Page 12 of Sold to the Silver Foxes (Forbidden Hearts #6)

NICO

The sound of four people collectively gasping for breath echoes on the hardwood.

We’ve spread out on the bed as much as possible to cool down.

It won’t be long before Sal retires to his suite—he’s not usually up this late.

Dante will either go for snacks or sleep.

He needs something to replenish himself.

Me? I have other needs.

“Tabitha,” I murmur softly in her delicate ear. “How would you like a bath?”

“Mm,” she answers in a sigh. Those grassy green eyes are half-lidded. Sated. “That sounds nice.”

I guide her to the bathroom, and as expected, Pietro did not skimp.

The oversized, deep tub is heated to keep the water warm for an extended period.

Once full, steam coils in lazy ribbons, fogging the beveled mirror and softening the gilt sconces until the entire room looks like a watercolor painting of a luxurious brothel.

Tabitha sits on the wide marble ledge, knees drawn up, arms folded under her breasts for warmth while I adjust the water temperature with one hand and steady her with the other.

She’s flushed—partly from the heat, partly from the exertion of the past hour—and wearing nothing but the pearl panic necklace and a sheen of perspiration.

I’m just as bare, though I keep a thick towel knotted around my waist for now. My muscles still hum with the satisfied heaviness that follows a well-played scene, yet a different instinct is tugging at me now—the impulse to take care of her.

I offer both hands, help her climb down the single step, and guide her into the tub. She gasps when the heat meets her calves, then sighs as she settles onto a submerged seat.

I drop the towel, slide in behind her, and pull a bar of almond-scented soap from the little caddy. The water laps at our bodies. The jets are off, leaving only the low hum of the suite’s climate system to fill the silence. Tabitha leans back against me, as if she trusts me completely.

I’ve done nothing to warrant that kind of familiarity. But I want to. I always want to.

“Does a bath normally come with the package?”

“Only for the lucky few,” I answer, working up a slick lather. “Raise your arm.”

She obeys. I glide the suds along her forearm in slow strokes, rinse them away, then repeat on the other side. As a dom, I love what I do. Managing a sub’s needs, making them reach greater heights of their pleasure, a true honor.

But it’s the aftercare that I live for. Moments like this.

Quiet, meditative, showing I care for not only their pleasure, but also their comfort.

It’s immensely satisfying to provide aftercare, and it gets me off almost as much as kink play.

Ordinary acts, performed with intention, become extraordinary.

Bathing my subs is a different kind of intimacy, and as the years go on, I find I crave that more and more.

Eventually she tilts her head, studying me with newly sober eyes. “Can I ask something?”

“Anything.”

“Why the month-long contract? Didn’t you three already…” She gestures vaguely under the water. “Do everything you wanted tonight?”

I huff a quiet laugh. “Hardly. If tonight was a tasting menu, consider it the amuse-bouche.” I continue more seriously, rinsing the soap from her clavicle.

“But the practical answer is simpler. December is brutal for us—galas, brand launches, charity balls, board functions, family dinners, a relentless lineup. Each of us is expected to appear with a date. You, Tabitha, will save us from a month of either going alone or fending off trust-fund debutantes looking for rings.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes, mingled with caution. “So I’m…arm candy?”

“Not only arm candy,” I correct, resting a hand over her sternum, feeling the strong flutter of her heartbeat. “But yes, there will be nights when your job is to smile, sip champagne, and tolerate small talk. You’ll ‘flit,’ as Dante puts it, from brother to brother depending on whose event it is.”

She toys with the pearl strand, thoughtful. “Will I at least—” She stops herself, hesitant.

“Say it.”

“Will I be allowed to visit my family? Christmas is…important.”

I rinse my hands under the water, then turn her on my lap to catch her gaze. “We’ll work something out. A day trip. Whatever works best for all involved.” The tension in her jaw loosens slightly. “Who should we be coordinating with? Parents? Siblings?”

At once, a shutter drops behind her eyes. She withdraws, shoulders tightening. “I’d…rather not talk about them right now. Pietro said if I get upset I can safeword and end the night, and I don’t want to do that.”

I nod once—no pressure. I appreciate a clear boundary. “Understood. Family remains off-limits unless you decide otherwise.”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

A lull settles. Only the gentle swish of water as I scoop it over her collarbone breaks the silence. She watches me work, curiosity rekindling. “Pietro made you three sound…important, when we signed the paperwork. Who are you really?”

I chuckle, a low sound rumbling in my chest. “You’ve heard of Moretti Brands? Leather goods, ready-to-wear accessories?—”

“Of course. Everyone has…” Her jaw drops. “Wait—the Moretti Morettis?”

“That would be us. Dante is our VP of marketing, Sal is our CEO, and I’m the lucky, lucky CFO.”

“Lucky?”

I shrug, smirking while I braid her wet hair back. “It’s a living. I’ve always been good with numbers and figuring out how to put things together, so I fell into finance as a career.”

