Page 31 of Under His Control (Silver Fox Daddies #27)

TAYLOR

W e’re tangled in the sheets, my cheek resting on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along my spine like he’s sketching me from memory.

I should feel peaceful.

Instead, I’m lying here in the dark doing a mental inventory of every squishy bit he just kissed, touched, or outright worshipped. And somehow, the little gremlin in my head is still unsure of Anatoly’s attraction to me.

God, I hate that voice. She sounds like every size-zero salesgirl who’s ever side-eyed me in a fitting room.

Anatoly shifts, tightening his arm around my waist like he knows I’m about to bolt emotionally.

His lips brush the top of my head. “You okay?”

I hesitate. I know it’s stupid, but it’s there, clawing at my throat anyway.

“Why me?” I ask softly.

He raises his head off the pillow slightly. “What do you mean?”

I sit up a little, nerves flaring. “I mean…you could’ve had anyone. Some sleek, yoga-posing, effortlessly perfect woman who eats almonds for lunch and wears perfume that costs more than my car. But you picked me. And sometimes, I just don’t get it.”

Silence.

Then finally, he sits up, too, propped on one elbow, eyes fixed on mine with that soul-burning intensity he does way too well.

“You really want to know why I chose you?”

I shrug, trying to play it off. “I mean, I know I’m fabulous, but?—”

“No, don’t do that,” he says, gently but firmly. “Don’t joke this away. You need to hear it? Fine. I’ll say it until it sinks in.”

He reaches for me, palms warm as they smooth over my waist, my hips. “I love this. You. All of it. You feel like heaven wrapped in curves and heat. When I’m inside you, when I’m holding you, that’s the most grounded I’ve ever felt in my life.”

My breath stutters.

“I love your thighs—especially when you lock them around me and draw me deeper inside you. I love how your body feels under my hands—real, soft, and strong. You’re not something I settled for, Taylor. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

My throat’s tight now. “You know I’ll never be a size four, right?”

He smirks, pulling me into his lap. “Yes, and I love it. Just like I love everything else about you.”

“You’re really gonna ruin me with that line, huh?”

“Only if you let me,” he says, voice low as his thumb brushes a tear from my cheek. “You don’t get it yet, do you? You’re not just the woman I want. You’re the woman I choose . Every damn day.”

I blink at him, a little dazed, heart practically doing cartwheels.

“Okay,” I whisper, climbing into his arms. “But just so you know, I’m not returning the favor with, like, poetry or anything. You’re getting a really enthusiastic thank you instead.”

“I prefer hands-on gratitude,” he murmurs, flipping me onto my back with an obnoxiously hot smirk.

“Oh, I’ve got hands,” I say, grinning now. “And they have plans.”

His laugh is wicked and playful as he kisses me deeply, his body pressing into mine like he never wants to leave.

And in that moment—wrapped in his arms, heart bare—I believe he doesn’t, I believe that he won’t.

He holds me like I’m precious, and I try not to melt into a sobbing, overemotional puddle. Because damn it, this man knows exactly how to get under my skin and live there.

“You make me feel like the sexiest woman alive.”

“That’s because you are. Smart, dangerously so, soft in all the best places. I want all of it, all of you, Taylor. Every curve. Every look. Every time you bite your lip when you’re trying not to smile.”

As soon as he says it, I do it without meaning to.

“Just like that,” he growls.

His mouth finds mine again—slow and teasing—and my heart beats like a drum. His hand slips under the sheets as his voice drops into that deep, commanding rasp.

“Let me show you again.”

I don’t argue.