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“Who?” Bull bit out, not quite understanding. Fox was a grown man that could do whatever he wanted. Including quitting a job that didn’t appreciate how wonderful and selfless he was.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Fox muttered. “Just say I’m not going back and don’t.”
“Exactly.” Bull almost wanted to shake Fox, he was getting so frustrated, but he stayed as composed as he could manage. “Hart is your best friend. He’ll understand.”
“Hart’s not my issue. I’ve texted him here and there since I first arrived. I think he pretty much knows how I’m feeling and which way I’m going.” Fox’s haunted eyes found his through the steam, and he laughed darkly, causing goose bumps to form on Bull’s heated skin. “My real problem is a man that doesn’t really take no for an answer.”
Bull gritted his teeth. “Fuck that. What’s he gonna do? Come onto my property and drag you away kicking and screaming?”
To his dismay, Fox eased out of his arms and turned the water off. He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel low around his waist, standing rigid with his back to Bull as he mumbled grimly, “That’s exactly what that crazy motherfucker will do.”
Fox woke peacefully, like he did every morning in Bull’s arms. Sometimes he’d fight moving or his urge to take a piss, just so he could have those moments for as long as possible. He thought for sure that he’d dream of God sending his enforcers to kidnap him while he slept, but the moment Bull had taken over toweling off his body and laid him down in his warm bed, all the anxiousness he’d been feeling before melted away.
He’d been surprised when Bull slipped into a pair of shorts before he got into bed with him, wrapping him in his strong arms, holding him tighter than any man had before. Bull whispered in his ear for him to rest, while he caressed his back, his arm, and neck until Fox was boneless, his eyelids too heavy.
And he’d slept soundly. No dreams of his father screaming his failures in his face while Fox tried to get away, and no nightmares of trying to rescue innocent people in dire situations.
Bull’s internal alarm clock was set to dawn, and Fox found himself mimicking the same pattern as he woke with him each morning. It was almost five, and not only was Fox’s mind awake, but so was something else. He rotated in Bull’s hold, his arms clinching tighter around him even while he continued to emit light snores.
Fox climbed on top of Bull, burying his nose in his chest hair before he began to trail lazy kisses across his thick pecs. Bull shifted beneath the covers, spreading his thighs and allowing Fox to settle between them. He flicked his tongue over Bull’s rigid nipple, then sucked it into his mouth. Sluggish fingers ran through his hair while Fox made Bull moan as day’s first light broke through the morning darkness.
“Mmm. G’mornin’,” Bull mumbled.
Fox smiled as he trailed lower, following the silken black hairs along Bull’s abdomen. By the time he got nice and comfortable, Bull was fully hard, his long dick tenting his thin shorts. Fox’s mouth watered as he slid the waistband down and removed the pesky material out of his way. Bull smelled like the soap they’d used last night and a scent that was only him, just rugged man. Fox nestled his nose and mouth against Bull’s full sac, the fingers still buried in his hair increasing in pressure.
Fox was so hard, that he eventually stopped torturing them and gave in to what they both needed. Fox wrapped his hand around his own cock while he sucked Bull’s nuts into his mouth. His eyes rolled at the heavy weight on his tongue and the firm pressure on his dick.
Bull’s hips came up off the bed when Fox lifted his sac and lapped at the sensitive skin underneath them while he stroked himself.
“You’re gonna make me wake this whole damn ranch,” Bull grunted, trying to mute his groans with his pillow.
Fox ate at Bull’s ass and cock as if he was his breakfast, all tongue and saliva and slickness as he swallowed Bull’s fat head down his throat. He held Bull’s hips to the mattress when he tried to thrust into his mouth, not ready for him to come yet. Neither of them. He wanted this to last—he wanted them thinking about their lovemaking all day while they worked side by side.
Fox also wanted to show his appreciation for how Bull had been there for him last night in all the ways he’d ever wanted a man to be. Fox wasn’t a poet; he wasn’t good at voicing—forget showing—his feelings to others because his father had taught him that feelings were for the weak. But when it came to Bull, Fox’s feelings were endless. And he was so damn thankful he’d found a man who could understand them and even react to his emotions, without Fox having to explain them first.
