Page 21 of Twin Babies for the Silver Fox (Happy Ever Alpha Daddies #3)

His other hand tugs my leggings down, slow and deliberate, teasing just enough to expose me to the bite of the frigid night air… and to him. The contrast is electric. Ice-kissed air grazes my bare skin while his body radiates molten heat behind me, searing where we touch.

Goosebumps rise in a wave over my thighs, my stomach, everywhere his fingers haven’t yet explored. The tension coils tight inside me, a trembling balance of exposure and anticipation.

Humiliation and desire knot together low in my belly, sharp and sweet, making my breath hitch. I’ve never felt so vulnerable. So wanted. It’s overwhelming, and I never want it to stop.

His hand slides between my thighs, and he groans, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating through my spine.

“Dripping,” he mutters, voice like gravel and sin. “You’re soaking for me, sweetheart. Is that what being teased in a bar full of people does to you?”

“Shit, Knox.”

His hand clamps over my mouth before the rest of his name can escape, his breath hot and dangerous against my ear. “Quiet. You don’t want the whole mountain hearing you beg.”

But I do. I want them all to hear. I want to scream his name into the stars until they burn out.

His fingers slide between my legs again, slower this time. Intentional. A tormenting circle exactly where I need him. My entire body jerks with the pleasure, every nerve ending tuned to him.

“But that ends now.”

I cry out against his palm, my body grinding back of its own accord, desperate, mindless. The sharp edge of pleasure dances just out of reach, and I chase it, my hips rolling, heart pounding.

“No more space,” he growls, his voice a dark thunder in my ear. “No more pretending I don’t want to bend you over and ruin you. Right here. Where the whole damn world could drive by and see me fucking you into the snow.”

My knees give out. Completely. But he catches me without faltering, his strength a tether and a promise. One arm clamps around my waist, pinning me to him, while the other never stops, fingers stroking me with maddening precision, pulling me higher with every pass.

“You want to come like this?” he rasps, voice ragged with hunger. “With my hand in your panties, my voice in your ear, my cock waiting for your next mistake?”

“Yes… yes, Knox, please?—”

He pulls back enough to whisper, lips brushing my ear, “Then come for me. Be loud, be filthy, be mine.”

And I do.

The orgasm crashes through me like a storm ripping down the mountain. Blinding. Shattering. Every muscle tightens, every breath stutters. I cry out, broken and breathless, as the world blurs around me. All I know is him, his hands, his voice, his body holding me through the quake.

He pulls back and looks at me, lips parted, chest rising fast. There’s a wildness in his eyes now, something raw and barely restrained.

“I need your mouth on me,” he grits out. “Now.”

My whole body lights up at the demand.

I drop to my knees in front of him. He’s already undone, thick and heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, slowly, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Open,” he says, low and wrecked.

I do.

He guides himself to my lips, and I take him in, slow at first, dragging my tongue along the underside until he swears under his breath.

My hand wraps around the base, stroking in rhythm with my mouth as I hollow my cheeks and suck him deep.

He groans, a dark, broken sound, and braces a hand against the roof of the truck.

“Fuck, Josie. Just like that.”

His voice, low and wrecked, shoots straight through me, a new, raw pulse of heat settling between my thighs.

I work him with my hand and mouth together, letting instinct and hunger guide me, finding a rhythm that makes his hips twitch forward.

Each subtle thrust fills me deeper, stretches the corner of my mouth, but I don’t pull away.

I want to take all of him. I want to ruin him with the feel of me.

His fingers tangle in my hair, not rough, not forcing, just holding on like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded. That gentle desperation undoes something inside me. He’s always so controlled, so unreadable. But here, in this moment, I can feel him unraveling for me. Because of me.

“You feel so good,” he mutters, voice strained and breathless. “So fucking good. You’re gonna make me lose it.”

The thrill of that, of knowing I have that power, makes my skin flush hot, my body ache with want.

I pull back to kiss the sensitive head of him, tongue flicking a slow, teasing circle around the ridge before I take him again, deep and slow.

I hollow my cheeks, moaning softly around him, and he groans in response, the sound primal.

He starts to move, controlled but hungry, hips rolling in slow, mind-blowing thrusts that make my thighs clench involuntarily.

Each stroke is a promise, each retreat a threat.

