Chapter Seven
Easter
“ B enjamin?” I blink once, twice, still engulfed in the aftermath of my powerful and third orgasm of the day. At first, I think I’m dreaming. That my filthy, oversexed mind has conjured him from the depths of my depraved soul. Then slowly, the daze lifts and that ever-present ‘ Mr Bennett, sir’ drifts towards me. My gaze connects with his muddy-grey eyes, spilling over with… worry before it turns into relief, I think.
“What the hell!” I shout, springing from my bed as I struggle with my pants that are acting as a homemade booby trap around my ankles. I nearly stumble into the nightstand, my sticky hand sliding against the corner when I try to steady myself. Right, cum hands. Classy. Benjamin comes charging at me, his eyes wild as he sweeps up a box of tissues from my dresser, pulling sheets frantically from the opening. Throwing them at me like rice at a wedding, a pink blush creeping across his cheeks as he starts mumbling something.
“What?!” I spit, catching a tissue as it comes flying at me. He winces, pearly teeth digging into his trembling bottom lip, and I instantly curse myself. “Sorry,” I try, as I start wiping cum from my stomach, my limp dick hanging between my thighs in a resigned ‘ was this the blissful aftermath I was promised?’ slump. Yes, yes, I fear this was it. Crumbling the messy tissues in my hands, I look around for a place to discard them, but I come up blank. Where, oh where, does one discard cum stained tissues in front of one’s only employee? I swear you can’t make this shit up. You can’t.
“You’re okay,” he pants, his voice tinged with surprised relief.
“Of course, I’m okay! Why wouldn’t I be?” He shrugs, then nods at my hand.
“Give them to me,” he whispers, his voice frail and shaky. He reaches out his hand between us, palm open, and for some strange reason—that I’ll have to think really hard about later, but not now when my dick is still hanging out—I drop them into his hand. Closing his fingers around the sticky tissues, his gaze drops to the floor, while I bend to pull my pants up, adjusting myself. This is far from ideal. This is the opposite of ideal. This is… undeal. Benjamin is a stellar employee, and I doubt I’ll find anyone as dedicated and skilled before the holidays, if ever. Then again, how do you move on from your employee—your only employee—seeing your dick? Seeing your dishevelled self in a post-orgasmic state with his name on your lips. That’s a hard one, no pun intended.
“Mr Sable,” I grunt, almost brushing a hand through my chaotic hair before I catch myself. I’m not convinced they’re completely cum free. “We need to talk.”
He looks up, a glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes as he bounces slightly on his feet.
“Yes, Mr Bennett, sir,” he quips.
“About boundaries. Personal boundaries,” I clarify, and the light instantly dims in his eyes .
“Oh…” he breathes.
“Look, Mr Sable, this isn’t going to work, I’m afraid.” It isn’t. Not in a million years. So why do the words feel like acid on my tongue as I speak them? Why does it feel like my gut is about to drop out of my arse? Like my heart is trying to eat itself in a fit of… something . He tilts his head, his fawn eyes filling with tears, that full bottom lip trembling ominously. Then he does something that has been a fixed part of every sex fantasy of mine since he did it the first time downstairs. He drops to his knees.
“Please don’t fire me, Mr Bennett, sir,” he whispers, a sob lingering at the end. Oh shit. “Please, please, please, Mr Bennett, s—” The rest of the ‘ sir ’ is swallowed by the saddest hiccup in history. Oh, for Christ’s sake. My stomach does a weird flip, and I swallow back a groan. Be professional, Easter. Be professional.
“Please get up, Mr Sable,” I bite out, but he just shakes his head furiously at me, brown locks spilling onto his forehead and into his teary eyes. His cheeks are wet, and I feel like pulling him from the floor and tugging him against my chest to shut up my traitorous heart. My dick seems to be on board with that idea because he perks up while the image of Benjamin wearing those damn bunny ears flashes through my mind.
“Please, please, please,” he chants, his gaze locking onto mine as fat tears spill down his cheeks and further down his chin and neck. “I thought you were in danger!” he blurts, his voice filled with genuine alarm, indignation blazing in his eyes. “I thought…”
“Danger?” I ask. “Why on earth did you think I was in danger?”
“Because,” he gulps, scrambling towards me on his knees until he’s right at my socked feet. “Because of the noise,” he whispers, licking his lips, his trembling fingers reaching for the hem of my pants .
