Fox Hunt

by J. Leigh Bailey

  Then he got an evil gleam in his eyes. “Watch your tongue.” He smacked my ass hard enough to sting.

  I jumped and gaped at him. “Did you really…? I can’t believe you….”

  Another couple came up behind us, so Buddy nudged me forward.

  Once inside the bar, Buddy seemed to relax a little. Probably helped that while there were a few men who’d embraced the leather-night theme, most of the patrons looked like regular guys out for a pint. Traditional Irish music played in the background, soft enough it didn’t inhibit conversation. A couple of stools opened up at the far side of the bar. They were tucked into a little alcove that would keep us out of the main flow of traffic while at the same time give Buddy a wall at his back and the full view of the room in front.

  He ushered me to the seats. There was someone sitting at either side of the open seats and I could see the wheels turning in Buddy’s head. I would have bet money that he was trying to decide if, and how, to convince the man next to the wall to leave. Before he could come up with some scheme that would have me sitting in the corner blocked from the rest of the room by Buddy’s bulk, I jumped onto the farthest stool, the one that left Buddy between me and the majority of the room. I didn’t want to make his job any harder than I had to, but I also didn’t want him making a scene or feeling like he had to go all tough-guy macho to protect me.

  I pulled some cash out of my pocket and set it on the bar in front of us. It didn’t take long for the bartender, whose shirt had the name Rory embroidered on it, make his way down to us. “Hey, gorgeous. What can I get you?” A thick Irish accent colored his voice, and I melted a little. I was a sucker for an Irish lilt.

  “What’s good on tap?”

  Rory looked to be about Buddy’s age. He had the pale skin and dark hair of my father’s side of the family. Black Irish, my nan would have called it. Laugh lines bracketed his full mouth, and his eyes were an improbable green. Like the accent, I suspected the color was enhanced for effect. Something told me pretty Irish bartenders made better tips in an Irish pub than pretty American dudes.

  “You won’t find that watered down piss you Americans call beer, but we do have Smithwick’s, Murphy’s Irish Red, and Guinness, of course. We’ve also got a lovely house-brewed pale ale, an Irish wheat, and an award-winning stout.”

  “I’ll have a Smithwick’s.” I turned to Buddy who had his grumpy bodyguard face on.

  “I’ll have a Coke.”

  “Not a drinker, eh?” Rory asked. “Our stout is the best in the five boroughs.”

  “Just the Coke.”

  “A Coke for the party pooper, and the Smithwick’s for the sexy ginger.” Rory shot me a wink.

  Rory grabbed a glass and started building my pint. “What brings you to our little pub? Don’t break my heart and tell me you’re tourists.”

  “Guilty,” I said.

  He shook his head, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “That’s a sad thing, to be sure. Will you be around long? I can show you the sights.” He set a pint glass full of amber beer in front of me.

  “Only a couple days,” I admitted.

  Rory leaned forward, resting on his elbows. It brought him a little too far into my personal space. Not obtrusively so, but enough that I wanted to inch back a bit.

  “My Coke?” Buddy snapped.

  Rory’s eyes flicked to Buddy. “Of course.” He grabbed a small glass and started to fill it from the soda gun. He pushed it forward, sending dark liquid sloshing over the top.

  I passed over the cash for our drinks. Rory made a point of tracing his fingers along the back of my hand when he took the payment. If it had been any other night, with anyone but Buddy as my drinking companion, I might have been tempted to extend the flirtation. Rory was hot, and he was obviously interested. But instead of his attentions flattering me, they felt wrong somehow.

  Then I remembered that one of my goals for the evening was to see if my reactions to Buddy were entirely based on proximity. This was the perfect opportunity to test it out.

  “Tell me something,” I said, leaning forward myself. “Is your name really Rory or is it something like the Dread Pirate Roberts? Everyone behind the bar is Rory to keep the Irish reputation of the bar alive and well.”

  “Dread Pirate Roberts?” he asked.

  “The Princess Bride,” Buddy offered, his tone suggesting that any idiot should have recognized the reference.

