is like a vise, fighting to constrict them. But I can’t deny the smug satisfaction I get by breathing a cloud of smoke directly into his face.
“Maybe that will loosen you up,” he taunts without batting an eyelash. “Why is it so fucking hard for you to describe what you feel?” His voice is too controlled. Too level. “Not your surroundings. You write a lot about a fucking cage, but how does it feel to be trapped?”
“I don’t know,” I rasp as he returns his cigarette to his mouth and takes a drag. “How does it feel to destroy a book shop or terrorize an old man?”
“Good,” he says, his next breath feathering my throat. “That’s what you expect me to say, isn’t it? It feels good to be bad, bunny rabbit.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me something. Does he appreciate your little hobby? Your boyfriend?” He laughs again, but the sound is decidedly colder this time. “Don’t answer that. Describe me instead. Describe me with your writerly words.”
“An asshole. A creep. A fucking liar,’” I snipe. “There. Satisfied?”
He lets me go, turning away. “I’ve been called worse. I bet you have too, rabbit.”
I bite my lip. Have I? Yes. The words echo, distorted and muted by memory. You’re so selfish, Hannah. Fucking selfish…
“I’m leaving now,” I say, struggling to sound like I mean it.
“Not before I get to critique your assessment.” He whirls to face me, stroking his chin. “A creep. Asshole. Well, I am all of the above…except that last thing. I’m not a liar.”
I meet his gaze again, but the darkness I find there is unwaveringly steady. He’s telling the truth, or at least he thinks he is.
Which strikes me as strange. Out of all the attributes on that list, I wouldn’t expect him to deny that one.
“You never lie?” I ask, still holding his gaze.
“No,” he says. “So think carefully about whatever you’re going to ask me next. Make sure you can sleep with it.”
I do. The air catches in the back of my throat as I open my mouth, and ask, “Why pick on me?”
He laughs. “I told you.” He moves slowly, giving me every chance to escape his advance. When I don’t, his hands return to my hips. “I want to know what makes a rabbit scream.”
One by one, he spreads out his fingers, and I’m riveted by the sight of them—long and slim, streaked with dirt. Or paint? Gradually, they slip between the denim of my jeans to connect with my skin. Greedily, seeking more. More. Once he’s gained enough leverage, he tugs.
I inhale, raising my hands. “S-Stop—”
“No,” he growls, yanking me to him. “Close your eyes.”
Something in his voice reaches past my logical brain, the part of me I’ve listened to my entire life. He goes deeper.
“Feel,” he commands in a tone that ripples down my spine. “What does this feel like? Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
Softness mingles with a slightly rougher texture. Definitely paint. Warmth from the fingertips traces a blazing path over my chilled flesh. Down, down, down…
“Breathe, rabbit,” he urges, his mouth near my ear. “I won’t hurt you. Unless you ask me to.”
“S-Stop—”
“You stop with the fucking words,” he counters. “Show me.”
I know what he’s doing. I can feel the tension tugging on the clasp of my jeans. Hear the rasp of the zipper coming undone. My heart races, throat thickening.
Is this fear? Yes, I decide as the air sticks to the inside of my lungs. “It feels bad,” I tell him.
“Bad,” he echoes. His warm breath sears me and wetness chases the sensation. I startle, my eyes fluttering shut. Feel? His mouth. Lips…parting over the hollow of my throat.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” he murmurs there, the words like smoke fanning smoldering embers. “You’d let me do whatever the fuck I want. But not because you’re afraid. You’re just too fucking numb to give a shit.” He pulls back, and my eyes open slowly, taking in his ripe, smug smile. “That’s no fun. I hate to tell you, rabbit, but you’d be a bad fucking fuck.”
My cheeks flame. “Like you’d ever get the chance.”
“Like you’d know what to do with my cock,” he spits back. “You can’t even use that pretty tongue properly. Tell me something emotional, bunny. Maybe then I’ll believe you aren’t some dry, nosy little reporter.”
“Well, you’re a criminal,” I spit back. “Aren’t you?”
“And if I am? I don’t even think you know what that fucking means.”