Page 8 of Sold to the Silver Foxes (Forbidden Hearts #6)

SALVATORE

We follow Pietro into the elevator, and he taps a silver key card against a sleek panel on the control board.

A hidden button illuminates, and the elevator hums upward toward the top floor.

Whatever this building is, historical or modern made to look historical, I can’t tell.

But this elevator is as modern as the one in our office building, which makes me wonder just how much security they really have here.

Are we being watched in every room, or just the public areas? Time will tell.

Tabitha is clinging to one corner of the elevator like it might swallow her whole, shoulders tense under the thin straps of her slip. She’s beautiful in that understated way that calls to me. Must be why I bid my brothers into a frenzy.

What the hell were we thinking?

Dante glances at Tabitha with a slight grin. Meanwhile, Nico is stone-faced beside me, arms folded, and I can practically feel the tension rolling off him in waves. If there’s a single word to describe the atmosphere, it’s anticipation.

Pietro clears his throat to steal our attention. “The suite has three attached bedrooms, a main sitting area, and all the…accessories you might need to become acquainted this evening. Assuming all goes well, you can leave my property with Tabitha to fulfill the month-long contract.”

… you can … my property …

Carefully chosen words to remind us who is actually in control here. Not us. Barely Tabitha. The real authority here is Pietro Dumas, but the reminder is not needed.

I knew it when we entered his office.

Had I known who was in charge of this soiree, I would have never come. At first, I thought Dante had kept that from us. But after seeing the shock plain on his face upon seeing Pietro, I knew better. Dante didn’t know either.

The elevator glides upward, and Pietro continues, “Rules are simple enough. Condoms are mandatory for any intercourse. Lube is mandatory for anal.” He glances at Tabitha, voice gentle.

“The pearl necklace stays on at all times—removing it would be considered a direct threat to your safety, which triggers our security response. You’ll find that The Armory doesn’t tolerate harm to its virgins.

Harm to her is an insult to the Dumas name. ”

Tabitha’s hand flutters toward the delicate pearl strand around her neck, clearly reminded of its dual function as a panic button.

I sense her quiet relief that someone’s looking out for her.

She has no reason to think me or my brothers would do that, so as much as I loathe Pietro’s hand in this, I’m glad she has the comfort of his presence in her corner.

Pietro’s gaze shifts to us. “No cuts, no bruises, no broken bones—nothing that would constitute genuine harm. Keep it sane and consensual. Understood?”

Nico’s brow furrows, and Dante nods, his usual cocky grin gone. Neither one objects to the rules, not with that ironclad contract we signed. Not that our tastes range in that zone. I clear my throat. “Of course not, Pietro. We’d never harm her, and we certainly wouldn’t do anything like that.”

Then Pietro turns back to Tabitha, dipping his chin politely. “My dear, could you remind us of your safeword, for clarity?”

Tabitha’s throat bobs in a nervous swallow. “Cherry,” she says, voice catching. “If I say it, things stop, right?”

He nods. “Precisely. If you safeword, everything pauses. If you decide you want to end the night entirely, that’s your right. You have the right to walk away at any time. It will affect your payout, so keep that in mind. But yes, you can make anything stop at any moment.”

We’ve heard this spiel before—my brothers and I are no strangers to clubs like Black Fox, after all—but I appreciate the thoroughness. There’s something about Pietro’s calm, almost paternal demeanor that eases the edge of tension in the elevator.

Saluting slightly, Dante says, “We’re members at Black Fox, so trust me, we get it.”

Pietro’s mouth curves in a sly smile. “Then you might consider joining us here. We can show you all sorts of fun things to try with the human body.” His attention flits briefly to Tabitha.

“But for tonight, you will treat her like the treasure she is.” He rests a hand lightly on the elevator rail as the car glides to a halt. “Here we are.”

The doors slide open, revealing an opulent hallway with a thick, plush carpet and gilded sconces along the walls.

Security guards stand at every corner, wearing sleek black suits, arms folded, earpieces in.

Their expressions suggest they’re not just for show.

One acknowledges Pietro with a slight nod.

The rest keep their watchful eyes peeled.

“You see,” Pietro murmurs, gesturing at the guards, “we take our virgins’ safety very seriously. If someone crosses a line, they’ll regret it. I trust that won’t be necessary in your case.”

I meet his gaze, letting out a short, even exhale. “There will be no cause for regret.”

He guides us to a double door at the end of the hall, produces another key card, and unlocks it.

“This is the suite you’ll use for tonight.

If you decide to stay longer in The Armory, we can arrange more permanent accommodations.

” He pushes the door open, revealing a room that’s almost startling in its grandeur.

It’s more than a bedroom—it’s an erotic playground.

Low, ambient lights cast a warm glow on rich burgundy wallpaper.

A massive, four-poster bed occupies the center, draped in black silk sheets.

On one side, there’s a piece of kink furniture I recognize instantly—affectionately referred to as a merry-go-bound , a rotating padded platform with straps at various points.

It stands at about waist height, designed for imaginative positions and thorough restraint.

The place must be loaded with additional toys, but the details blur as I scan the suite. My eyes catch glimpses of black coils of rope on a side table, a chest that likely holds implements, and three discreet doors that presumably lead to separate bedrooms or bathrooms.

