Page 11 of Silver Fox
“Because you’ve been a naughty girl,” he whispers, blowing air towards my entrance and smiling as I writhe. “Because you called yourself a whale.” A sharp gust of air to my clit has me crying out. “And so you need to be punished.”
Soon, I was half out of my mind with arousal, panting like a cat in heat. “Silas,” I moan. “Silas, please just touch me. I don’t know how much more of this I can stand.”
And there it was, the first tap against my clit. I mewl. Nothing has ever felt so good, and another follows it. His touches are fleeting, promising more pleasure than they offer. “Yes,” I whisper. “There, there, there.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, sir,” I say quickly. “Yes, sir.”
“Does my naughty girl like this?” he asks, kneeling between my thighs, his cobalt eyes rapt with attention.
I nod, and suddenly his touches start lasting a little longer—long enough for me to enjoy them. I’m building quickly after so much teasing, and before long I’m going to explode. “Yes, sir.”
“Are you going to be a good girl from now on?”
My eyes close, the intensity between my legs growing with every touch. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re not going to say anything negative about your body again?”
“No.” My voice is almost dreamlike, and I spread my thighs wider as my orgasm approaches. I would have promised to jump over the moon if he asked; anything for that next touch. Every breath comes out as a cry of pleasure, and I can barel—
Silas’s touch disappears.
“No!” I whine, my eyes opening wide to see him smirking down at me. “Wait, Silas, I was nearly the—”
“What did I tell you to call me?” he snarls, his deep, smooth voice turned into something savage.
“Sir.” God, why does saying that make me so wet? If any other man insisted on me calling him ‘sir’ I’d tell him to go and fuck himself, butSilassaying it gets my panties in a twist. A soaking wet twist. “Please, sir.”
He bends down once more, blowing a tantalizing wash of air onto my clit.
I sob, so desperate to come I want to crawl out of my skin. But he starts the whole routine again. Everything is worse this time. The arousal more intense. The desperation sharper. The pleasure heightened. I hope his apartment is soundproof because I’m begging him by the fifth time he does it, writhing and whimpering and held on the edge of an orgasm so long I want to scream.
“Sir, please,” I beg him, my mind possessed by desire. His fingers are on my clit, but I know it won’t last. His brows are drawn down, watching my every move with calm detachment. “Sir, sir, sir. I’ll never say anything bad about myself again. I’ll be good. I’ll be your good girl.”
As expected, he pulls his fingers awayjustbefore I’m about to explode. I knew it was coming but I can’t stop myself from whining in frustration, pulling my hands up over my face—
Just as a hot, wet mouth encloses my clit andsucks.
I barely have time to register what’s happening. Silas is groaning against my clit, primal and dominant, and I can’t even catch my breath before my orgasm yeets me onto the next plane of existence. It’s instantaneous and brutal and unexpected. The pleasure is agonizing, my muscles so tightly locked they’re in danger of snapping. A raw cry tears from my throat, my back arching up off the bed, my thighs locked around Silas’s head—I’m lost in pleasure, and I never want to be found.
When my faculties return to me, Silas has gotten to his feet. He slides his thumb against his stubbled jaw to mop up my excess wetness before licking it off. Sighing, he undoes his tie and shirt buttons in well-practiced, decisive movements. His cheeks are still wet with my arousal, and I’ve never been so attracted to a man in my life.
“Did my good girl like that?” he asks, shouldering out of his shirt to reveal a muscled torso covered in tattoos. That’s a surprise—not the muscles, but the tattoos.
“Yes, sir.” My eyes open wide. A dragon claws its way around his torso, sitting on a bed of flames and smoke, so lifelike I could swear I see its brilliant golden eyes twinkling in the light. The rest of it is as black as night, and it’s so detailed I can count every individual scale. It’s huge, with its head snarling over his left shoulder, and its back legs and tail disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.
Silas watches me taking him in with grim amusement, the sharp lines of his stubble twitching as he smirks. The metal clasp of his belt tinkles as he unclips it, but that’s as far as he goes. “Take my cock out for me, pretty girl.”
“Yes, sir,” I sigh, splayed out before him.
I sit up, breathing in his dark, spicy scent. This close, I can see the detail on the dragon. Its claws look like they’re digging into his skin, its leathery, batlike wings tipped with equally sharp claws of their own, grappling into him.
Biting my lip, I run my hand against the outside of his pants—and stop when I feel rows of something hard and bumpy on his cock.
That isn’t normal. Does he have a growth of some sort? Surely he’d warn me beforehand.
“Carry on, Skye. I didn’t say you could stop.”
