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For such a grumpy man, he was shockingly cuddly.
Granted all the cuddling did usually lead to sex once his morning wood woke up enough to grind against my soft places… But that wasn’t such a bad way to start the day.
As to how we spent the rest of the very long days… Sometimes Sully still sullenly refused my gambits for his attention. But every so often I could cajole him out of his brooding moods long enough to play Monopoly or Scrabble, or even better yet, Speed Scrabble.
He was surprisingly competitive for someone so apathetic the rest of the time. Or maybe it just irked him losing to me. After an especially competitive game last week, he’d lifted me from the floor where we’d been playing, tossed me on the bed, because he’d “decided to show me who’s the boss”.
After that, it seemed every friendly game we played ended up with wrestling on the bed until Sully had claimed dominance.
And um, I had to say… It wasn’t a bad way to pass the time.
All the time sex was certainly putting Sully in a better mood and I… Well, I opted not to think too much about it.
We were consenting adults, we were having fun, and if banging each other’s brains out was the best way to get through these three months without killing each other… I figured, why try to fix what wasn’t broken?
But the calm, not-as-caustic Sully disappeared as soon as the Fox Hunt invitation came. Sully barely spoke before he was ordering me to put in the buttplug while he showered.
“Use the lube, it’ll help,” was all he said flippantly over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom for one of his marathon showers.
It was good he took so long, though, because it took longer than I was comfortable admitting to work the little glass object with the fluffy tail up my backside. It just did not want to go in at first. I mean, I’d never even had any object ever up my bum before last week when Sully— When Sully—
Oh my God, I still could barely even think about what he’d done. Guiding me around like some sort of filthy, kinky puppet with his finger up my—
But Sully was right. The lube was a lifesaver.
It felt weird, though. Even weirder when I tried to get up and walk around. I involuntarily clutched around it, which made the furry tail swish against the backs of my thighs.
So, so weird.
After Sully’s shower, I heard the blow-drier turn on in the bathroom. Well, apparently someone wanted to look fancy for his fox-hunting buddies, huh?
I didn’t even know how to begin to prepare myself mentally for what I was about to face. I could have done with some moral support, that was for sure.
But I guessed that wasn’t the kind of relationship Sully and I had. Better to be reminded of it now than to let the multiple acts of intimacy start to muddle my head. The sex we were having didn’t mean shit to Sully.
I was a warm and willing body when there was no one else around. He was bored. I’d shut off his booze tab. Sex was the next best thing on the Debauched Playboy’s List of Distractions, right?
My eyes fell to the floor.
Was I really that different from a whore after all?
Sully came out of the bathroom with a rush of steam surrounding him. He frowned when he saw me. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
I laughed. Then realized he was serious. “In what? That?”
I pointed across the room at the old leather cloak with the grotesque fox head that was draped over the side of what I’d taken to calling the Costume Box. It was still sitting on the antique desk nestled against the wall by one of the huge windows.
“It’s the rules.” He walked over to the box, his back to me, then he brought it over to the bed and handed it to me. “This is it. You aren’t allowed to wear anything other than this cloak.”
I grabbed the box from him. Other than the cloak and the… uh, buttplug, it was empty. Completely empty. “What about shoes. Surely they’ll give me shoes at least.”
Sully hadn’t said much about what a “Fox Hunt” was—he himself didn’t know much, only rumors about what he and his friends had heard whispered in the halls of the Oleander—but he knew the gist. The “belle” was released on the grounds and the Order members, on horseback, completed a traditional Southern Fox Hunt. That was all he’d known. They caught the fox and “blooded” the fox to celebrate the win.
Yeah. I hadn’t known how the fuck to respond to that either.
Sully froze where he stood a moment, and, staring me straight in the eyes, a muscle in his jaw ticking, he said, “No. No shoes. Just what’s in the box.”
