Page 14 of If the Suit Fits
He tugs me down until I’m crouching too, and releasing my wrist, he reaches in and strokes a floppy baby bunny ear. “There’s eight in there, I think. I didn’t pull ‘em out or anything to count. But they look pretty healthy and happy.”
I don’t need eight pet bunnies.I don’t need eight pet bunnies.I DO NOT need eight pet bunnies!
“What should we do?”
“Leave them, I reckon.” He nods toward an adult bunny watching from the edge of the yard. “She’s nearby, and they look fed. I’ll leave this section of grass alone so they can stay as long as they need. When she’s ready to move, she’ll do it on her own.”
“What about foxes and stuff?” Nervously, I glance around my yard in search of predators. “They’ll get eaten.”
“It’s nature, Princess. Mrs. Rabbit knows what she’s doing, and foxes hunt. That’s what they do. Whatever happens, happens. It’s not for us to intervene.”
“But…”I don’t need eight pet bunnies.I don’t need eight pet bunnies.I don’t need eight pet bunnies!“Maybe we should bring them inside and let them be domesticated pets. It’ll be safer in there.”
“And you’ll have rabbit shit between your toes before you know it.” He releases the grass and grabs my wrist, pulling me up while he straightens his legs. He towers over me, just as surprising as it was the first time we met, and uses his impressiveheight to force me to fold my neck to keep him in my sight.Exposing my throat—a death sentence in the wild. But when I expect him to release me, he slides his palm down and twines our fingers together instead, tugging me in until his sweaty chest touches my shirt, and his cologne-sweat scent is an intoxicating concoction that should be illegal. “You’re not adopting eight rabbits, Princess. That would be impulsive and not smart. Besides, they’d rather be free, anyway. But we can come check on them a couple of times a day.” His eyes warm my face like a physical caress that turns my knees to jelly and my heart to a thundering staccato. “I figure, on the day of the wedding, we’ll probably dance, right?”
My throat is dry, and my tongue is too large for my mouth. My brain is stuck back on the eight-pack thing, and still, there’s a little cartoon bunny bouncing around in the back of my mind, purely to remind me of the serotonin boosts sleeping in the grass.
“Melanie?”
“Hmm?”
“At the wedding. It’s standard operating procedure, and it occurred to me while I was mowing that we’d probably end up dancing at that shindig since that’s what couples do.” With his fingers still tangled in mine, he traps his—our—arms behind my back, so I’m cuffed and under the command of his whims. Then, dragging me closer, he places his left leg between mine until, if I were to lower just in inch…a fraction of an inch, even, I’d be straddling his thigh and making poor, poor choices. “I thought it would be important to,one, discuss whether this is something you want to do, andtwo, practice ahead of time. Couples in love have a way of understanding each other’s bodies. They have a synchronicity strangers lack. So if you want to sell this story in lessthan a week and convince that cocksucker you’re head over heels in love with me, then we really should practice.”
“Um…” Eight. Hard. Muscles. Right there against my body. “Dancing…”
“I would lead.” And somehow, he does exactly that. In my yard, in the middle of the day, with no music to work with, he leads me in a dance and grins because we move without agreeing to do so out loud. “My mother taught me how to do it well, Princess. And God save me, she forced me to practice with my sisters.”
My face flames horrifically hot, but my eyes swing to his. “Really?”
“Much to my mortification. My mother insisted we possess these skills. A manmustknow how to cook.” He steps right, so I do, too. And when he steps back, I follow. “Because it’s important he can not only hunt for his bride, but prepare a meal, too. He must know how to dance. Because it’s like making love.” His smile notches higher. “She didn’t say that part, but now that I’m older, I realize dancing is fucking, but it’s for public consumption and a true testament to pure feelings.”
“Um…” My stomach jumps, and my nerves grow tenfold. If there was a cliff nearby, I would surely throw myself off the edge. “Fucking… hmm…”
He folds himself around me and buries his nose behind my ear. “A man must adore the woman he loves, and he must do it so well, no other could look in and doubt his intentions.”
Kill me. Now. Please, for the love of mercy, put me out of my misery and cut the nerve endings that pulse between my legs.
“You want to be escorted to this wedding by a man who loves, Princess. And frankly, I’m the only man fit for the job. That’s why you chose me.” Pressing his hand to my hip and pushing me away,he leads me into a twirl that sends my inhibitions flying and my heart galloping, then tugs me back until our chests clash and my breath bursts free of my lungs. Licking his lips, he hums his appreciation and tightens his grip around my back once more. “We’ll practice this week, too,” he decides. “We can dance while we do our two-hour thing, for expediency, or we can add dancing on top of the two hours. I don’t mind.” Leaning in, he feathers a kiss against my cheek, right where he did last time. “I have time to use and zero inclination to spend it on anything besides you. Also,” he steps away and releases me to stand on my own, making a beeline for my porch and glancing over his shoulder with a taunting smirk. “You need to fix that overhang on your drawing.”
“What?” Dizzy. Lost. A tiny bit nauseous. I press a hand to my belly and stare at his rippling, muscular back. “What did you say?”
“As an architect, I understand your job is to make a building pretty. It’s about vanity and ego, and having the sexiest multistory in the city skyline and calling it your own. But as a builder,” he grabs the door and challenges me with a look, “and a guy who works closely with engineers, I’m telling you to change that fuckin’ overhang. It’s shit.”
SIX
NICK
By Wednesday afternoon, the shy-weird-nervous Melanie Hamilton makes way for the ‘this is my fucking house, and I abhor visitors’ Melanie Hamilton, so she bangs on the bathroom door with the side of her first and demands her space back in a way that makes my cock hard and my mood soar.
“You’ve been in there for a long time, Nick! I need to pee, and I’ve been patient.”
I shake my head and rest my forearm against the cold tile above, setting my forehead on my arm and stroking my cock with a fervor I haven’t possessed since I was a horny teenager begging for a girl’s attention. But I can’t stop—won’t stop—refuse to stop because my balls tighten with an impending release, and her angry little cat tone is what sends me sprinting closer to completion.
“Nick!”
Fuck me. Every time she says my name, my cock jumps, and my balls squeeze the life out of me.
“I’m busting, Nick!”
