Sold To My Ex’s Dad: An Age Gap, Secret Baby Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)
Chapter 7

I‘m lying in bed with her head on my shoulder, and I’m in a state of total disbelief. She’s asleep, her breaths even and peaceful against my chest, and the warmth of her body curled up next to mine. It gives me a feeling of comfort I didn’t know I was missing.

It’s strange, this contentment that’s settled over me. I’ve always maintained a certain distance in my relationships, preferring fleeting connections over anything that hinted at permanence. But with Allie, it’s different. There’s something about her that whispers of possibilities, of unknown depths waiting to be explored.

As I watch her in the dim light, I gently brush a strand of hair from her face, and I can’t help but let my mind wander to the less conventional aspects of my desires. The thought of introducing her to the other facets of my intimacy, the ones that require trust and a mutual understanding of boundaries. Would she be open to exploring with me, to pushing the limits of pleasure in a way that’s new to her?

I imagine the contrast of leather against her soft skin and the intense exchange of power and control that makes bondage play so thrilling. Just the thought of it sends a rush of anticipation through me that makes me hot, mingling with a tenderness I hadn’t expected to feel.

I’ve only shared this dangerous side of me with a few, and always with clear limits and mutual respect, Yet the idea of exploring it with her feels somehow different and more significant.

But it’s not just about the physicality of bondage. It’s the trust, communication, and vulnerability that comes with it—elements I replace myself wanting to offer her. The lingering question, however, is whether she’d be willing to walk that path with me.

But for now, though, I push those thoughts aside, choosing instead to focus on the quiet intimacy of the moment. The way she fits against me feels right, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. And as I let myself drift to sleep, lulled by the rhythm of her breathing, I make a silent promise to tread carefully and not scare her away.

Tonight, it’s enough just to have her here, to feel the gentle press of her body against mine, and to know that, for the first time in a long while, I’m not alone.

My cock’s hard as stone when I wake up, the scent of Allie lingering all around me. I’m ready for round two, ready to claim her again, to make her mine. Except, when I reach out for her, I replace nothing but cold sheets.

I bolt upright, a mix of confusion and annoyance setting in. I check the bathroom; no sign of her. Slipping on some pants, I search the house, but she’s nowhere to be found. The house is silent, every room echoing back nothing but my own footsteps.

The quiet seems deafening compared to the warmth and laughter we shared just hours before. Did I screw something up? Or did she just bail without a word?

I’m not one to overthink things, get caught up in feelings, or jump to conclusions, but this vanishing act has caught me off guard. I’m baffled as to why she would just leave without so much as a note or a text.

Then I think that maybe I overlooked something in the bedroom so I go back and look again. But I replace nothing. It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air.

This isn’t how I expected the morning to go. An amazing night has twisted into a bit of a head-scratcher. For the first time in who knows how long, I’m rattled by someone’s absence. I thought we had something worth exploring. I thought we really connected but now I’m not so sure. Maybe what I felt wasn’t mutual, even if every instinct told me otherwise.

I let out a heavy sigh, feeling both frustrated and—strangely—disappointed. She seemed different from other women, deeper. But I have my pride. I’m not about to chase after someone who took off without a word. The idea leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I decide to eat breakfast to try to counter it.

I finish buttoning up my shirt with a finality that matches my mood. I’m not one to dwell or run after someone who has clearly made their choice, even if, for a hot minute, I thought we had something worth exploring.

As I stand there, the sense of feeling cheated washing over me, I decide to focus on something grounding. Making breakfast seems like the perfect distraction, a way to move past the confusion of the morning. As I’m cracking eggs into a skillet, I hear the door opening, and for a split second, I feel hopeful that she’s come back. But it’s my son Caleb who comes walking in looking like he’s been through the wringer.

My hopes are dashed; I greet him. “Hi, son. Rough night?”

‘Morning, Dad,’ Caleb mumbles, his voice rough around the edges. He heads straight for the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water, and downs it with a thirst that speaks volumes about how his night went.

“Weren’t you supposed to be gone all weekend?’ I ask, turning back to the stove. The sizzle of the eggs fills the brief silence that follows.

Caleb leans against the counter, taking another long gulp before responding. ‘Yeah, it was wild. Mike had a bit of a meltdown. Got all guilty about cutting loose and ended up a drunken mess. We came back early this morning.’

I chuckle, shaking my head. ‘Weddings bring out the best—and the worst—in people.’

‘Yeah, you can say that again.’ Caleb cracks a crooked smile, the first real sign of life I’ve seen in him since he walked in. ‘So, what about you? What did you get up to last night?’

I keep my eyes on the eggs and don’t answer right away. The question hangs in the air, heavier than the smell of breakfast cooking. I flip the eggs, buying myself a moment to think. ‘Nothing much,’ I reply, keeping my tone nonchalant. The memory of Allie, of our night together, feels too personal to share, even with Caleb.

He studies me for a moment, clearly not buying it, but decides not to push. ‘All right, keep your secrets, old man,’ he teases, moving to grab a plate.

As we settle down to eat, the conversation shifts to safer topics—Caleb’s upcoming finals, the latest news in the culinary world, anything but being left in the lurch by a woman in my own house.

I’ll forget her in no time, I think, even as part of me knows it isn’t true.