Tabitha draws in a sharp breath. She hovers in the doorway as Pietro steps aside.

He smiles kindly at the girl. “You’re in good hands.

Should you have any reason for concern, your necklace is your lifeline.

Barring that, give a shout, and security will break down the door to assess the situation.

Additionally, see that?” He points to a bright red button on the wall.

“Any pressure on that button will trigger a full breach by my team. Whatever option is best for your situation, they are all available at your whim, Tabitha.” With that, he disappears back into the corridor, shutting the door behind him.

The moment Pietro leaves, the hush in the room thickens.

Tabitha’s shoulders lift and fall in a shallow breath, and she glances from me to Nico to Dante.

Suddenly, her composure cracks—her eyes are wide, like a rabbit about to dash into the forest. The swirl of tension in her posture suggests she might bolt if we so much as blink wrong.

I step toward her slowly, removing my mask in the process.

It’s a relief to get it off—I prefer directness to hiding behind a facade.

My brothers do the same. Tabitha eyes each of us in turn, as if committing our faces to memory.

Her own face flushes under the soft lighting, the color creeping from her collarbone to her cheeks.

I offer a low, reassuring murmur. “I realize this must feel…extremely unusual for you.”

She snorts—a small, nervous sound. “Ya think?”

A short laugh escapes me, genuine. “Point taken.” At least she’s not meekly accepting this without a spark of personality. “We have all night, or as long as you’re comfortable. No one’s rushing you into anything. We can talk first, or?—”

She shakes her head, hugging her arms around her torso. “I appreciate that. It’s just…you’re all strangers, and I…” She exhales shakily. “I’m in over my head.”

“You’re in control here,” Dante says, stepping around me to face her. His voice holds a gentleness that, honestly, I didn’t expect from him. “We can go as slow or as fast as you want, Tabitha.”

I watch her shoulders tighten again, tension rippling through her.

Clearing the distance between us, I move in front of her, blocking her wide-eyed view of the rest of the suite.

“Sal,” I say, introducing myself quietly, though she knows my name from the contract.

“If you’re willing to trust me, I can help you relax. ”

She meets my gaze, swallowing. “Okay.”

“Lie on the bed. On your stomach.”

For a split second, she looks confused, like she expected something else—maybe immediate sex. But she complies, crossing the room in small, tentative steps. I notice the slip of white satin hugging her frame, revealing the lines of her shoulders and back with each movement.

Before she lies down, she faces me. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the slip’s strap and begins to tug it downward.

“Stop,” I tell her softly. Confusion lines her brow. “I don’t think we’re at that stage yet. I prefer to take things slowly, if that’s alright with you.”

She swallows her trepidation and nods. After that, every step is exquisitely graceful. She carefully climbs onto the bed, settling onto her stomach. It’s a big bed, so she looks almost lost in the center of it, auburn hair fanning out in a fiery halo.

Our fallen angel?

Nico and Dante position themselves off to the side, half-perched on a small chaise lounge. They’re watching this play out, curious.

I walk around the edge of the bed, standing near Tabitha’s shoulders. “I’m going to touch you now,” I say, giving her a chance to object. She doesn’t. Instead, she tenses, then forces herself to exhale.

My hands start a gentle massage, pressing lightly against the muscles around her shoulders and neck. I feel coiled tension in each inch of her body, like she’s bracing for something more extreme.

A flicker of sadness hits me. This situation is so unnatural—auctioning off her first time in a place like this. But we’re here now, and our job is to make it bearable, maybe even pleasurable for her.

“You’re safe,” I murmur, leaning down slightly so she can hear me without me raising my voice. “This is just a massage, to help you relax. Nothing more.”

She nods, a shaky little motion, and closes her eyes.

Beneath my palms, I can feel the ridge of her shoulder blades, the delicate curve of her spine through the thin layer of satin.

I start with slow, firm circles, mindful that she might spook if I press too hard.

It’s always a delicate dance to gain someone’s trust.

Gradually, I move outward, kneading the knots near her neck, careful of the pearls. She emits a soft, trembling sigh. Her breath hitches once, but then she melts under my touch, letting me guide her into calm.

From the corner of my eye, I see Nico’s shoulders relaxing too, as if he’s relieved this is working. Dante, for once, is not making jokes, just watching patiently. It’s strange, this quiet synergy—like we’re sharing one pulse, one unspoken mission.

Take care of her first, the rest can follow.

After a few minutes, I move my hands lower, just skimming the middle of her back, careful to keep the motion soothing. She shivers slightly, and I pause. “Am I hurting you?”

She shakes her head. “It actually feels…nice.” Another breath. “Thank you.”

My chest loosens at those words. “Good.”

Time stretches. The hush of the suite surrounds us.

I continue the slow massage, working gently down her spine, occasionally pressing with my thumbs in deeper circles where I sense knots.

Each time, she lets out small sighs or soft moans of relief.

My own tension starts to ebb, replaced by a low, simmering contentment I haven’t felt in ages.

Strange how something so tame can be so… intimate.

What I said was true—I want to take this slowly. Both for her benefit and my own. There’s no sense in rushing pleasure.