Chapter 24

Kipp

This is pretty fucking dumb.

And I feel pretty fucking dumb doing it.

But isn’t that love?

Isn’t that what it means to be in love?

Being willing to do dumb shit and then doing it?

ForFiatSake, how the fuck else do you explain me wearing oversized headphones, skis for no fucking reason, and trying to dance to some song about fire while fake snow rains down on us?

I have no interest in doing this shit.

But it makes my girl happy.

So.

Fucking.

Happy.

Her smile alone is brighter than any inferno these dudes could ever sing about.

Bunny bends her knees to the beat while wiggling her arms above her head to the rhythm, most likely actually singing versus mouthing along like some of the others dancing near us. I do my best to bounce my shoulders to the easy-to-follow pattern but mostly get lost in admiring the way her curvy body effortlessly sways to the sounds.

Gah, it’s like watching an Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale pull into the fucking parking lot.

I can’t look anywhere else.

I don’t wanna look anywhere else.

Ever.

An unforeseen idea rearends me.

Shit.

Should I ask her to marry me?

Them?

Should I ask them to marry me?

The song begins fading into another one, which is when Bunny motions for me to take off my headphones at the same time she removes hers. “Ready to go home?”

Yup.

I’m gonna have to ask her.

Hearing her say home right now – a word she’s said many times before – revs my heart in such a new way I can barely hear anything else.

Think about anything other than having her be forever mine.

“Whenever you’re ready, baby.” I let the corners of my lips lovingly kick upward. “You’re Santa. I’m just carrying around your sack.”

The juvenile wink prompts Bunny to shake her head in a tickled nature yet play along. “Waiting for me to empty it, huh?” She hangs the object on their appropriate hook for the next guest encouraging me to do the same. “Like a Kid on Christmas?”

“ Your Kid on Christmas ,” I flirtatiously state back with a small spank to her ass. “And every other day of the year too.”

Giggles precede her picking up her tiny purse and boots she shed to dance more comfortably; however, the pouty expression she displays towards the uncomfortable footwear when it comes time to slide them on leads me to lightly chuckling.

One eyebrow quirking is attached to the question. “ Problem? ”

“My feet hurt,” she girlishly whines.

“You want me to carry your sack and be your sleigh?”

“Technically, the sleigh already carries the sack, so I guess, I really just want you to be my sleigh.”

An equally amused and impressed grunt is given alongside me lowering myself into position. “Hop on.”

“You wanna give me a piggyback ride?!”

I let my head tilt instantly in confusion. “What were you expecting? A toolbelt carry?”

Perplexity doesn’t hesitate to join her expression. “What the fuck is a toolbelt carry? Is that different than the bride carry?!”

“The toolbelt carry is where I lift you up by your ass in front of me.” My eyebrows pull together in curiosity. “Is that also called the bride carry?”

“The bride carry is where you like…swoop me up in your arms…like you’re gonna carry me over the threshold – aka the doorway if you missed that word on your vocab quiz – like we just got married hence the name.”

And another sign from the car overlords that I really need to start looking at rings for them.

I wonder if she’s a diamond person.

Maybe something totally different?

Her birthstone?

Oh!

The stone for the month we met in?!

That would be romantic, right?

“ Your way seems better for a short distance,” is slowly spoken, “but my way seems better for the long ass Circuit of Spa-Francorchamps shit we gotta complete.”

She doesn’t bother hiding a smirk. “That’s a NASCAR thing, isn’t it?”

“F1,” I casually correct while motioning her to get moving. “Now, come on. Hop to it, Rabbit.”

Between my word choice and the levity in my tone, she’s left completely defenseless. With an awkward grip on her shoes and small bag, she carefully climbs onto my back – hopefully not flashing the bustling crowd a pussy shot – winds her frame around mine and braces herself as I rise to my feet.

Navigating us out of the festival is not only easier than expected, it’s faster.

Guess people feel like we take up more room stacked like this.

