Axes & O’s

10. Fox

Chapter 10

Fox

I spread the warm icing over the fresh cinnamon rolls, my gaze focused on the way the sweet liquid melts into the cracks and crevices of the breakfast treat.

They’re not homemade, but they’re Morgan’s favorite. And since she insisted she go chop wood since I’d been up all morning shoveling snow, I decided to make myself useful in the kitchen. When she comes in and sees me, I know she’ll be pissed, but I’m too wired to sleep like she ordered me to. She also knows I don’t take orders unless I’m in the mood, which is rare.

There’s also still a man I don’t know in our home, though until a few minutes ago, he’s been dead to the world. I checked on him earlier to make sure he wasn’t actually dead, and he wasn’t—just passed out from what I suspect was exhaustion.

I finish icing the rolls then put them in the middle of the kitchen table. I can hear our guest in the bathroom, the faucet turning on and off. After a bit, I think he’s taking his sweet time on purpose because I make him nervous. If I could smell fear, I know it’d be rolling off him.

This is nothing new to me. I’m a six-foot-five man with a beard, long hair, and ink on almost every inch of my body, so I’m scary to most. If I cared, it would upset me, but I’m used to it.

I’ve always been large with a permanent scowl on my face. The aversion people have for me only grew the more ink I placed on my skin and the bigger I got—especially after my time in the US Special Forces.

Morgan thinks it gets to me like it did when we were teens, but I don’t give a fuck. People are either comfortable around me, learn to be, or never are. It’s not my problem.

The sound of an axe connecting with wood has my eyes lifting to look out the window above our kitchen sink. Sadly for me, my view isn’t the greatest, but I see the swing of my wife’s powerful arms as she expertly turns logs into firewood. It didn’t have to be done now, but Morgan woke up needing to work off some steam, so she’s been out there for the last hour chopping away. I would’ve preferred that she got her energy out by sitting on my cock, but I know she wants to be more respectful with Nathan here.

I have other ideas.

He’s stuck here until the plows can clear the roads, and I’m not going to keep my hands off my wife in my home. I also know that even though he was shocked, he enjoyed what he saw. I felt him the moment he peered through the open door, watching us curiously. Had he really been offended and upset, he would’ve heard my wife’s cries and stayed far away from the door. But he made the choice to walk down the hall, and he made the choice to stay and watch. The question is: If he had the opportunity again, would he still claim he wanted to leave? Or would he be curious?

I hear one of the floorboards creak and turn from watching Morgan to the man currently occupying my thoughts. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, the shirt and pants I left him covering the muscular body hidden underneath. I’m glad the clothes mostly fit and that our old tenant had left some behind, because my clothes would’ve drowned him.

“Good morning,” he says, his warm voice uneasy.

I could say “good morning” back, but I reserve frilly words for Morgan alone. Instead, I tip my chin down in greeting. “Coffee?” I ask .

He drops his hand back down to his side, his eyes pausing on the cinnamon rolls before meeting mine. “Um, yeah. Thanks.”

“Black?”

“Yes.”

I move to the coffee pot. The dark liquid is freshly brewed, and I pour him a cup before I place it on the table in front of an empty chair. “Sit.”

Nathan blinks at me, his lips tightening. For a second, I think he’s going to say something, but then he follows the order. Satisfaction stirs in my gut that he listened because I like when people listen, but again, I go back to my earlier assessment of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He wanted to tell me something—probably bark at me for sounding rude—but he’d held himself back.

I pour myself my own cup of coffee and take a sip before the oven dings. After draining half of it, the hot liquid burning on its way down, I grab the potholders and pull out the tray of crisp, thick-cut bacon. Nathan’s eyes are on me as they were earlier, and just like then, he doesn’t think I notice. But there’s a reason I’m a good hunter, why the name Fox suits me in more ways than one. I observe, I notice, I plan and outwit…among other things.

Keeping my face neutral, I place the hot pan of bacon on top of the oven and set the potholders down before I turn my gaze to Nathan. Our eyes meet, and he holds the connection. It’s brief, but he does it. When he looks down at his mug, I notice the tips of his ears are pink, and I find myself standing straighter.

I knew he was attracted to Morgan, not that I can blame him. My wife attracts everyone; it’s just who she is. Yet I couldn’t be sure if Nathan was interested in me beyond curiosity or fear, maybe both. Having his eyes on me while I fucked my wife is one thing—it’s natural for someone to be turned on by the sight of it—but that reaction just now?

I start to catalogue the details of every moment he’s been here. The time has been brief, but unlike me, Nathan wears his feelings and emotions on his sleeve. He also expresses them. He may not have outwardly taken a shining to me, and I do sense fear there, but maybe I’ve mistaken his fear for attraction? Or he could be fearful because he is attracted to me. I suppose we have time to figure it out since the storm wants to keep us here.

I turn back toward the bacon, taking a plate down from the cabinet and lining it with a paper towel before putting the strips on it. Once I’ve finished, I place the plate next to the cinnamon rolls and grab my coffee before sitting at the head of the table, placing myself at Nathan’s left. He doesn’t make a move for the food, so I gesture to it.

