Rushed(61)

We strip each other slowly, kissing and tasting each exposed inch of skin that April presents before me. I hold back with every ounce of my patience, knowing that right now, what she needs is comfort, not raw passion.

April pulls off her jersey and bra, and I bring her left breast to my mouth, kissing and nibbling on her silky, perfect skin. I can feel her heartbeat under my lips, and as she moans, she sobs at the same time, so I kiss my way up her throat to swallow those sobs and take them inside me.

We hold each other closely, not letting any space between us until she slides off to the side and reaches for my cock inside my pants. She slips her hand inside the track pants and grasps me, her eyes dark and filled with emotion. I can't help it, I moan softly as she pulls me out, just enough that my cock points up into the air. “April . . . are you sure?”

She looks up into my eyes and nods, her eyes glistening. “I’ve never been more sure.”

With slow, meaningful measured movements, she unsnaps her jeans and pushes everything off, leaving her nude and beautiful in the dim orange yellow lights of the sleeping cabin, her face trembling with emotion. Without saying a word she climbs back on top of me, taking my cock and positioning it at her entrance. She's warm, and as I slide inside her, she holds her breath, her eyes slightly unfocused, in an inner spiritual place that gives her beautiful face a graveness I've never seen before.

She blinks, and her eyes join with mine, and she reaches out, putting her right hand on my heart. I put mine on hers, and she starts riding me, lifting herself up and down slowly, each motion carrying deep meaning beyond the joining of our bodies. I can almost feel it in my mind, and I wonder if there really are things like telepathy. Or am I just reading her emotions in her eyes?

We're moving faster, faster, our bodies building, and as my orgasm builds within me, her fingers dig into the muscle above my heart, bruising me as my own hand does the same to her, and we peak.

It's like no climax I've ever had before. There's the normal white light of coming, of feeling my balls tighten and my body explode, but the great joy isn't from just coming, but instead from feeling our souls join tightly, forever entwined. Is it some sort of First Nations magic? Hell, I don't know. I just know that as we cruise at twenty five thousand feet somewhere over Alberta or Manitoba, only two phrases echo in my mind.

My husband.

My wife.





Chapter 22





April





“April, my condolences on your father's death,” Connor says as he comes into the apartment. He's never been here before, but after the stress of the funeral and driving back from London, neither Tyler or I feel like going anywhere. When Connor called just as Tyler was leaving a quick video session with Coach Blanchard while I made sure the Fighters' legal team had everything for Tyler's new contract, both of us agreed, he could come to us.

So it's not surprising that he's still dressed for the office, wearing a thousand dollar suit and looking as much like a member of the American Secret Service as a legal assistant. I exchange hugs with him, while Tyler shakes hands. “Thank you, Connor. It was . . . expected.”

“So I've heard. How is your mother handling it? I mean, if you want to talk.”

I give my old friend a smile. He knows a lot about my family history, there's no secrets between us. “Of course. She . . . today she was there, and she was mostly the Mom I remember. I talked with the doctors, they're trying a new medication that might have some benefits on helping her stay focused. But still, it's going to be tough for her. When I talked to her afterward though, she said she wants to stay at the hospice. The only things she has left of Daddy are there, and she said that she feels closer to him that way. When we left, she was sleeping in his hospital bed, his blanket on top of her.”

Connor nods, and follows Tyler over to the dining area table, where he sets his briefcase down and takes a seat. “I hope that you can keep her comfortable and happy. Did the doctors . . . well, I guess they wouldn't today.”

“The average Alzheimer's patient lives eight years after diagnosis, but some can go as long as twenty years,” I quote from what I'd already learned from the doctors long before. “Mom's in the middle stage of the disease, although it's nearing late stage. Unfortunately, well maybe fortunately for her, the disease is going very quickly. I've already spoken with the hospice, and with Daddy's death, they will have full time care for her, changing rooms and setting up a group setting. She'll still have all of her things, but the room will be on a shared wing with others. It's . . . it's the best we can do.”

Connor nods, then looks up at the ceiling. “I remember meeting her once. You and I were, we must have been freshmen, maybe sophomores. She and your father came up from London to visit you, and he had an appointment with the Uni hospital, if I remember right.”

“I remember that too. Daddy's appointment was supposed to take three or four hours, and him being him, he demanded that we all go have some fun.”

Tyler laughs. “I know I've only met them once, but they both seemed like lovely people. But Connor, your phone call mentioned business. I'm praying you have good news.”

Connor's smile broadens, and he nods. “Oh, very good. In fact, while the court needs to finish the filing tomorrow, we were notified today that both Catherine Paulinski and Greta Lawson have dropped their case against you.”