“Yeah, but you sounded sarcastic when you said lucky.”

“I am, all things told. I could have been born into a family without the means to afford me my lifestyle. Whether I enjoy the ins and outs of the business is of no consequence.”

“So, you don’t like being a CFO?”

I force a smile. I know she’s merely being curious, but it still digs at an old wound.

Fifteen-year-old me telling my mother that just because I’m good at math doesn’t mean I want it for a career, her arguing back that it’s my duty to the family.

Twenty-year-old me who grew my hair out and smoked weed on Christmas break just to piss off everyone who dared to call me “responsible.” God, I thought I was such a rebel.

It’d be laughable now, if it didn’t drag up the memory of my grandfather, on his deathbed, making me swear to do my best for the family.

I clear my throat, keeping my voice level. “I like it well enough. I like protecting my family’s assets, and I do get a sense of satisfaction when I make a spreadsheet dance for me. We all do what we must to survive, don’t we?”

“Yeah.” Her mood drops so hard it’s as if the water runs cold.

Perhaps my words hit too close to home. After all, she sold her virginity to us for a great sum of money. Is tonight about frisky fun for her, or was it out of a desperate need to survive?

I choose to believe it’s the former. The latter is too depressing. “My job is not who I am, as I’m sure yours isn’t who you are, Tabitha. That’s why I have hobbies, such as this. Running a multi-billion-dollar fashion house is our life by day. Kinky nonsense is our life by night.”

She splashes water at me—playful, incredulous. “A hobby? Like golf or hunting?”

“More like hunting than golf.” I smirk at Tabitha’s wide-eyed expression when I turn her around to face me on my lap. “And you’re the deer.”

Her breath hitches. I lean forward, capturing her mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss. She answers almost instantly, soft lips parting under mine. The heat that flares between us eclipses the warmth of the bathwater. When I pull back, her pupils are huge, breathing shallow.

“Come here,” I murmur.

I guide her to straddle my lap. Water sloshes against the tub’s edge, cascading onto the marble floor in tiny waves—no matter.

The heat of her body pressed to mine sparks a fresh surge of want.

Her hands slide tentatively to my shoulders, fingertips tracing muscles.

I gather her hair in one hand, tipping her head gently so I can graze kisses along her throat.

The pearl necklace is cool against my lips.

Slow, Nico. Patience. Best to check in. “Still okay?”

She answers by rolling her hips once, tentative but unmistakably seeking friction. My breath escapes in a hiss. “Yes,” she whispers, cheeks flaming. “More than okay.”

I capture her mouth again. My hands slide down the planes of her back, cupping her hips to guide a second slow grind on my thigh.

Tiny ripples fan outward from us, lapping the tub’s edge.

Behind my ribs, my heart thuds—not the warning pang I associate with stress, but a heady, vigorous beat.

Being here with her, tending her, arousing her—it feels strangely restorative, like tonic pouring through cracked glass.

I deepen the kiss until she whimpers softly into my mouth. One of her hands travels up my neck, fingers threading into my hair. I murmur, “Tell me if you want less.”

“I want…more.”

That’s all the confirmation I need. Our rhythm finds an effortless cadence—slow, exploratory shifts of hips and mouths. I let my hands drift, mapping the curve of her waist, the arch of her spine. Her skin is slick and silken beneath the water. Each soft gasp fuels my own need, coils it tighter.

And then I remember the necklace, the contract, the suite’s all-seeing security.

My natural caution kicks in. I draw back, resting my forehead against hers.

“Condom,” I remind myself aloud, though the bath is hardly the place for penetration.

Still, rules are rules. We part across the tub so I can put it on, and then I pull her onto my lap once more.

The fit is exquisite. Watching her jerk, devouring her moans as she takes me inside of her, the press of her perky tits against my chest, it’s all too much. And not enough.

I lean back, watching as she figures out how to ride me in the water.

It’s like watching a newborn foal learn to run—the thing they’re perfectly evolved to do.

I don’t know what Tabitha’s day job is, but I’ll be damned if she wasn’t put on this earth to fuck men into oblivion. My balls ache for this.

I thumb over her nipples as she rides me like a mermaid from a lucky sailor’s dream. Her back arches, sending her tits against my palms harder. Always seeking more pleasure, our girl.

Her cheeks flush pink, and her lips purse as her gasps go louder, her eyes rolling back. I’m almost there, but hers first, always. She wraps her lithe arms around my neck, and I hold her to me as she comes. Love to feel that pulse around my cock. Before I know it, the surge rushes through me too.

Gasping in the foggy bathroom, I take a beat to relish the blankness in my head. It comes so rarely. But as the post-orgasm haze clears, thoughts roll back in like the tide.

The month ahead may be full of polished galas and tedious board dinners, but at the moment, none of that matters. Only this. Only now.