His Foxy Devil

by Lynn Hagen

  Pat didn’t just take them off. He glided his fingers over Mitch’s ankles in such a seductive way that Mitch had to stop his legs from jerking from the sensations racing up his body and coiling around his groin.

  Was he really getting hot and bothered over his ankles being touched? His goddamn ankles? They were the least sensitive part of his body, and his balls were drawing tight because Pat was caressing his freaking ankles.

  This had to be some kind of dream. Mitch looked at other guys and imagined fucking them. He had gone home with plenty of partners—their place, not his. Never his because he considered his cabin his sanctuary.

  But it took a lot to get him turned on. Maybe because sex had become bland to him. You have sex with one stranger after another and the shit became stale after a while. There had never been any depth to his hookups. Flirt, throw out a few cheesy pickup lines, seal the deal, get his rocks off, and then make an excuse for why he had to leave.

  For a very long time that had been perfect for him. No attachments because Mitch worked too hard at building his company to maintain any kind of personal relationship. He had also never found anyone he had vibed with.

  But now he lay there with a hard fucking cock because Pat was molesting his ankles. He smiled at how ironic life was.

  His smile faded as Pat stood, still sporting a boner as he reached for Mitch’s snap, but instead of undoing his pants, his mate slid his fingers past the waistband as he straddled Mitch’s lap.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have powerful thighs?” Pat wiggled his ass on Mitch’s denim-covered cock, and Mitch nearly lost it. It seemed everything Pat did turned him on. Hell, the way Pat’s knees pressed into Mitch’s hips made his stomach flutter.

  “That’s the oddest compliment that anyone has ever given me.” Mitch’s gaze slid over the bewitching man sitting atop him. Pat’s skin was flawless, not a freckle in sight, which was weird considering most redheads were riddled with them. Not that Mitch would have minded if Pat had them. The spots wouldn’t have detracted from his beauty.

  “You’re killing me.” Mitch moaned.

  “Poor baby.” Pat gave him a mocking pout. “Shall I put you out of your misery?”

  “God yes,” Mitch moaned.

  With a devilish smirk, Pat slid down Mitch’s legs and unfastened his pants. The top of Mitch’s boxer briefs was already wet from his pre-cum seeping through. His legs tightened, and his breathing quickened as he watched Pat trace the pad of his finger over the wet spot.

  Mitch wanted to grab Pat and throw him to the bed, but he had the use of only one arm, and that frustrated the fuck out of him.

  “Don’t.” Pat narrowed his eyes. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  “See what?” Mitch glanced toward his hand when the tingling in his pinky moved to the first knuckle. He wasn’t going to say anything to Pat. He didn’t want his mate to get his hopes up. He didn’t want to see that hope flourish because he didn’t want it dashed.

  His attention was pulled back to his mate when Pat yanked Mitch’s pants and underwear down to his knees. But Pat stopped and simply stared down at him.

  “Are you just gonna kneel there staring?”

  “I’m just…” Pat’s lips parted. “I’m just enjoying your work of art.”

  Mitch couldn’t believe he was blushing. Fucking blushing. When was the last time he had ever done that? He couldn’t even recall.

  Pat moved back up his legs and helped Mitch get his shirt off. When Pat tossed it aside, he ran his hand over Mitch’s chest. “Do you know how gorgeous you are?”

  Goddamn it. Mitch’s blush deepened to the point that his face felt as though it had caught fire. Sure, he had heard how good he looked from other guys, and even women, but Mitch had never been into his looks. He had been too busy building his career, too busy with the insanity of life.

  Plus he had been raised to be humble.

  “Will you do something besides stare at me?” Mitch gently demanded. “You’re seriously killing me.”

  This time when Pat wiggled his ass, Mitch’s cock wedged between his cheeks, making Mitch hiss as his muscles bunched. When Mitch tried to rise up, Pat pressed his hand into Mitch’s chest and forced him to lie back down.

  “You just lay there and let me do whatever I want.” Pat gave him a sinister smile. “And you’re gonna like it, too.”

  Mitch quirked a brow. “Oh yeah?”

