the foxxfuxx archives

𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧

"Hands," Varon hisses, gray eyes flashing, "off."

"Why?" I shoot him a taunting grin. "It's fun to bother you."

"Fun?" Varon's grey eyes flash with indignance. "This is fun?"

"Very." I wink at him coyly, turning my attention back to the table. It's Mariset's fiftieth anniversary, and Ms. DiGrey decided on a big group dinner as celebration. It's licely - though, with fifty people all eating together, I guess that's expected. Everyone's involved in their own conversations amongst themselves; beside me is Varon, who (in true Varon fashion) is just sitting there and listening in to the conversations.

So, I've decided to bother him.

I'd warned him earlier - because fuck, he's wearing a dark charcoal-gray suit with a thin white undershirt beneath, and then a massive silver-plated watch and that trademark cross on a chain - and oh, it's kind of, very kind of, attractive. He lifts his wine flute to his lips, gingerly taking a sip; when he feels my hand, he pauses and instead turns to fix me with a dead glare. His face remaining stone-cold stoic, even when I'm toying with his raging erection, is impressive; in response I only smile innocently, really pushing the "sweet maybe-girlfriend" agenda above the table.

Under it, of course, is a different story.

Varon's hard as a rock. His dick is straining in his pants; his head throbs beneath my palm, twitching when I circle my thumb over his denim-clothed tip.

"Off," he repeats, voice a low, breathy growl. I only simper at him, giving his bulge a tentative squeeze before nodding to Sophie, who is apparently waiting for him to turn to her.

"I think Sophie has a question," I say, lifting my wine glass to my lips and ignoring Varon's scowl as his gaze flicks down before he turns to face his coworker.