Chapter 42
CHAPTER 42
APRIL
NATALIE
“Swear to God, if that kid had pulled my tail one more fucking time.” Gabe puts the head, hands, and feet of his bunny suit on the bench inside the front door of his house.
“Only have yourself to blame.” I dump the spare Easter baskets next to the head. “The way you turned around to glare at him every time, made him think it was a game.”
“Good thing he couldn’t see my lips moving or he would have learned some useful new vocabulary. You’ve got to admit though”—Gabe turns his back to me, bends over slightly and shakes the fluffy tail on the butt of the suit—“it’s hard to resist, right?”
I could never have foreseen the blissful contentment Gabe would bring into my life these last four months. Talk about being taken by surprise. I just came up here to meet the Sullivans two weeks before Christmas Eve, and here he was—the surprise of my life.
The bunny suit I wore that night was considerably smaller than the one he put on today for the Warm Springs Easter Egg Hunt—this one was a special order.
“It is definitely irresistible.” I grab the tail and give it an extra waggle. “And thank you for being such a good sport, despite your tendency to mutter profanity at the kids.” He is still Gabe, after all. “I can’t believe how many families turned out.”
He turns back to face me and pulls me against his broad gray-and-white furry chest. “And I can’t believe there’s anyone in the world I would wear a bunny suit for.”
I link my hands around his neck. “You didn’t do it for me. You did it for the little ones.”
Gabe was the absolute star of the annual event today. He ran around the lawn by the town square chasing the kids, pretending to steal eggs from their baskets, taking photos with them, and even broke into a dance with two girls who taught him the moves. I told him he should pass the video on to the Apollos’ social media person, but he said no one would ever believe it was him inside the suit.
Of course, the team still gets the gruff, invincible, will-take-you-down-with-a-stick-if-he-needs-to man on the ice.
But with me, he’s relaxed more and more. Just like dealing with a child who struggles to open up, I’ve given him the time and space he needs to be comfortable and never pressured him once.
The day he called me from his place in New York and told me he was nervous about that night’s game was a big day. That’s the moment I knew he didn’t just love me but trusted me with his innermost vulnerable feelings and that he’d let go of the fear of being betrayed—at least by me. It feels like the honor of my life. And it’s a privilege I don’t take lightly.
“Yes, I did do it for the kids. But only because you asked me to.” He bends as far as the bunny suit allows to kiss me.
His lips are soft and slow, but the kiss is also deep and searching. Like we’re home and neither of us has anything to worry about anymore. But that sense of safety and security does not take the edge off all the lustful feelings. Good God, no.
He runs his tongue along my lower lip, exciting the butterflies in my stomach. Then grabs my butt with both hands and rocks his hips toward me.
“I can feel that even through the thick fur,” I tell him.
“Good,” he says with a flick of his eyebrows. Then, despite the bulkiness of the suit, in one swift motion he swoops me off the floor. I yelp in surprise as my legs fly into the air and he cradles me in his arms.
“Let’s go at it like rabbits,” he says, moving toward the staircase.
“Careful you don’t trip.”
“It’s okay,” he says, almost skipping up the stairs like he’s carrying nothing more than a sheet of tissue paper. “I took off the feet.”
“I remember not having much luck standing up in them after you knocked me over that night.” That was the most ridiculous way to meet someone.
I look up to find him gazing down at me as we approach the bedroom. “You were the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in all my life.”
“And now?” I ask, as he angles me through the door with care.
“Even fucking sexier,” he says, and drops me on the bed.
He turns and shimmies his fluffy white tail at me again. “If you don’t unzip me, I’ll have to Hulk out of this thing so I can get my body against yours.”
Kneeling on the edge of the bed, I give his backside a playful pat before reaching for the neck and pulling down the zipper.
As soon as it reaches his waist, he pushes the whole thing the rest of the way down, revealing his T-shirt and sweat shorts.
The gray shorts not only don’t disguise his interest level, they positively enhance it. But before I can take in the vision in all its glory, he lunges at me.
With a cry I land on my back, with him on top.
His mouth goes immediately to the extra sensitive spot right where my neck meets my shoulder—the spot he knows drives me wild.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you all day.” His words come out in eager breaths.
The touch of his lips, the stroke of his tongue, the tickle of his breath, send a shiver of pleasure through me so powerful that I’m instantly wet.
“Watching you in your element like that is always such a fucking turn-on,” he says, his hands finding their way under me, up inside my sweater and straight to my bra clasp.