  “Trust me.” Pat’s hand was still pressed against Mitch’s chest. “I’m very good at helping people in distress.”

  He liked this side of his little fox. In bed, Pat was a take-charge kind of guy. That didn’t seem to be the case when outside the bedroom. Pat was more uncertain and a little scared. That was okay with Mitch. They could reverse roles whenever his mate needed them to.

  Mitch would be Pat’s protector, yet he could also allow his mate to take over whenever Pat needed to feel powerful. Mitch wasn’t such a control freak that he would demand to be the dominant male in the sack.

  “I think I’m in distress.” Mitch licked his lips. “What can you do about that?”

  Pat slid off Mitch’s legs and crossed the room. When he bent over to reach into his pants pockets, Mitch’s gaze zeroed in on his small, plump ass. He had to grab his cock and squeeze the base before he came just from the sight of Pat’s nudity.

  Fuck. Again, no other lover had affected Mitch like this. He could honestly lie there and jack off just watching the way Pat sashayed across the carpet.

  Pat turned with a travel-sized pack of lube in his hand. Mitch tightened his fist as his gaze followed his mate back to the bed, his eyes on Pat’s cock as Mitch’s mouth watered.

  He wanted to suck his mate off, but Mitch was wound too tight for that. Next time. Right now he wanted to feel Pat’s tight ass wrapped around his aching cock.

  Pat climbed back onto the bed, but he didn’t straddle Mitch. Instead, he turned to give Mitch a show. A show Mitch wouldn’t soon forget. His mate wet his fingers and wiggled his ass as he inserted them.

  Mitch lay there with his lips parted, strangling his own cock as he watched Pat stretch himself. He reached for Pat, only to realize his mate was on his left side. He snarled at his useless arm, but just then, Pat turned and climbed onto him.

  “Ready for this?” Pat smiled down at him.

  In that single smile Mitch lost himself to his mate. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his redhead. There was no fucking way he would ever be able to deny Pat anything. His heart belonged to his little fox shifter as Pat leaned forward and guided Mitch’s cock to his lubed hole.

  “More than ready.” Mitch clenched his jaw when he breached Pat, his cock inching its way into his mate’s body.

  They groaned in unison as Pat bottomed out. But he didn’t stay still. He began to bounce up and down, his palms planted against Mitch’s chest as his mate’s head rolled to the side and his eyelids fluttered closed.

  Mitch was enchanted at the sight. He bent his knees and pushed his feet into the mattress, using his right hand to cradle Pat’s side as he punched his hips upward.

  His left arm might be lame, but Mitch would have to be dead in order not to participate, not to give back as good as he was getting.

  But his cheetah took over. Mitch rolled them, using his right arm to press beside Pat’s head as he drove his cock hard and fast, eating up the raw pleasure crossing Pat’s beautiful face.

  “Yes!” Pat hissed as he wrapped his legs around Mitch’s waist. He knew Pat was okay with his lame arm, but Mitch still had to prove his prowess, to prove that he could still fuck his mate into a coma.

  His manhood demanded it.

  When Mitch felt the buildup coming, he sank his canines into Pat’s shoulder. His mate tossed beneath him, crying out as Mitch felt their bond snap into place. Their souls merged, becoming one as Pat shattered, arching his back, and he cried out Mitch’s name.

  Mitch gave a few more hard thrusts before he followed, his orgasm ripping through him as h
e licked the wound, threw back his head, and howled his release.

  He wiped his forehead on the sheet, gasping for breath as he slowly eased out of Pat’s body and collapsed next to him.

  Pat turned on his side, curling into Mitch. “We’re you satisfied with my performance?”

  At first Mitch thought the guy was serious until he realized Pat was giving him some hokey satisfaction survey like he was a telemarketer.

  Or a silly police dispatcher.

  “I’ll fill out the form and hand it in later.” Mitch chuckled when Pat slapped him on the chest.

  “I expect a five-star review.”

  Mitch kissed him on the jaw. “How about ten stars?”

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Pat sighed, and Mitch closed his eyes and was basking in the fact that he had claimed his mate when someone knocked on the door.