We don’t.

But I won’t complain about an empty track, ya know?

“Okay, Rudolph being my sleigh tonight,” Bunny sweetly teases, face falling into the space directly beside mine, “what is one thing you loved about Christmas as a kid?”

“ Presents. ”

Her snickers instantly swell my heart.

Have me clutching her smooth, bare legs tighter.

Blushing.

“Doing.” Tangling herself tighter to me occurs in tandem with her softening her tone. “What is one thing you loved doing at Christmas when you were a kid?”

“Gonna guess opening presents is not the answer you’re looking for.”

“Correct.”

A few snickers slip into the cold night along our next couple of steps, yet I eventually answer, “Decorating gingerbread sleigh shaped cookies.”

“Sleighs because they were ‘Santa’s car’?”

I toss her a crooked grin over my shoulder. “ Exactly. ”

“You have always been a gearhead.”

“From the minute I could curl my hands around a tiny steering wheel.”

And I get a feeling our son will be the same.

Or.

I should I say hope .

I hope he is.

I mean if he’s not…I could teach him to be.

Then again…maybe him not being into cars wouldn’t be a bad thing?

He could teach me something?

We could learn together ?

Fuck, I hope it’s not something too out there like pickleball.

Building a court in our backyard could be fun but taking him to pickleball practice just feels…uncomfortable.

Like confusing a Porsche and a Corvette awkward.

“So…you like gingerbread,” she points out upon us entering the row of my parked car.

“Not in house form.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it somehow always tastes stale. Even fresh out the box.”

“Should we bake some gingerbread cookies for Christmas Eve?” Our eyes briefly meet again. “Should that become like an ‘our family’ tradition?”

Warmth spreads throughout my entire system unconsciously slowing my steps. “I love the idea of us having our own traditions.”

“Me too.” A hint of sadness unexpectedly seeps into her stare. “We didn’t have a shit ton growing up, but…I… want …our little one to have that. Something to look forward to – besides presents – during the holiday season.”

I can’t stop smiling even if I wanted to.

Thankfully, I don’t.

“What was yours?”

Our arrival at the car has her gently sliding to the ground as she answers, “Christmas gels.”

“Is that…a nail polish you wear?”

“I swear to Saint Nick you will be on the not fun naughty list if you make me feel fucking old again tonight.”

The reference to the disco dancing in skis gets me laughing once more while she merely glares.

Age rarely ever comes up in a serious nature, and I’m grateful for it.

I wonder if it will with our son.

I wonder if I’ll be a “young” ‘rent or if they’ll be “old” ‘rents.

Huh.

I wonder if it’ll be a big deal that he has three ‘rents versus the typical two or divorced four.

After getting Bunny safely tucked inside, I shut the door and make my way around to the driver’s seat where I’m reminded to take out my phone due to the way it’s digging into my frame.

Rather than immediately start the engine, I give it a quick swipe to reveal several surprise texts from Nolan.

Nolan: Out of gas.

Nolan: Cans are gone.

Nolan: Bring me two.

Nolan: At the population sign.

There’s no stopping the grunt of bewilderment that escapes. “How the fuck did he run out of gas?”

Bunny rolls her attention away from where she’s already doodling “Disco Inferno” on her inner thigh over to me. “What?”

“Nolan,” I answer while texting back my ETA. “His truck is somehow out of fucking gas.”

“Didn’t he just fill up?”

“Yeah.” Starting the engine is followed by an irritated headshake. “And I ran every fucking diagnostic test under the sun too.” Post checking my surroundings, I begin reversing. “Everything came back fucking clear.”

She offers me a teasing grin. “Which is what’s making my Polar Express so pissed.”

“I do not enjoy that movie,” shifting gear is attached to me adding, “but I do appreciate the attempted Christmas vehicle reference.”

“I don’t know any car movies about Christmas!”

“They don’t exist.”

“You should write Hallmark about that.”