  I was more surprised that Buddy knew it, than disappointed that Rory did not.

  “Never seen it. But, yeah, my name really is Rory. And before you ask, the accent is real too. Just… amplified a bit. Adds to the authenticity of the experience.”

  Buddy muttered under his breath, lifting his drink to his mouth. The minute the sip crossed his lips, he grimaced.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “He gave me Diet Coke.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” Rory asked. He blinked up at Buddy with patently false innocence.

  “No, I said Coke.”

  Rory’s green eyes trailed up and down Buddy’s body. “Are you certain Diet isn’t a better choice?”

  Buddy’s expression went neutral. I hated that expression. It was the one that told me he was closing in on himself to shield himself from others’ opinions.

  “Are you fucking serious?” I stood up. I grabbed the glass with the offending pop. “Give him the Coke he asked for and keep your comments to yourself. What gives you the right to judge anyone? This man”—I jabbed my finger in Buddy’s direction—“is amazing.”

  Buddy placed his hand at the small of my back. “Easy, tiger.” His soft smile didn’t diminish the fierce satisfaction in his eyes.

  I settled back onto the stool, chest heaving.

  Rory replaced the drink in record time and coincidentally, I was sure, found customers on the other side of the bar to assist.

  “Jerk,” I muttered. “I can’t believe he said that. I should ask to speak with the manager.” I lifted the pint glass to my mouth, taking little pleasure in the light hoppiness of the ale.

  Buddy chuckled. “Let it go. I’ve got thick skin.”

  That was a lie, but I didn’t argue the point. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that. I just can’t believe….”

  Buddy rubbed small circles on my back. The touch—likely meant to be soothing—took the anger coursing through me and morphed it into desire. I took a gulp of my beer, hoping to quench the heat building inside me.

  Buddy’s humid breath danced along my ear. When had he gotten so close? I swallowed.

  “No one has ever stood up for me. Ever.” The vibration of his voice shot tingles down my spine. “Thank you.”

  “It was nothing,” I whispered. “I didn’t do much.”

  “It was everything. Thank you.” He bent down and kissed me. Sweet and gentle.

  Had he always been the shield but never the shielded? Not even from something as simple as taking three seconds to tell off a rude bartender? What about in situations that were bigger than dented feelings? I wanted to pull him into a hug and promise to always stand between him and anyone who would try to hurt him. Even with incautious words.

  “We should go back to the room,” I said.

  His brow scrunched. “We’ve only been here a few minutes.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t need the activity as much as I thought I did.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. But we need to make a quick stop along the way.” I grinned at the mix of wariness and suspicion on his face.

  “Where?”

  “Drugstore. I need to get a toothbrush.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “THAT’S not a toothbrush,” Buddy said blandly, eyeing the bottle of lube in my hand.

  “Nope,” I agreed, scanning the shelf for the familiar blue box. I found what I was looking for, then handed the condoms to Buddy. His eyes volleyed from the box in his hands to my face.

  “One won’t be enough,” I said.


  His breath caught.

  I grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and dragged him to the next aisle, where I snatched up a toothbrush at random.

  “Wait,” he said, before I’d taken two steps to the cashier.

  “You don’t want to?” I looked down, suddenly shy. Things were brewing between us, and it had me completely off my game. Bold one second, shy the next. Determined, then hesitant. Damn, he mixed me up.

  “That’s not it. But you may want to rethink your toothbrush choice.”

  I brought the box up to see it more clearly. “Yeah,” I said staring at the Disney Princess embossed on the glittery pink handle. “Good call.” I swapped it out for a more adult version.

  Ten minutes later, purchases made, Buddy unlocked the door to our room.

  The snick of the lock amped up the tension several degrees. My body, already tightening with anticipation, grew hypersensitized. Even the gentle flow from the air-conditioning vent caused goose bumps to wash over my skin. Or maybe it was the blast of pheromones coming off Buddy that did it. Blood rushed through my veins, leaving me light-headed and giddy, and I imagined my skin was about to burst with the need building inside me.

