Epilogue
NINA
Seven years later
I still message the mafia boss. And I never leave him hanging like I used to.
Blake
Bit of a surprise for you when you get home, Bunny.
Bunny
Is it a head?
If it is, I hope it’s none of the babies’.
Yes, I finally changed my screen name on TelUBox. Our eldest, Grace, is becoming a good reader, and I was concerned she’d look over my shoulder and see it.
That would cause lots of awkward questions I’d rather not answer.
I’m in a car, on the way back from the children’s charity I’m the creative director for when I’m not looking after my own kids, writing my series of children’s books, or being ravished by my husband.
I don’t work for the accounting firm anymore.
Blake insisted that, since I didn’t like my job, I shouldn’t do it.
Aaron couldn’t believe that I was marrying his boss.
It took a bit of time for him to stop pulling me aside and checking that I was okay.
But eventually, my sheer happiness convinced him.
Blake’s favourite thing is to put the kids to bed, ensure they’re asleep, then prowl into the living room where I’m relaxing and demand that I strip naked for him.
From there, it might involve the handcuffs, the fluffy covering has been replaced several times, or the rose toy’s upgrade. Or me being on my knees for him.
Being deliciously used by my husband who adores me is the sweetest contradiction that somehow makes sense.
Blake
It’s not a head on its own?
Bunny
What does that mean?!
Chocolate? again.
Blake loves to buy absurd things made from chocolate. He gave all the children solid chocolate toys a year ago. A miniature sports car for our boy, a doll’s house for our youngest girl, and a little hippo for our eldest.
Blake
It’s not chocolate, I promise. Though it is chocolate-related.
Bunny
Intriguing!
I try to think of what it could be, but come up blank. When I arrive back in Norwood, the tension draining from me as soon as the car enters the now familiar black metal gates that signify home. Not Blake’s house. Our home now.
There are voices from the garden as I enter the house, and I make my way around to the patio that leads off from the kitchen. It’s where Blake often likes to spend time with the kids, making BBQ for them for dinner, or playing games.
But they’re not there. I step onto the grass and follow the subdued but excited sound of children’s voices, and the low rumble of my husband’s voice.
“Daddy, do you think they’ll be happy with just grass? Should we get them something else?”
“Be careful stroking her, Jane. Gently.”
My brows pinch with confusion.
“And yes, Thomas, I think they’ll be happy with grass. That’s their natural diet.”
“What about a carrot?”
I round the corner and find my husband and three children all sitting on the grass in the middle of the biggest lawn. There’s a plastic hut, and a mesh pen to their side. It’s on wheels.
I blink.
“He likes me!” Jane says, a bit too loudly.
“He likes you more when you’re quiet,” Blake replies.
My jaw drops open when I see that each child has a small rabbit on their lap.
Grace has an exceptionally fluffy little grey rabbit, Thomas has a cream-coloured rabbit with dark points at its ears and nose, and Jane has a brown and black mottled rabbit that’s very smooth.
Blake is reclining on the grass, hands holding himself up, his long legs stretched out, monitoring them carefully.
“Bunnies!” I exclaim as I reveal myself.
Blake looks up, his eyes full of mischief.
“Mommy! Look at the rabbit Daddy bought for me!” my youngest, Jane, says. She’s been watching a lot of American television and has started calling me Mommy instead of the English word, Mummy. “Mine is the most beautiful, which is why she’s called Beauty.”
There are cries of dissent from my older kids, who are convinced that their choice of rabbit is the prettiest.
“Mine is called Easter, and is going to bring me chocolate eggs,” says Thomas, a bit hopefully.
“They are all gorgeous,” I say and meet Blake’s gaze. I tell him silently that he’s a big softy for his kids.
He lifts one hand and crooks a finger to me in a silent, “Come here, wife.”
I go to him as the kids tell me in fragments about how their dad took them to an animal rescue centre, and there were all these rabbits, and they were all allowed to pick one each to have as a pet.
Blake hooks an arm around me and settles me into his lap, kissing my cheek affectionately.
Grace notices and wrinkles her nose. “Ewww.”
Blake laughs, low and easy.
“You two are so gross.” Thomas deliberately looks away from us and focuses on stroking the grey and cream head of his bunny rabbit.
“Speaking of that.” I turn to look at Blake. “Are they, uh, done? I don’t think I want hundreds more bunnies?”
“That would be fun…” he muses playfully.
I take a breath. “Blake.”
“But no, they’ve all had the chop. No baby bunnies for us.” He squeezes my waist. “Of the furry four-legged sort, anyway.” I melt into him as the kids continue to tell me all about their rabbits, and I listen. Blake puts me at a careful distance, no doubt so he doesn’t get an inconvenient hard-on.
“And their house—” Jane starts.
“Hutch,” corrects Grace.
“Their hutch is made of plastic, so they won’t chew it. And we’re going to clean it out together every week. We had to promise Daddy before we were allowed to choose a rabbit.”
I nod. “And what does Kitten think of this?”
A-kitten-has-no-name never really got a name, and despite growing into a mature cat who loves sleeping in the sun more than playing with bullet casings, is excellent with the kids.
She puts up with them tugging her tail—until Blake tells them to cut it out—with a lot of patience, and curls up at their feet to sleep.
When she was a kitten, she tried sleeping on the bed with Blake and me, but quickly realised when the baby arrived that she was less, shall we say, active.
“She’s the indoor pet, these are outdoor pets,” Grace replies quickly.
“And we can’t leave our rabbits unattended.” Thomas pronounces the word carefully. Blake must have taught it to him today. “Especially not with Kitten.”
“That seems sensible.” Our cat can be a bit of an assassin.
“It’s unfair, when you think about it,” Grace says thoughtfully. “Mummy, you have Kitten.”
It’s sweet the way that they think Blake’s cat is mine. She loves both of us, but I think she loves Blake and the children more.
“And now we all have pets,” Grace continues. “But Daddy still doesn’t have a pet.”
“I have all of you,” Blake points out. “And I have your mum.” He leans into me, and whispers in my ear. “I have my favourite bunny. My best bunny.”
A thought flashes through my mind. A toy I bought for Blake and me, that I’ve had in the cupboard waiting for an evening when the children definitely wouldn’t be around to interrupt us.
“Mummy isn’t a pet, though.” Grace is clear on this.
Perhaps they’ll be sufficiently tired that they’ll fall asleep instantly, and we’ll have the leisure to do anything we want. Specifically, for me to be Blake’s bunny in truth.
I shiver with anticipation.
“She’s not my pet, no,” Blake agrees with Grace. “But she’s everything I need.”
Want one more spicy scene with Blake and Nina? Get your free extended epilogue.
And if you’re curious about that virgin auction mentioned, you can read all the spice in His Public Claim.