“The way I organize the kids and the old folks does it for you?”
“You have no fucking idea.” And my bra is unsnapped, his hands roving back around the front, his mouth on my ear now. “They have no idea you’re even organizing them. You’re so goddamn good at it. ”
He runs his tongue around the outer edge of my ear from top to bottom, then sucks my lobe into his mouth and, oh, the goose bumps that race down my side.
But I kind of know what he means. I’ve watched him play a few times now. Even been to the stadium in New York City twice. And seeing him out there, doing his thing on the ice, obviously brilliant at it, and knowing he’s mine is the sexiest thing imaginable. The crowd went wild when he scored, and I just wanted to shout and scream, “He’s mine! I get to go home with him tonight!”
Not quite the same as wrangling a bunch of kids to keep them from stealing each other’s eggs or encouraging the Senior Central folks into helping to keep an eye on them, but I guess having a skill is a turn-on no matter what that skill is.
I pull my knees up to his waist and hook my legs around him, rocking my center to meet his hardness, his grinding hitting me in exactly the right body-tingling spot.
“Seeing you in the bunny suit was damn hot too,” I say, pushing my fingers into his hair and lifting up his face so I can look into those passionate green eyes.
His hands find my breasts, and my lungs release a long, loud exhale.
“Christ, I love the look of pleasure on your face.” There’s a deep lusty growl to his voice.
Before I’ve opened my eyes, his mouth is on mine, our lips immediately parting, tongues searching as my hands reach for the drawstring of his shorts.
“I want you right now,” I breathe into his mouth.
“Fuck, I want you too, Bugs.”
He breaks away just enough to pull my sweater over my head and free my bra.
When my hands slip into his shorts and find that hard, silky flesh, his eyes roll back on a long, deep groan.
Watching his face turns me on as much as feeling him thrust into my hands. My core throbs knowing he’ll be thrusting there very soon.
The yearning, the desire, the sheer wanton hunger is all-consuming.
“I can’t wait.” I roll us over so I’m straddling him.
He pulls me down, my breasts hovering over his face. Taking one nipple in his mouth he thumbs the other, all the while groaning as he thrusts into my hands.
My whole body is tight with need—my heart pounding, pulse racing, skin prickling with life.
Gabe’s taught me to stand up for everything I want, to go for it and not give a damn what anyone else thinks, and that applies in the bedroom too.
“Right fucking now.” I roll off him and whip off my jeans and underwear.
“You needy little bunny,” he says with that irresistible twinkle in his eyes, while making swift work of his clothes till he’s sitting there looking at me, giant erection bobbing against his stomach.
“Just one quick taste,” he says, eyes fixed firmly on his target, “then you can do whatever you like.”
“Deal.” I lie back, arms high over my head. “Have your way.”
His hands glide from my shoulders down my breasts, stopping for a quick nipple tweak before continuing their journey to my thighs and parting them.
“Oh, my fucking beauty,” he says, staring at the most intimate part of me. “Just the sight of you makes my mouth water.”
My clit throbs with such force that I’m about to grab his head and thrust it between my legs when his tongue glances over it, sending sparks hurtling to every extremity of my being.
“You make such beautiful sounds,” he says.
And I have no idea what he means because I hear nothing. I see nothing. All I can do is feel. All I can do is sense the parts of him that are touching parts of me.
And holy fuck does his warm wet mouth feel good. I claw at the sheets, lost to the circling pressure of his tongue, the sucking and teasing. I’m climbing and rising and don’t want it to end, but I also need to make him stop because I want to come on that magnificent dick of his more than I want to breathe my next breath.
When his finger glides over my entrance, I come back to my senses and wriggle up the bed away from him.
He looms over me.
“Lay your sexy-as-fuck rock-hard ass down here.” I pat the bed next to me.
The moment his body hits the covers I’m on him, straddling him again.
“Look at you,” he says with a lustful smile as he slides his hands up the outside of my thighs and around to my butt.
“And look at you.” Gliding my fingers up the smoothness of his shaft, I guide him right where I want him.
“I love it when you’re on top,” he says. “Lying here looking up at you is like watching the greatest show on Earth.”
“Then it’s time for me to step onto the stage.” I ease myself down onto him—the pleasure of being on birth control now.
My chest still jolts at the first nudge inside me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that slightly painful shock of pleasure. And I never want to. I want it to stay fresh and unique for the rest of my life. Because yes, oh yes, I want to spend the rest of my life with this man.