  We stood facing each other, not touching, with bare inches separating us. It felt important. It felt real. I knew it would only take one move from Buddy—one caress, one kiss, one brush of skin—and I’d be gone.

  I licked my lips.

  Buddy’s eyes followed the motion. Then his tongue traced his own lips.

  I swallowed hard.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “So sure.”

  He didn’t move. Neither did I.

  “I—” He stopped to clear his throat, drawing attention to the visibly beating pulse at his throat. “I don’t think I can go slow.”

  I whooshed out a breath. “God, Theo, please don’t go slow. I don’t want you to. Fast is good. I like fast—”

  As if my permission broke something in him, Buddy growled, yanked me forward, and crushed his mouth against mine. His tongue immediately demanded entrance, and within seconds he was devouring my mouth with a violence I’d have thought beyond him. He pried my lips open, stabbing his tongue in to duel with mine. He grabbed my hips, hauling me up until I wrapped my legs around his waist. I fisted his hair and met his tongue thrust for thrust.

  He held me tight enough I would probably have bruises, but I didn’t care. I clawed at his back, likely leaving behind a trail of red welts. He grunted and carried me the six steps to the bed. Not releasing his hold on me, he knee-walked to the center of the mattress and pressed me into the comforter.

  He finally let me go, but only long enough to rip my shirt off. He actually tore it down the center and flung the ruined material across the room. I didn’t know stuff like that could happen in real life, and that I’d somehow driven calm, cool Buddy to such an act was almost as big a turn-on as when he settled his weight between my thighs and started nipping and sucking along the column of my throat.

  His hands moved with desperation over my skin, and I returned the attentions. I pushed up under his shirt. I couldn’t get enough of the smooth skin and silky hair, and the weight of him holding me down. “Please, Theo. I need more.”

  Arms and legs tangled as we rolled over the bed, trying to ditch the rest of our clothing without stopping kissing. My jeans got twisted at my shoes, Buddy’s shorts got stalled at his knees, and I nearly strangled him in my efforts to fully remove his T-shirt. It was the most inelegant experience of my life. It was also the most amazing. We finally got free of our clothing, Buddy losing a button along the way.

  “Damn, how are you more beautiful than you were this morning?” Buddy asked between sharp bites that started at my chin and ended at my sternum.

  I was too busy trying to breathe to answer. I lay on my back below him, writhing on the cheap bedding, exulting in the feeling of his hardness pressed against mine. Each sensual glide made me whimper. It wasn’t enough. I needed more. I wrapped my legs around his hips, arching into him. “Please, Theo. Now.”

  He kissed me hard, teeth knocking, before he pushed away with a groan. “Yes. Now.”

  I pushed him back. “Get the stuff. Need you.”

  I’d dropped the drugstore bag to the floor between the room’s two beds when Buddy carried me. Now he leaned over, reaching for the supplies we’d need. The move showcased his unexpected flexibility, and the sinuous curve of his spine and plump, bitable ass. It was too much temptation. I scooted over and placed a kiss at the uppermost swell of one buttock. He stilled. Then I bit gently while sucking. He held his breath, shuddering while I ensured the love bite wouldn’t fade soon. There was something satisfying, something primal, about marking him. I licked over the little bruise, then moved to his other cheek, adding a mark there. “Mine.”

  He rolled back toward me, the small bottle of lube in one hand and a condom in the other.

  I flipped to my stomach, then raised up until I was on all fours. “Like this.”

  He nodded, eyes blazing.

  I didn’t have words to explain that I needed him to cover me, to possess me. I like sex face-to-face, absolutely, but at this moment, the same instinct that had me marking him as mine, had me needing him to dominate me in this way. I’d claimed him, now I needed him to claim me.

  I looked over my shoulder at him. His hands shook as he dealt with the plastic seal on the bottle. Within seconds he had the cap open and was squeezing a generous amount of slick on his fingers. When those same fingers traced along my crease, I sighed and pressed my face into the pillows. He took his time teasing my hole, stretching and breaching me. I was nearly incoherent by the time he sat back to slide the condom over his straining flesh.

