Page 12 of Claimed By the Silver Fox

I feel him guide himself against me, hand sliding up my back to wrap his fingers around my hair—it’s loose from the updo I wore to the wedding, and he tugs back on it slightly, guiding me into position exactly where he wants me. The tension in my scalp draws a moan from my lips, and then I feel the pressure of his hardness against my slit.

My eyes flutter shut, and my body seems to narrow to nothing more but the sensation of his cock slowly sliding into me. He takes his time, feeding himself into me, as though he wants to enjoy every second of my pussy. As though this might be the only time he allows himself to do this, and he’s determined to make the very most of it he can.

And I realize, as he grasps my hip to hold me in place, that I can feel the cool band of his wedding ring against me. This man is my husband. My husband. And that, somehow, sends another shock of desire through me, knowing that I’m letting the man I married take exactly what he wants from me.

By the time he has pushed into me, the two of us take a moment to catch our breath, the intensity of it almost more than I can wrap my head around.

Fuck, he just feels so good—not just the physical sensations, but the sheer intensity of how much he wants me, the knowledge that he’s willing to push aside his doubts just to have me.

I know how he feels. As much as I know most people would think me crazy for letting it get this far, I’m greedy for the pleasure and unwilling to settle for anything less.

He begins to take me in long, deep strokes, clearly practiced in his movements. He slips one hand from my hip in between my legs, caressing my clit as he continues to move in me. I moan, hips arching back into him, allowing him all the access he needs, telling him in no uncertain terms that he can have every damn inch of me that he desires.

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

I love the way he curses when he’s inside of me, like he can’t hold back, unworried about expressing himself. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this wanted, like every inch of me is something to be worshipped, enjoyed, lusted over.

His other hand roams across my body, releasing my hair and allowing me to catch my breath, as he moves deep and hard into me, massaging my back, my thighs, my ass as I struggle to keep my balance beneath him.

Soon, the distance between our bodies seems to fade to nothing, and all I can feel is him inside me, his fingers on my clit, the practiced skill of his body pleasuring mine. My thighs are starting to tremble, a sure sign that I’m getting close to the edge, and I claw at the desk, trying to push myself upright so I can better move against him.

He slides a hand to my jaw, tilting my head to his, and leans forward to snake his tongue into my mouth once again, never once breaking his pace inside of me.

And it’s that which takes me over the edge, his mouth on mine, his cock inside me, fingers circling my clit. The mess of feeling overwhelms me, and I cry out against his mouth, half remembering the guards at the door and wondering if they will hear us.

But then I realize I don’t give a damn. Fuck, let them hear us, we’re married, aren’t we?

And only doing what any other married couple would do on the night of their wedding.

His hips still against me, and for a moment he just holds himself there. Like he’s savoring it, the feeling, the thrill. And then he goes over the edge, the warm spurt of his seed flooding me deep within.

I close my legs around him, suddenly craving every drop that I can get, a deep, primal part of me wanting him more than I could possibly say. My husband, let him have me, let him have every inch of me that he wants. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him right now, the man who put the ring on my finger, who stepped up to protect me when it felt like my world was falling apart.

He flexes his hips a few more times against me before he draws back, as if unwilling to admit that this is over and done with quite yet. Or maybe he doesn’t want to come back to reality because he knows what we’ll face when we get there. That he has just hooked up with the woman his son was meant to marry, a woman decades younger than him, on the night of her wedding.

He draws away, leaving me to try and gather myself as best I can. I reach for the dress on the floor, draping it over me, though there’s no way I’m going to put it back on just so I can…what? Go back to my room? Go to his? I don’t know what he will want, now that this is out of the way, the tension finally cleared between us.

“You should go,” he tells me, turning his back on me as he adjusts himself.

I part my lips, initially intending to protest—but then I think better of it.

He’s right. I need to get out of here, be alone for a while, figure out what I’m going to do with all of this. I slip my arms through the sleeves of the dress, just making sure that it’s going to stay on my body long enough for me to get back to my room, and hurry for the door.

But just before I vanish out of it, I hear his voice again.

“Julia…”

I turn to face him, heart skipping a beat. I don’t know if I want him to tell me to stay, or go, or something else entirely. Shit, I’m not sure what I want right now, with the mess that has become of my life these last twenty-four hours. I find him staring at me, expression unreadable, thumb rubbing across the ring on his finger.

“What is it?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Get some rest.”

And with that, he turns to sit behind his desk again, leaving me standing there and wondering what the hell I’m meant to do with all of this.

Before I can linger on it any further, I force myself to leave. Because God knows the men of this family have confused me enough for one day as it is.

And besides, I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do now that I’m married to a man I barely know.