Gabe keeps his hips stock still, allowing me to slowly lower myself onto him at entirely my own pace. He watches me every fraction of every inch of the way.
“Christ.” My eyelids get heavy as I slide him deeper. “I have wanted this since the moment you did that dance and made those kids laugh harder than I’ve seen them laugh before.”
And now I’m as low as I can get. As full of Gabe as it’s possible to be.
“Who knew a rabbit suit would be your thing, Bugs?” He slowly circles his hips.
“And who knew it would be yours?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth his eyes drift shut and he reaches for me—one hand to my breast, the other to my clit.
His chest pumps with hard breaths, his hip-circles turn to thrusts. “I want to make you come so fucking hard,” he pants.
And I know he will.
And I know I’m only seconds away.
I rest my hands on his solid pecs and lean into the work his hands are doing.
We both move faster, breathe heavier.
Bending lower, I take his nipple into my mouth, and he cries out, “Oh, fuck, Bugs. I’m going to come if you do that.”
“Good.” I suck harder, lick harder, as I give myself to the rising tide of pleasure from his hands and his dick.
“Oh, dear God,” he cries.
And I’m with him, rising and rising. I’m barely aware that my mouth is open, panting, and no longer on his nipple because I’m lost, gone.
“Fuck,” Gabe shouts, his thrusts totally out of control.
I push back against him with every beat, wanting to get there but never wanting the ride to stop.
Then as he twitches inside me and thrashes under me, his fingers digging into my thighs, my whole world explodes. I could be anywhere right now and it wouldn’t matter as long as this man is inside me, and I think I’m crying his name, but I’m not sure, because everything shatters into crackling fireworks that fly higher and brighter and louder inside my head.
It’s the longest show of my life, and it feels like it will never end.
Just when I think it’s about to fade, one last pulsing thrust from Gabe sets off another rocket.
As the fireworks gradually turn to sparklers and the sparklers turn to drifting glitter, I finally start to come back to my senses, rocking back and forth on Gabe.
When I open my eyes, I’m greeted by the most satisfied smile and a pair of lust-fogged green eyes.
“I love it when you’re in charge.” He reaches around and gives my bare ass a playful slap.
“Only because you’re in charge on the rink,” I point out. “So it makes a nice change for you.”
He laughs and rolls us over so I’m on my back and he’s on top, still inside me.
His lips meet mine in a kiss that says as much about how much we like each other as it does about how much we want each other.
The post-climax glow is interrupted by my phone buzzing in my jeans pocket on the floor.
Gabe rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes. “I bet someone left their egg basket behind and there’s a chocolate emergency.”
This man who understands and appreciates my life in a way I never thought anyone would, slides gently out of me.
“Maybe.” I crawl out from under him. “Let’s save some poor parent’s day.”
But it’s a message from Aunt Lou.
AUNT LOU
Are you at Gabe’s? Just knocked but no answer.
“Shit, Aunt Lou’s at the front door. Get dressed.”
I pull on my jeans and sweater and thunder down the stairs.
When I open the door I find Aunt Lou—not alone.
“Wyatt’s here too,” she says as if I might not recognize him. “I made way too much food.” She holds up two grocery bags, and Wyatt gestures to the cooler he’s carrying. “So I thought we’d bring it over here and we can all have Easter dinner together.”
“Actually, that’s amazing. I’ve been so caught up in organizing the egg hunt I hadn’t gotten around to figuring anything out. We were probably going to order in.”
“Oh, this is way better than takeout,” Wyatt says. “I only came over to drop off Mom’s old knitting machine for Aunt Lou and ended up getting drawn in to help with the prep.”
“Elsie wants to learn how to use one,” Aunt Lou says. “And I knew my sister had an old machine gathering dust somewhere.” Elsie is a Senior Central resident who used to be a tailor for a big designer .
“She might know everything about sewing,” Aunt Lou adds, “but she has no clue how to knit.”
“Come in, come in.” I stand back to make way for them. “Put everything wherever you want in the kitchen, or the fridge or whatever. I’ll go get Gabe. He’s just upst?—”
“Well, hello,” comes Gabe’s voice from above us.
He slowly descends the stairs like poetry in motion—bare feet sticking out the bottom of his jeans, those jeans hugging his thighs with every step down, his T-shirt pulling across the dips and valleys of his chest, his right bicep flexing as he raises his arm to push his fingers through his rabbit-sex tousled hair.
“Were you napping?” Wyatt asks.
