Page 54 of Foxed Up

"It had better not," I warned him.

"Why? What are you going to do about it?" He laughed again and pulled back as I tried to impale myself on his fingers. I growled, and he laughed again. "Are you actually growling at me? Really?"

"Yes! Jon, comeon!" I was trembling I wanted him so bad. I really needed a good hard fuck...rightnow.

There had been a lot of thoughts and fears whirling around in my head since the undercover operation had gone so horribly awry. Some of them weren't clear yet; they were just nameless, formless feelings of dread. I'd remembered enough details of the attack that it wasn't difficult to prosecute my assailants, who had been picked up in the next state.

I had survived with minimal scarring; I hadn't been sexually assaulted or trafficked; I had been very lucky. But sometimes I didn't feel lucky. I felt dirty and afraid, breaking out in a cold sweat at the oddest moments when nothing was actually dangerous or wrong at all.

I couldn't imagine how I'd gotten up on that stage, or even walked into that club, and thought I could handle it. Sometimes I wanted to gag just thinking about it all. I wanted to forget. I wanted it to be gone, dammit.

Jon was being gentle with me — too gentle right now, but just the right amount overall. He said it wasn't my fault, and it would get easier, and I wasn't weak for having some residual effects.

He said he was proud of me, and he wasn't going anywhere, and from now on, I was going to do safe work or none at all. He was quite adamant about that, and for once, I let him be. I didn't mind going back to filing and simple, non-harrowing work that involved sniffing things out and reporting back, rather than dangerous fieldwork.

Perhaps I'd never be fit for the more active and dangerous kind of duty again. Jon certainly didn't want me to try. All of this made me feel weak, rather fragile, and as if I was a shell of myself, less than the man I ought to be. Talking about it only did so much good. I was doing my best, though, going to the mandated counseling, and about half the time lately, I stayed over with Jon and Eli.

It was good, surprisingly good, and I felt safe and welcome there, like I was really a part of things. Family: we felt almost like a family. Jon and I hadn't put more of a name to our relationship than boyfriends, but more and more it felt like the real deal to me. Mates, a lifetime ahead to spend with him. That made me happy.

Jon seemed far more committed lately. He was protective of me, and that was sweet, but it was more than that. His commitment was deeper, and I felt it every day, in interactions and reactions large and little.

He wastherefor me. He showed up. And every time I found out I could count on him a little more than I'd thought, I was both ashamed for doubting him and exhilarated by what I'd learned. He kept revealing his hidden depths to me by being a rock I could count on. I wasn't as strong or brave or sexy as I'd have wanted to be for him: but he liked me anyway. He wanted to keep me. And I wanted that, too.

We were working together to try to help Lexie find a better life for himself. The kid was sweet, and, if he had a crush on Jon, at least he hadn't acted on it.

Eli was very careful with me in his own way, never rough and rowdy, loud or rude. He welcomed me into his home, asked for my help with homework, wanted to spend time with me, and was generally the sweetest little boy I never could've imagined he'd turn out to be. Sometimes, he gave me a quick, embarrassed hug before he rushed out the door for school.

If he had a nightmare and I was staying over, I curled up by his side in my fox form, and he was soothed. He was very careful not to hug me tightly.

Jon, too, was extremely careful of me. And, at least sexually, I was so tired of it.

"Come on," I growled. "I'll put soap in your coffee," I warned, my voice trembling a little as I felt unbearably turned on by his far too slow touches.

He laughed. "Is that the best threat you can manage?"

"Right now it is." I thumped the bed with one hand. "Dammit!" I was going to start biting the sheets in a minute. Or him. It really was hard to think clearly right now. Normally my threats would be much more inventive. "I'll...I'll use up all the hot water when I shower...oh."

He'd finally, finally pushed into me. Ah, that felt just...so...perfect.

"Come on, honey," said Jon in a breathless sort of growl. He gave my ass a hard swat, and we both jumped with the reverberations. I let out a little mewl and arched my back, wanting, wanting: him, more, all of it. "Give me a good ride now."

He started to fuck me properly at last. And oh, I'd missed this so.

"Mmmm." I wriggled back, wanting more, getting into the rhythm with him. It wasn't that being fucked was the best or only thing I liked about sex, but I'd been craving this recently. I was done having him treat me like glass. I wanted to be used up, filled up, loved up, and fucked into oblivion, till I couldn't even think anymore, all thoughts whirling away from me like startled gray moths.

"You're so...fucking...sexy," he panted. "I...I love you...so...much."

Mm, yes. Yes. I couldn't speak just now, but I felt the same. My thoughts were disintegrating, leaving only us, and this moment, and Jon,Jon. He filled me up just so right.

"I love you. I love you," he said, like an oath or vow.

Even if it was just the sex hormones talking, I believed him. I believed him, and I loved him too.

I had to say it. I had to get the words out, to not hold back. I bit my lip. "I — I love you," I rasped. Things were not perfect, but we were together. This wasreal.

"I know," he said, a soft laugh in his voice. How was he staying so in control? The man was a sex god...

I gave him everything I had, and he fucked me just right, till I was rising, rising high, flying away from all worries and fears and doubts, joining with the man (and mate) that I loved.

In that moment, there were no doubts, only love, only peace, only Jon and me. Together, and just right.

Yes, Jon. I love you.

The end