  Seriously? Now? “What!”

  “Hondo and I are headed out,” Chris said from the other side. “He told me to tell you two not to leave the apartment.”

  Mitch had never been given such useless advice before. “Then I’ll cancel our dinner reservations.”

  “You had dinner reservations?” Chris asked.

  “Be nice,” Pat whispered.

  “No, Chris,” Mitch called out. “And I promise we’ll stay put.”

  “Okay.” The guy sounded relieved. “I’ll let you know when we’re back.”

  Mitch spooned Pat, resting his chin on Pat’s shoulder, only to realize a few minutes later that his mate had fallen asleep. He wasn’t sure when the last time had been that Pat had gotten any rest.

  Mitch pulled the covers over them and closed his eyes, far from tired but unwilling to leave his mate’s side.

  After all, Pat hadn’t left his, and that, more than words, truly told him what kind of a mate he had.

  Chapter Five

  “Anything?” Nazaryth asked.

  Panahasi shook his head as he took a seat at the table with the rest of the Ultionem leaders. He was trying really hard to keep his anger in check at the stupidity of sending shifters after Demonian and Syphon. What the hell had this group been thinking?

  “They are still hidden from me,” he replied. Panahasi normally didn’t have a problem pinpointing someone’s location. He was as old as dirt, powerful, and there weren’t too many things he couldn’t do. But an ancient hell dweller always posed a problem.

  He thought of how he and Jaden had to travel through the underworld to get to Morag. How the two had to run from the various dark creatures instead of just wiping them all from existence.

  His powers did have a few limits, whether he liked that or not. Since Demonian and Syphon were almost as old as he was, finding them wasn’t an easy task.

  Still, Christian should have never sent Mitch and his men after them. That had been a suicide mission. Mitch had been damned lucky he had received only a scratch from Demonian instead of dying a very painful death.

  “What’s it gonna take to find them?” Rakeym asked. “I don’t like the idea of tenebris creaturae walking around the human realm. They have already killed one person…that we know of.”

  Which was very odd to Panahasi. Usually, when hellhounds escaped, they caused mayhem wherever they traveled. They sucked happiness out of others, killed, caused destruction, and a few even sold their services to the highest bidder.

  If Panahasi didn't know better, he would say they were keeping a low profile. The only reason they were after Mitch and his men was revenge.

  He would look deeper into the woman’s death. There had to be a reason Demonian had targeted her. Maybe finding out why would give him answers to their motive.

  “They can’t be killed,” Panahasi said. “They can only be sent back to Hell.”

  “If they can’t be killed, how do we send them back?” Zeus asked.

  He studied the leaders, every single man different in his own way, each with their own set of skills. But none of them were a match for Demonian and Syphon.

  “Leave that up to me.” Panahasi pulled his phone out when it vibrated in his pocket. Casey was calling him. Panahasi stepped from the room and into the hallway that led to Christian’s office before he answered.

  “What’s up, Casey?”

  “Drake is being unreasonable!” Casey shouted. “I suggested going out for dinner, but he insists on cooking. Hello, have you tasted Drake’s cooking?”

  “I can cook!” Drake argued in the background. “Take that back or I’ll knock you on your ass.”

  “What have I told you two about fighting?”

  Casey sighed. “That you’ll lock us up for a few centuries if it turns physical.”

  “We didn’t touch each other,” Drake argued. “I swear it was a friendly shove.”

  The last time the two had fought Panahasi had made them stay in their penthouse for a month. It had driven them crazy since the two loved to shop.

  “You have the deciding vote,” Casey said. “The Melting Pot or Drake’s meatloaf.”

  Panahasi shuddered. He loved his mates with all his heart, but Drake’s meatloaf scared the crap out of him. “King Wings.”

  “Yes!” Casey whooped.

  “Screw both of you,” Drake said.

  “I’ll be home in a little bit, just as soon as I’m done with this meeting.”

  “Love you,” Casey said.

  Panahasi grinned. He would never tire of hearing his mates tell him that. “Love both of you. Behave.” He hung up and stepped back into the office.