He’s holding back, barely, and the restraint only winds me tighter, makes me wetter.

I want him to lose control. I want him to break.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice rough with need.

I glance up, lips stretched around him, eyes locked on his. And in that gaze, blazing, possessive, I feel it: the fire I light in him, the storm barely caged behind his eyes. It makes my pulse stutter, my heart race. Because I want that storm to crash down on both of us.

“You like this?” he growls. “On your knees for me, looking like sin?”

I moan around him, nodding, and the vibration makes him hiss.

Then he pulls out abruptly, slick and hard and flushed, and lifts me effortlessly.

“Could’ve come just like that,” he mutters, pressing his forehead to mine, “but I need to be inside you when I do. I need to feel every damn second of it.”

His mouth crashes into mine, messy and urgent, tasting himself on my tongue.

“Next time,” he says, grinding against me, lining up again. “I'll come in your mouth. And you’re gonna swallow every drop.”

A fresh wave of heat floods me at his words, filthy and raw and so full of dark possession that it makes my toes curl inside my boots. The thought of it, his control, my surrender, the taste of him on my tongue, sends a shiver of excitement down my spine.

Before I can answer, he turns me to face him and lifts me without effort to set me down on the tailgate. My legs part automatically, needing him close.

His forehead presses to mine. His breath is uneven. His hands are shaking, just barely.

“I’m going to wreck you, Josie Dawson. And tomorrow, you’re still going to be mine.”

The words slam into me like a lightning strike, hot and wild and impossible to ignore. They brand me, claiming something deeper than my body. It’s not just sex he’s offering, it’s a promise, a possession, a declaration that this isn’t a mistake or a fling. It’s him choosing me.

My breath catches, a gasp lodged in my throat, equal parts arousal and awe. My body aches at the raw intent in his voice, but my heart. My heart stutters under the weight of it. Wreck me? Damn, I want him to. I want him to ruin every man who came before him. I want to belong to this.

Then his mouth is on mine. Not soft. Not patient. He kisses me like he has something to prove. Like everything he’s kept bottled up is pouring out through the press of his lips, the pull of his hands.

One hand grips my hip, the other wraps behind my head, holding me still while he devours me. His body crowds mine, all heat and strength, no space between us. I feel the shape of him everywhere. His chest, his thigh between mine, his breath flooding my lungs with every desperate inhale.

“I’ve wanted this since the second you looked at me in that bar,” he growls against my lips. “Since you looked up with those sweet eyes, all soft and unsure, and had no clue how much I wanted to ruin you.”

My stomach flips. My heartbeat’s too fast. My body answers before my mind catches up, grinding down on his thigh, gasping at the pressure, the friction. I can’t stop moving. I don’t want to.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low, his mouth trailing along my jaw. “Just like that. Don’t hold back.”

I let out a shaky moan. “Someone could see.”

“I don’t care.” His voice roughens, darker now. “Let them. Let the whole town see you’re mine.”

He pulls me with him around the side of the truck. Opens the door with one hand, the other locked around my waist. I don’t even register how fast it’s happening. He lifts me again, places me on the edge of the seat, and steps between my legs like this is exactly where he belongs.

His hands slide up, fingertips skimming my thighs, pausing below the hem of my sweater. His breath is harsh against my throat.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, the effort of the question clear in the way his jaw clenches.

“No,” I breathe. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He lets out a sound from deep in his chest and presses closer.

His teeth graze the side of my neck, sending a jolt through me.

Then his hands are under my sweater, lifting it, exposing more skin than I’ve shown anyone but him in a long time.

His mouth follows the trail, hungry, determined, claiming every inch he reveals.

His hand finds my throat, not rough, not squeezing, just resting there, commanding. Keeping me still.

“I’m going to take my time with you,” he says against my skin. “You’re not thinking about anything else tonight. Just this. Just me.”

He kisses me again, deeper. Harder. The kind of kiss that leaves no space for hesitation.

“Lie back.”

I do it. My back hits the cold leather, legs still open, heart racing.

He drops to his knees, and my breath catches.

There’s something primal in the way he does it, not worshipful, but possessive.

Like a king claiming what’s his. He yanks my leggings down and off with one sharp tug, tossing them aside like the rest of the world doesn’t exist beyond this moment, beyond me.