Page 137 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

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 mineand 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.

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