Page 23 of Coyote

He clenched down on the word, and I came with the head of my cock inside him. Every muscle pulled tight at once. A broken sound came out of me, too close to a sob, and he stayed right there and took it.

"That's it." He worked his hips against me for more friction. "Give it to me."

I held his hips and emptied into him in long pulses I lost count of. He clenched around every one, saying mine into my mouth over and over until I was shaking too hard to hold myself upright. Sweat ran off my temple into my beard. He stayed where he was and took all of it.

When it was over, Coyote wrapped both arms around my neck, and for a while neither of us moved. Then he lifted off me carefully. He winced and covered it.

I caught his hips.

"I'm fine," he said.

"Let me check."

"You're a doctor when somebody is hurt. I'm not hurt."

"You're sore."

"I wanted to be."

He kissed me before I could argue, softer than the first time. Better too. Then he settled into my lap sideways, tucked his head under my chin, and put one palm over my heart.

I tightened my arms around him at the thought of him standing up and putting distance between us. I wasn't ready for the room without his weight in it.

He made a quiet sound and folded closer.

I waited for the guilt. It usually arrived after anything good. Sometimes ahead of it. I should've been thinking of Little John's face or his empty side of the bed.

I counted Coyote's breaths against my chest.

Nothing came.

There was only the voice I'd been hearing for five years. About time, you big idiot.

My throat tightened. I pressed my face into Coyote's wet hair and held him closer and didn't let him see how close I was to tears.

By sundown, John had eaten again and slept most of the afternoon in a bunk built for an ordinary man. I left him there with one arm hanging off the mattress, snoring loudly enough to rattle the window, while Rafe sent Linc and me to check the north fence before dark.

I hadn't put more than a wall between us since the pit, and I felt every step of it.

We worked the north fence and turned up nothing but loose wire, rabbit tracks, and one gate somebody had failed to latch. I kept measuring the distance back to the bunkhouse anyway, counting how long it would take to cover it if John woke up and needed me.

Close to midnight, the mare stopped beneath me.

She lifted her head and pinned her ears on the path ahead. Nimue tightened once around my throat.

Something pale lay across the dirt.

I dismounted and found the fox. It lay in the open, nowhere an animal would have crawled to. Somebody had set it down where I'd have to get off the horse and put my hands on it.

Linc's headlamp snapped on and blinded me. I growled and put a hand over my eyes.

"Sorry." He angled the light toward the ground. "Mountain lion?"

"No." I dropped my hand and stayed over the fox. Somebody had arranged it. My hackles came up before I had a reason.

I squatted over the carcass with Nimue heavy around my neck. The fox had been dead a few hours. Its belly remained full, the soft organs untouched. Four cuts opened its side from shoulder to hip, straight and evenly spaced.

I spread the fur around the top cut with two fingers. Claws caught and tore. These edges were smooth. I lifted the hindquarters with a stick and breathed through my nose. Blood. Dirt. No musk. No cat piss. Nothing had claimed the meat.