  I almost cried when he draped himself over me. My skin sang at the contact; it made me feel worshipped and protected. He reached around to tilt my head so he could kiss me. It was an awkward angle, but worth it when our lips met. He possessed my mouth even as he pushed into my body.

  I sighed. He surrounded me, was inside me. For the first time in a long time, I felt whole. I had no idea how long I’d yearned for this moment.

  He started to pull out, and I rocked back, desperate to keep him there, to keep that connection. But friction did what friction does, and heat built. The stretch and caress of him inside me, the way movement electrified already sensitive nerves, was too much. For him too, it seemed. After a few tentative thrusts to make sure I was ready and fully on board, he started pounding into me.

  It was fast and hard and oh so perfect.

  My arms gave out, not up to the challenge of holding both me and Buddy up, especially with the violent crashing of our bodies. Buddy followed me down, and I reveled in nearly endless skin-on-skin contact. I braced myself on my elbows, pushed back, meeting each of his thrusts.

  Buddy pressed his forehead against the base of my skull, his heavy panting stirring my hair with every slap of his hips against me. “Getting close.” He nuzzled into my neck, grabbed my hips, and jerked me up until I was back on hands and knees. This gave him plenty of room to reach below me and wrap his hand around my cock. He stroked in sync with his thrusts. The combination brought me almost immediately to the precipice, but I hung there on the edge, unable to fall into orgasm.

  Buddy grunted, losing his rhythm. He stroked my erection faster as he groaned. “Close. Now, now, now,” he chanted. He bellowed as his release hit him, and he bit into the tender skin at the base of my skull. Lightning zinged down my spine, exploding into my groin. I came with a shout, covering Buddy’s hand in my slick essence.

  I fell forward, face-planting into the pillows. I might have suffocated, since I lacked the energy to move even the smallest muscle, but Buddy reached down and tilted my head to the side.

  “That was fucking amazing,” I murmured. “You killed me. I’m totally dead right now.”

  I could hear the smile in Buddy’s voice when he said, “You’re talking a lot for a dead man.”

  “Don’t worry. Voic
e and brain are next, no doubt.” My words slurred, adding credence to my theory.

  He pulled out of me, and I regretted the loss. He left the bed and I heard some random noises, but my brain was too foggy to really translate the sounds into actions. A couple moments later, I felt the bed dip under his weight, and he pulled me around until I lay on my side, back against his front. He might have said something, but sleep dragged me under before I caught his words.

  THE room phone rang, an unexpected, discordant sound, dragging me out of sleep.

  Before I could pry my eyes open, Buddy had reached over my prone form to grab the handset.

  “Yeah?”

  I had a drowsy thought to tease him about his abysmal phone etiquette, but I was content to stay warm and secure under the sheets with Buddy.

  Buddy stiffened, and the last vestiges of sleep washed away from me.

  “Mrs. Sherman?”

  Now I stiffened. My mother called us? On the hotel phone?

  “Yes, ma’am.” Buddy sat up, causing the sheet to pool at his waist. He inched away from me. It wasn’t the cold air from the A/C unit giving me chills; it was the distance between us. There may have only been a foot of space, but emotionally he might as well have been on the other side of the room.

  “Can I ask how you found us?”

  Though muffled, I heard my mother say, “We couldn’t get ahold of David or you on your phones, and when you didn’t check in at the hotel listed on the itinerary, I had Aiden search for alternate reservations. Aiden found a credit card record for this room.”

  We’d used Buddy’s credit card, since we’d determined if anyone was following us, they’d have my info and not his. I pushed myself into a sitting position, glaring at the phone. “Invasion of privacy much?”

  Buddy narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Don’t give me that look,” I said. “Don’t you wonder how Aiden got your credit card number? He hacked a bank.”

  Lines furrowed his forehead. Yeah, he didn’t like the idea of Aiden accessing his information.

  “That’s not the point,” Mom said. “What I want to know is why you deviated from the plan? And why you didn’t come home like you promised,” she said with an emphasis, “after what happened at the hotel in Chicago?”