Page 45 of Knocked Up By the Silver Foxes

He lifts me, shifting me beneath him, laying me back on the soft linen. His eyes burn into mine as he positions himself at my entrance—slick now with their release, and my own arousal.

“Look at me,” he says.

I do.

He pushes inside.

Slow. Deep. Filling the space they left behind. His cock is slightly thinner, but longer, and he goes so deep I feel him in my throat. I cry out, my legs wrapping around his waist.

He starts to move.

Not fast. Not rough. But with such feeling—each thrust deep, deliberate, like he’s sealing something between us.

“Ours,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing to mine. “You’re ours, Harper.”

I run my hands over his back, feeling the flex of muscle, the sweat-slick skin.

“Say it, baby,” he says.

“I’m yours,” I breathe and the sureness of it brings my lips to his.

Deep. Slow. Pouring everything I can’t say into it.

He moans into my mouth, his thrusts growing faster, harder. He lifts one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me wider, hitting deeper.

I come again. My body shaking, my back arching, my fingers clenching the cushions beneath me. He follows me, groaning my name as he spills inside me, hot and pulsing.

For a long moment, he just stays there—inside me, over me, breathing against my neck.

Then he pulls out gently, lying beside me. Killian climbs onto the bed, pulling me against his chest. Maddox wraps around my back, his arm heavy over my waist. Asher shifts, draping a blanket over us, tucking it around our shoulders.

We lie like that—curled together on the round bed beneath the stars, the night air of Bordeaux whispering around us on the balcony.

16

HARPER

Imake it back to my suite before the sun is fully up.

Barely.

The corridor is empty and the stone floors are cool under my bare feet and I’m carrying my gold heels in one hand and my good sense in approximately none of them and I walk fast with my head down until my suite door closes behind me with a soft click.

I stand in the middle of the room in last night’s dress.

What did you do?

I had the best night of my life, that’s what I did.

Did I just answer my own question? Um, yeah, I did, and I’m not even going to try to lie about how much I liked it. You know, aside from the fact that— okay, there are several reasons this is complicated and I’m not listing them right now because my brain doesn’t have that kind of bandwidth at six in the morning.

Shit. Fuck. I need to sit down.

I guess I forgot that I’m already sitting down on the edge of my bed in the south of France at six in the morning with my shoes in my hand and the specific, undeniable physical evidence of the best night of my life and I cannot think straight and that’s fine. Totally fine. My brain will come back online eventually. Probably.

It was so good I can’t even be upset about it and that might actually be the most unhinged part of this entire situation.

Shower. Yeah. I need a shower.