Page 77 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
I run my hand along her jaw, guiding her face back to mine, kissing her again. Longer this time. Deeper.
Max nips lightly at the sensitive spot where her thigh meets her hip, and Genevieve jolts, gasping into my mouth. I chuckle low in my chest, smoothing my hand up her side, feeling her shudder under my touch.
I deepen the kiss, keeping her grounded. She melts into it, into me, the last sliver of tension slipping from her body as her hands fist into my shirt.
Max shifts between her legs, his hands holding her open, his mouth finally brushing the place she needs it most. The sound she makes then—high, stunned, completely unguarded—rips straight through me.
"You’re doing so good," I say. "You don’t have to be strong with us, baby."
Max works her with his mouth until her hips start to move, until the tension in her legs becomes something rhythmic, something needing release. She grabs for me, hands fisting in my shirt, nails biting through the fabric.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur. “We’ve both got you.”
She nods. Once. Twice. Then she breaks. Right there in the backseat. Body arching, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry that never makes it past her lips.
She’s always been pretty. Hell, more than pretty—she’s the kind of gorgeous that rewires your brain if you’re not careful. But right now, it’s not the gloss that wrecks me. It’s the way she’s letting herself fall apart in our hands. Trusting us to catch her.
Max sits back on his heels, watching her with that unreadable expression he wears when he’s holding too much inside. I wipe her cheek with my thumb, realizing too late that she’s crying—not hard, just a slow stream of release she can’t stop now that her body’s remembered how to let go.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
“No,” I say, brushing her hair from her face. “Don’t do that. Not with us.”
The car pulls up in front of my loft not long after. But I’m not done with her, and by the look on Max’s face, he isn’t either. He opens the door and steps out first, scanning the space before he turns back for her. He scoops her into his arms without hesitation, cradling her against his chest as if she weighs nothing at all. She lets out a sleepy little sigh, burying her face against his neck, and the sight of it wrecks me all over again.
I grab the door and hold it open, following them inside. Max carries her to the bedroom, laying her gently on the soft sheets. She blinks up at us a little dazed.
"You okay, baby?" I ask, brushing the hair off her forehead.
She nods, a tiny movement, then reaches out blindly. Not to Max. Not to me. Just needing someone, needing touch, needing not to be alone.
We’re both there in a heartbeat.
Max eases the dress up over her shoulders and down her body, moving slowly and carefully like unwrapping something fragile. I peel off her heels, massaging her ankles, kissing the soft skin there just to feel her sigh again.
She’s wearing nothing but that tiny scrap of lace now, and even though she’s half-asleep, she shivers under our hands, instinct pulling her closer to the heat we offer.
We don’t push her. We don’t take her apart the way we could. We spend the night touching her, worshiping her. Max kisses a path down her back, teasing little nips and licks that have her arching into him with tiny, breathless moans. I kiss her mouth, her throat, the curve of her hip, until her body hums under us, soft and pliant and wrecked in all the best ways.
We make her come slow, sweet, again and again, until she’s sobbing our names into the pillows, until every ugly memory of tonight is burned away by pleasure and heat and safety.
Until she’s too spent to do anything but lie there between us, boneless and warm, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only sound in the room.
I tuck the blanket around her, pressing a kiss to her temple, and feel her nuzzle into me in her sleep. Max brushes his thumb across her lower back, soothing little circles, his mouth brushing against her shoulder in a kiss so soft it almost doesn’t land.
We lie there in the dark, holding her between us, the weight of the night pressing in around us.
I close my eyes, listening to her even breathing, feeling the soft curve of her body against mine, and let the fear and anger and helplessness bleed away for now.
Tonight, she’s safe.
Tomorrow, we’ll fight whoever we have to.
Chapter23
Sebastian
The knock at my office door is sharp. Predictable. Just three short raps. I don’t need to ask to know who it is. It’s Dom’s signature knock.
