Chapter 14: Fox Sullivan
598 Words
Chapter 14: Fox SullivanFox sat naked and cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching as Warrick Synclaire slept. Fox was one of the largest members of his pack, but at six foot three, Warrick towered over him, and it had taken Fox quite a bit of time and energy to wrestle Warrick out of his clothes.
Now he sprawled on his back, his mouth open as he snored and a fine line of drool dampened the pillow. Not in the least attractive, and Fox shook his head at his foolishness at still being drawn to the big man.
He had been from the moment the ambulance driver had helped unload him and get him into the operating theatre. Rick had looked into his eyes and said, “I’ve got two legs, Doctor. If I come out of surgery with anything less than the two, I will come after you, if I have to drag myself over hell’s creation, and I’ll have no qualms in shooting off a favourite piece of your anatomy.”
Fox had believed him, but that hadn’t been why he’d done his damnedest to repair the leg. It hadn’t been professional, but he’d determined to take the man to bed.
They’d had a few pleasant weeks while Rick recovered enough to be sent home to finish convalescing, and Fox had had hopes they’d stay in touch.
They hadn’t, and he would have shrugged it off, but for some reason, he couldn’t get those blue eyes out of his mind. It had been the despair of his family. He should have found a mate, but none of the females sang to him as that man had.
Fox moved to Montreal and set up his practice. If he was going to be alone for the rest of his life, he might as well make himself useful to his family and mankind.
And then, years later, Fox had caught a hint of that tantalising scent, and he’d felt his ears c**k and his prick take interest for the first time in ages. He couldn’t believe his luck and had tracked Rick to an architectural firm which wasn’t too far from Fox’s own practice.
It wasn’t like him to dither, but that was exactly what he’d done, trying to come up with a clever way to reintroduce himself to Rick.
Now…serendipity.
Rick had sauntered down the road and into the Skip for Gold pub, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, which pulled the material taut over his very fine arse. Fox had given him a few minutes—well, perhaps more than a few—to settle himself. The last thing he’d want was for Rick to think he was stalking him.
Rick had seemed pleased enough to see him again, although he’d stated bluntly his heart belonged to another. Fox was determined not to reveal how that hurt and responded with a nonchalant remark.
“That’s quite all right. I just want your body.”
They’d chatted a bit, but it became apparent that Rick only wanted to drink himself into oblivion. Fox had had no choice but to bring him back to his digs.
And now here he was, watching as Rick slept off his drunk.
Well, it should be all right if Fox left him alone for a little while. His prick was aching, and he needed to run off this unslaked desire.
He swung off the bed, gave Rick a last look, then let himself out the door, and after making sure no one was around, he shifted and began to run.
- Writer