Another small round of snickers appears prior to me announcing, “I gotta swing by our place to grab cans and take ‘em to him. And…probably check what the fuck is going on under his hood, so it doesn’t happen when he’s out grabbing clients.” Exiting onto the main road back to our side of the county line is accompanied by a declaration. “You’re coming with.”

“You’re not asking.”

“ No. ”

“Then I’m telling you to bring me down better shoes because those boots are dead to me.”

Light laughs leave us both as I toss my agreement in her doodling direction. “Got it.”

Our return drive into the heart of Death Canyon is filled with instrumental holiday music and so much open road that my inner “Toretto” can’t stay contained. While I half expect Bunny to complain – or at the very least to remind me she’s in the car so I should slow down – she doesn’t.

She simply leans back in her seat and admires the scenery we’re speeding by.

The view of the night sky.

Me.

And having her eyes on me is like having her hand on my leg, pushing down, forcing me to accelerate faster and faster, encouraging me to recreate one of my favorite scenes from the early films, tempting me into really doing something behind this wheel to take her breath away.

Soft hums from her fuse to my favorite ones of my engine, creating a symphony so fucking incredible it’s impossible to keep my cock from swelling.

Which she immediately notices.

And gives a teasing squeeze over my jeans.

Goddamnit , why couldn’t he have run out of gas after I had fucked her?

Maybe I still could?

Quickie on the side of the road?

Instead of caving to those thoughts – and fuck would it be easy to – I slow us down and cruise us at a more appropriate speed past the shops despite knowing everyone’s at the festival per tradition.

Snatching up Bunny’s garage sneakers along with securing cans in the trunk is done quickly and given how she’s dramatically licking her lips to flash me her tongue ring, it’s safe to assume she wants us back home as soon as fucking possible too.

I text Nolan again that we’re on our way, only to find myself a little surprised that I haven’t heard back from him.

Not even an acknowledgement that he got the text.

Or a thank you.

Shit.

Is his cell dead too?

Worrying that my boyfriend is completely stranded with no resources prompts me to increase my speed; however, upon our arrival a few feet back, the reason he’s been silent is a lot more apparent.

“Is he asleep ?” Bunny giggles in disbelief. “Just…takin’ a nap on the job?”

“His phone’s probably dead.” I kill the engine and pop the trunk. “Besides, he could probably use it.” The keys slide out of the ignition into my palm. “Between house shit and work shit, I really don’t think he’s getting more than four hours a day.”

Our girl does her best to lighten the situation. “Practice for when the baby comes?”

“ Fuck, I hope not, ” leaves me right above a whisper prior to slipping out to grab the cans.

Lugging them over to the back of his truck is quickly followed by moving over to tap on the driver’s window.

Two knocks are typically more than enough to get him lifting his head off the wheel and groaning and complaining and grumbling about the noise, yet nothing.

Absolutely.

Nothing.

Not a flinch.

Not even a twitch.

Pressing my face closer to the window reveals to me that he’s thankfully breathing, providing me with momentary relief, but upon looking a bit harder, I notice his hands are wedged between his legs.

Zip tied.

“ Ohfuck ,” barely makes it past my parted lips before one arm is swiftly slung around my neck while a hard object is violently pressed into my side where it unleashes an unbearable electric shock. “ Fuckkkkkkk!!!! ”

“ I had it modified for maximum pain. ” The hold around my throat tightens, cutting off my oxygen supply further, causing me to desperately grasp for breath around the continuously charged jolts frying my system. “ You won’t be able to save her. ” Pain begins paralyzing me to the point where my lungs burn. “ You won’t be able to move. ” My mind blanks as my head throbs. “ But you’ll be able hear her scream. ” My frame ceaselessly trembles, preparing to collapse the instant he lets go. “ And watch me take her away… ”

***

Thank you for reading Hunted: Season Two (A Dark MMF Romance #2) I hope you loved this erotic, dark, romantic suspense thriller.