  “How are we going to leave catching the two hellhounds up to you?” Christian asked. “This problem involves all of us.”

  Panahasi noticed how quiet Maverick had been. The wolf shifter simply sat there studying Panahasi as though he knew what was on Panahasi’s mind.

  Maverick’s brother, Sebastian, hadn’t said a word, either.

  With a wave of his hand, the leaders disappeared, all except for Christian. Rakeym and the others would be pissed that Panahasi had sent them home, but he needed to talk to his son in private.

  “You could have just said you wanted to talk to me alone.” Christian sat behind his desk, looking as regal as ever.

  Deadly, too. But Panahasi wasn’t worried about the vampire’s attitude. “You contracted shifters to take on ancient hellhounds?” Panahasi’s voice was laced with venom. “What possessed you to do something so careless?”

  “Because we’re already dealing with too much crap.” Christian rose from his seat and slammed his fist onto his desk. “We contract out a lot of work because being a leader of an entire race consumes a lot of time.”

  Christian didn’t have to remind him. Panahasi spent very little time with Casey and Drake, and that was part of the job he despised the most. Not only did Panahasi lead the demon warriors, he kept Serenity City safe, and he was Life—which was a consuming career. He also watched over the gates of Hell and did a thousand other tasks to keep the world safe.

  There were times when he wanted to walk away from it all and take his mates somewhere that he never had to worry about any threat, but this was his life, whether he liked it or not.

  “Hellhounds aren’t your business,” he reminded Christian. “If you needed someone to handle Demonian and Syphon, you should have given that task to the winged beasts whose job it is to hunt them down.”

  “Just because you created the vampire race don’t think you can tell me what I can and cannot do,” Christian snarled. “I had no idea the hellhounds were firstborns.”

  “And that’s exactly why you should have handed this off to Nazaryth,” Panahasi argued.

  He took a step back. Arguing would get him nowhere. Christian was just as stubborn as he was and wouldn’t back down in his decision.

  Panahasi moved to the darkened corner and walked through, emerging in his penthouse. He needed to hunt Demonian and Syphon down, but damn it, his mates needed time with him, too.

  And for a few hours, Panahasi would give them that.

&
nbsp; But after dinner, he would find out why the hellhounds had killed that woman. He would also hunt the two down and figure out why they were keeping such a low profile.

  * * * *

  Pat groaned when his phone rang and he saw his brother was calling him. Zack was the last person he wanted to talk to, but he also knew Zack had just started his new job, and Pat wanted to congratulate him.

  Mitch was in the shower, so Pat crept from the bedroom and hurried to the kitchen before he answered. “Hello?”

  “You just saved your brother’s life by answering the phone. If you want him to continue breathing, meet me at The Melting Pot and come alone, or dear Zack is going to die a very painful death.”

  Pat stood there frozen, his heart hammering as he clutched his phone.

  “Fuck this up,” the stranger snarled sharply, “and we’ll go after your mother next. My mate is already keeping an eye on her.”

  Pat was terrified for his brother, but he knew for damn sure the threat against his mother wasn’t real. Panahasi had taken care of that when Pat and the others were still at Mitch’s cabin. She had been hidden away at Maverick’s Den, and a few of the Ultionem leaders were helping guard her.

  Even though Zack was a huge pain in Pat’s ass, he would do anything to keep him from harm. “We can work through this.” He used his calm and soothing voice as his training kicked in. “You really don’t want to hurt—”

  “You heard my warning,” the guy said.

  “Okay, just don’t hurt him. I’m on my way.”

  The stranger hung up.

  Pat wasn’t a complete idiot. He wasn’t going alone. If he did, the hellhound would only have another hostage. He had precious time to spare as he raced down the hallway and burst into the guest bedroom. “They have my brother!”

  Mitch stood in the bedroom looking fine as fuck as the droplets of water clung to his skin. For a second Pat forgot what he was talking about. All he could do was stare like a moron.

  “What are you talking about?” Mitch used the towel to dry between his legs. Pat’s gaze was glued to his mate’s hand before he looked at Mitch.