“Eat.”

My new order has his eyes snapping up to mine again. His jaw ticks as he asks, “Do you only speak in short commands?”

My lip twitches. Hmm, the wolf wants to play? I can play.

While keeping my eyes locked on his, I snatch a few strips of bacon and place them on my plate. “I speak what I need to.”

“Wow. That was a full sentence and not a command—I’m impressed.”

My skin prickles, and the image of his impressive body strapped to Morgan’s stockade, his muscular ass bright red from the force of my hand, pops in my mind. It’s an amusing image, one I’m not mad at. I think our guest could use a lesson—or several.

I rip off a piece of the fatty, crisp bacon with my teeth, licking my lips of grease. Nathan hasn’t removed his eyes from me, but they aren’t focused on me , either; instead, they’re focused on my mouth. On the way I chew, the way my throat flexes as I swallow. When I lean forward to take a cinnamon roll, the movement snaps him back to reality, and I catalogue this reaction, too, leaning toward the idea that he is attracted to me.

Nathan clears his throat, embarrassed I caught him, then brings the mug shaped like a pine tree to his lips. After he collects himself, he takes a piece of bacon, then another, followed by a cinnamon roll .

Before he takes a bite, he’s talking again. “What time is it? I forgot to ask.”

I point to the clock on the wall, and his eyes follow my direction. I can see he’s annoyed I didn’t just tell him, but it was a test. I gave him a silent order—one that he once again followed.

“It’s almost two in the afternoon?” he asks, blinking.

I don’t respond, just take a bite of the gooey roll.

“I was out for almost ten hours,” he continues. “Are the roads clear?”

His tone is hopeful, enough that I feel a little bad for him. I’d feel worse for him if he hadn’t put the wrong chains on his tires—I saw what caused his accident before we came back to the cabin.

On top of that, he shouldn’t have been driving in a storm like this in the first place.

“No.” I take another large bite of the roll, only leaving a small bite remaining.

“I saw Morgan outside.”

That explains why he was flushed when he answered the bedroom door earlier. I guess my beautiful wife and her axe skills woke him up—in more ways than one.

“I spent all morning clearing a pathway,” I say. “The storm has slowed, but we’re expected to get more snow tonight. The roads are closed, and the plows won’t be around until the storm is completely over.”

He blinks at me as if he’s shocked I offered that many words and so much information, then he leans back in his chair. “Did the sheriff get a hold of my sister?”

I chew and swallow the last bite of the sweet cinnamon bread. “Yes. They’ve also made the city aware of your car on the side of the road.”

He exhales, his shoulders loosening. “Did he say anything else?”

“About what? ”

Nathan’s boyish features turn exasperated. “About my sister?”

“Why would they?”

The husky sound of Morgan’s laughter makes both of us perk up. I’d faintly heard her open and close the door of our mudroom, so I knew she was coming, but I sit a little straighter nonetheless. Her winter-chilled hands land on my shoulders as she stands behind me, and I relish her touch. She squeezes me gently while I take another bite of bacon.

“You’ll have to excuse my husband, Nathan. He’s not one for fluff.”

“I noticed.”

Morgan chuckles at his response and squeezes my shoulders tighter. I think partially because she knows his comment irked me but also because he was brave enough to say it. Not many people can be snarky around me, and he’s done it twice now.

As I continue to eat, Morgan does what I can’t, reassuring Nathan that everything is going to be fine. While she does, I think of when we rescued him, the way he reached for Morgan and how he settled at her voice. How he sunk into me as I carried him back as if his body knew to trust the people who were bringing him to safety.

I also can’t shake the feeling in my gut I had when I first saw him, one I thought maybe I’d made up at the time. But it still sits heavy inside me, only growing the more I interact with him, the more I catch him looking at me. It was one of the reasons that compelled me to leave the door open beyond my own curiosity…

With a final squeeze to my shoulders, Morgan sits to the left of me, her eyes finding Nathan’s across the table as she takes a cinnamon roll for herself. I observe the moment, absorbing every detail. The gentle smile on my partner’s lips, the rosy pink of her cheeks from the biting cold outside and her exertion, and the ease to Nathan’s shoulders despite him outwardly trying to prove his unease and anger with his words and glares .

It hits me then, like a spark catching dry tinder: Could he be the partner we’ve been wanting?

Morgan turns to me at the exact instant I think it, and she smiles. It’s a smile of softness, of sweetness, of reverence—it’s my smile, the one reserved only for me. When our eyes connect, I see the moment she knows what I’m thinking because her body tenses. She looks back at Nathan, who’s cutting into his cinnamon roll as if he’s at a five-star restaurant, then to me. Her eyebrow lifts, and I nod.

Morgan bites her lip and shifts in her chair, hesitance only I could recognize passing across her features. I know it stems from what happened with our last partner, Gabriel, but I also know that the idea of Nathan interests her.

I’ve established that she likes him, and he likes her. Then there’s his interest in me, whether he’s recognized it or not. But I think once I’ve convinced my wife that I’m right about him, we just need to see if our wolf wants to shed his sheep’s clothing.

Though his clothes will do…to start.