“The noise?” I sigh, pinching the top of my nose, cum fingers be damned. He nods eagerly as his fingers squeeze around my woollen pants like I’m the last straw during a raging storm. And then he tells me. His account makes little sense at first as the words spill from his lips. Something about Waterloo and the Seventh Battalion. How he can’t remember what C-P-R stands for and that it sounded like I was dying, choking, drowning. When he’s done, he’s panting at my feet, and I have to admit that somehow I do see how he could think that I was… unwell … for lack of a better word.
He looks at me expectantly, tears glistening on the tips of his dark lashes. Something shifts inside me then, a softness building in my chest as it slowly spreads to the rest of my body. Until it has invaded every limb and every vessel. Every cell. Until I can’t stand it any longer—not a damn second longer—my body aching, needing, calling out for him. Bunny. My Bunny. He thought I was in danger. He wanted to save me. He… he cares about me. It’s evident in his eyes, in his words, in the submissive way he kneels at my feet, clinging desperately to my pants, that dirty tissue still clenched in his other small fist.
“Come here,” I rasp, giving in, because the alternative is unbearable. Who am I kidding, really? Scrambling from the floor and into a standing position, he sways on his feet, his fingers reaching for my chest, the tissue dropping to the floor. His wet eyelashes flutter, an unspoken plea hidden in the depths of his eyes. Wrapping my arms around him, he’s small and frail, quivering against my chest. I lift him easily off the floor, cradling him against me. His thighs widen on instinct as he lets me hold him, his slender legs locking around my waist. He weighs next to nothing. He’s like a shivering baby animal in my arms. My Bunny .
A broken sigh leaves his body as he buries his face against my neck, sniffing audibly.
“I’m so sorry,” he whimpers, his hands finding my neck, blunt nails digging into my skin, gliding through my hair, pulling at the strands. “I really did think that—”
“There, there,” I speak against the top of his head, the sweetness of his scent filling my lungs. I allow myself to breathe him in as I continue to comfort and reassure him that everything is truly fine. Because it is, isn’t it? For the first time in a long while, I feel calm, no longer at war with myself and the world. The storm has passed and holding my Bunny against me feels like walking out from a dark cave and into the brightness of the daylight. Scary, yet strangely freeing too.
He sniffles against my left ear, then sighs as he exhales languidly. I press another kiss against the crown of his head and he giggles softly as the tip of his tongue sneaks out and licks my earlobe. I laugh then. I can’t help it. I can’t help myself. I don’t want to help myself.
“You’re laughing,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice filled with wonder, and I can feel the smile on his lips. My chest puffs out. I decide then and there that I love his smile. It’s mine now. “I didn’t think you could,” he teases. “I thought you were from before laughter was invented.”
“Hey, I’m not that old, you little pest.” My fingers dig into his sides and I pinch him gently. He squirms and I adjust him in my arms.
“You can put me down now,” he breathes. The hell I can, and I tell him exactly just that.
“I’m never putting you down,” I grunt, squeezing him tighter against me, a left-over sob leaving his lips.
“Ne-ver?” he stammers, a world of hope in those two syllables. “Not even when you have to go…you know…” he giggles, his voice breathy and happy .
“Well, perhaps then,” I admit, a strange sensation of regret and loss running through my body at the thought of putting him down. There’s a moment of silence between us before he speaks again.
“Master?” The word hangs in the air around us, doing things to my insides like it did the last time, giving me purpose, giving me life.
“Yes, Bunny,” my voice comes out muffled by his hair.
“There is no Easter uniform, is there?” His voice is frail and vulnerable, his fingers digging into my sweater. I shake my head. “Those bunny ears were for me, weren’t they? Just for me?” I nod, swallowing, willing my tongue to function.
“They were. They are ,” I say and then, because we already reached the point of no return when he saw me come with his name— my name for him—on my lips and then decided carrying my only employee in my arms was a good idea, I add, “Do you want to see the rest?”
His head whips back from my neck, his eyes wide open, his mouth slightly agape.
“There’s more?” he gasps, his eyes filling again, an ocean of muddy grey swimming before me. I laugh again, this time heartily and deeply. Uninhibited and carefree like I used to be in a faraway past… before I turned into a broody bastard.
“Of course, there’s more. So much more.” Like I said, the number of hits you get when you search for bunny on Amazon…