“Nope. Just getting out of the bunny suit,” Gabe says and skips down the last couple of stairs.
“They brought dinner.” I nod toward the kitchen where Aunt Lou is busy unpacking what looks like enough food for about twelve people.
“And these,” says Wyatt, opening the cooler and triumphantly producing a six-pack of beer.
“Excellent. Come on in, my friend.” Gabe pats Wyatt on the back and leads him to the kitchen.
“Oh, and Natalie,” Aunt Lou says without looking up from her food-sorting, “your fly is undone.”
“Aunt Lou, that was fucking delicious,” Wyatt says, pushing away the plate he’s just cleared of baked ham, veggies, and all the trimmings.
“Truly spectacular,” Gabe says.
“See,” Aunt Lou says to Wyatt. “Gabe can show his appreciation without resorting to vulgarity.”
Gabe cups his hands under his chin and affects an angelic smile.
“Don’t be too nice to him, Lou,” Wyatt says, “or I might have to unfriend him again.”
“Oh, please don’t do that.” Aunt Lou stands to gather the dishes. “You’re so much happier now that you have your buddy back. If I’d known you were such good friends I’d have asked you to bring Gabe up to Warm Springs for a visit years ago.”
“Somehow, I managed to find my own way here anyway.” Gabe half turns and rests his arm across the back of my dining chair.
“And thank God for that.” I give him a quick peck on his bristly cheek.
“This whole thing makes me so happy.” Aunt Lou stacks the dirty plates and I plonk everyone’s cutlery on top. “Who’d have thought it? My nephew’s best friend in love with my niece.”
“How many siblings do you have, Lou?” Gabe asks.
“Three sisters. All with one kid each—these two, then one more niece in Los Angeles.”
“Rachel’s a doctor,” I explain. “A kids’ doctor. Married to a plastic surgeon to the stars. They just finished building this huge house in the Hollywood Hills with a pool and a guest house and a spectacular view over the city and the ocean. I haven’t been yet, but she sent us photos.”
“How come you never got married, Lou?” Gabe asks my aunt’s back as she carries the dishes across to the kitchen.
“Hey.” I nudge him. “That’s a bit personal.”
“Oh, I don’t care. You can ask me whatever you like,” Aunt Lou says. “If I was my own psychiatrist, I’d say the answer is likely that spending my days listening to people’s problems with their partners and their kids put me off having either of my own.”
“Aren’t you lucky to have us then?” Wyatt follows her to the kitchen. “And not only because I brought dessert.” He picks up an Ironmen tote from the floor by the island. “A fan dropped these off at the stadium for me.”
He plonks it onto the dining table and retakes his seat.
I reach inside the bag and pull out a variety of Easter candy. There are chocolate bunnies and eggs, marshmallow chicks—the works.
“You should take these to the kids’ program next week,” I suggest.
Gabe and Wyatt have joined forces to start a combined Apollos and Ironmen initiative bringing in school teams to play on their rinks.
“No one should eat fan food,” Gabe says.
“Why not?” Aunt Lou asks as she puts the last plate in the dishwasher.
“Rule of the game. Never eat fan food,” he replies.
“Because it could be poisoned,” Wyatt says.
“Poisoned?” Aunt Lou and I exclaim in unison.
“Yeah, could be someone just pretending to be a fan,” Gabe says. “But really they support the opposition and have laced it with something to make us sick enough to miss a crucial game and give their side the advantage.”
“People do that?” I ask.
“Yup,” he says. “I refer you to the chocolate cake laxative incident our goalie suffered three seasons ago.”
“Wow, the hidden dangers of hockey I knew nothing about,” Aunt Lou says, returning and picking up an egg- shaped truffle.
“Nothing to worry about with this stuff, though.” Wyatt grabs a bunny and tears off the gold foil. “This woman’s been following me around for years. She wouldn’t harm a hair on my head.”
“Oh, is it from the one with the long brown hair who always has the ‘Marry Me, Wyatt’ sign?” Gabe asks.
“She has never had a sign saying that,” Wyatt replies before biting off the bunny’s ears.
“Well, she definitely has signs,” Gabe says. “At every game.” He turns a chick over and over in his hands.
“What are you looking for?” I ask him.
“Syringe marks.”
I immediately drop the one I’d picked up. “Seriously?”
“He’s being an ass,” Wyatt says. “Enjoy the treats. She’s a good one.”
And we all start in on the hopefully-not-poisoned Easter candy. Like a little family that gathers for the holidays because we want to, not because we have to.