally able to relax completely for the first time since this mission began. “I’m proud of what we accomplished, but I’m prouder of how we handled the decision about the lake house.”

He grins. “Almost like responsible adults.”

I roll my eyes and nudge him. “Let’s not get crazy.”