Page 21 of Redeeming Rabbit

My mind stuttered over the images conjured by the thought, drying my throat and making my cock twitch. I forcibly turned my back on the bathroom door and focused on the task at hand. Unfortunately, even in her inner sanctum, clues were scarce. Decorated with a large whiteboard covered in handwritten scientific equations and a planetary mobile hanging from the ceiling, her bedroom had the same minimalist style as the rest of the apartment. Her bedroom furniture was a matching set, and the tight corners of the bedding would have made my old drill sergeant proud. I paused by her nightstand to study a framed picture of a younger Elenore awkwardly holding a baby. Her smile lit up her entire face. I traced it with my fingertip before moving on to the next door.

The faint scents of cedar and fabric softener greeted me as I entered the large walk-in closet. On the left, clothes hung in a rainbow of colors. Blues bled into purples, then reds, oranges, yellows, and finally greens. The right side went from white to black, with every imaginable shade of gray between. Her shoes—also organized by color—were displayed in racks along the back wall. A chest of drawers stood in the center of the space, exhibiting a collection of belts, scarves, and jewelry, each item in its place.

Her organization was intimidating as fuck. I turned to leave, but something caught my eye. Polaroid pictures hung from a clothesline stretched across the back wall, each image secured by a clothespin. Curious, I drifted closer, realizing what I was looking at. Each photo showed a different outfit, from the neck down to the shoes. I didn’t need to see the face to know these were all Elenore. I would know her lithe body anywhere.

Unable to help myself, I unclipped a photo of a navy skirt set that made her toned legs go on for miles. Hot damn, could she rock a skirt. I reached for my phone, intending to snap pictures of the photos, but a splash of red almost made me swallow my tongue. Elenore dressed in nothing but a red teddy.

Fuck me, I could almost see her nipples!

I shouldn’t have looked. It had to be wrong to eye fuck a goddamn picture without consent, but I couldn’t stop staring. The sheer fabric clung to her pert breasts, darkening around her nipples like a goddamn tease. It hugged her narrow waist before flaring over hips that begged me to grab on as I plowed into her from behind. My mouth watered, and my cock throbbed at the sight.

Forget snapping pictures, this image was mine. I unclipped it and held it beside the first one I’d taken, trying not to drool like the rabid dog I was. It was like Christmas for my eyeballs. If Elenore wanted the pictures back, she’d have to pry them from my cold, dead hands.

The water turned off.

Without a doubt, I should remove myself from her closet and haul ass back to the living room like a good little guest, but I couldn’t fucking move. Morse had told me to be honest with her, and that’s what I intended to do. This snoopy, horny bastard was one hundred percent me.

Had she come out of the bathroom yet? I listened, straining my ears. Footsteps crossed the bedroom, and the closet door swung open.

Elenore gasped. “What are you doing in here?”

Fixing my face into the cockiest, most unapologetic expression I could muster, I turned and held up my two prizes. “Admiring the …fuck!”

All she wore was a fluffy white towel wrapped snuggly around her torso, ending just beneath the apex of her thighs. Her dark, wet hair was slicked back, and the soft, sweet scent of her bath products enveloped my senses like a goddamn caress. A glossy sheen coated her skin like a layer of honey, making me want to lick her from head to toe. God, she was gorgeous.

I expected her to rip the pictures from my hand and point me to the door, but she didn’t. Instead, she went straight to the center island and opened a drawer. “My stylist selects my outfits. I take pictures so I can recreate the looks for work.”

I held up the teddy picture. “And this one?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips even as her cheeks grew impossibly redder. “It looked good on me, so I snapped a picture.” She selected a pair of silky floral panties and opened the next drawer, tugging out a tank top.

I had no idea what to do. She hadn’t flipped out on me for invading her privacy. Nor had she asked me to leave. If she dropped her towel and started dressing right there in front of me, I’d likely cream the inside of my jeans. She was perfect. And not just because she was brainy, beautiful, and had her shit together, but because she was fucking weird. I’d been through her entire apartment, and nothing was out of place. Her closet was arranged by color with pictures of her goddamn outfits to keep them straight. Nobody was naturally this clean, organized, and meticulous.

Elenore had a screw loose.

Which meant I might actually have a chance with her.

“You left the door open,” I blurted out, sounding like a fucking idiot.

“To my apartment. Not my bedroom.”

“It wasn’t locked.”

She added pants to the pile of clothes in her arms and turned to face me. “I need to get dressed.”

I wanted to tell her to go right ahead but decided not to push my luck. Still clutching the photos, I said, “These are mine.”

Her eyebrows shot up, but before she could argue, I marched out of her closet and back into the living room.

Growing up, whenever I royally fucked up, I would find shit to do around the house to prove my usefulness and keep Mom from throwing me out. Planning to employ the same tactic to convince Elenore to let me stay, I headed for the kitchen. The meals of my formative years hadn’t consisted of anything more complicated than Hamburger Helper, but my time at the station had turned me into a halfway decent cook. I enjoyed feeding people. It kept me busy and made me feel like I was worth something. Determined to prove I could be an asset, I opened Elenore’s fridge to check out her grocery situation, but there wasn’t much I could do with the almond milk, orange juice, and pre-packaged meals I found.

Grabbing the top meal, I read the label aloud. “Tofu wrap with roasted winter squash. Bet that tastes like cardboard.”

“It’s a little bland, but you get used to it,” Elenore said from the hallway.

Putting the meal back, I closed the refrigerator door and gave her my full attention. She’d dressed in leggings and a loose-fitting T-shirt with the word ‘Inclusion’ written using rainbow-colored periodic table elements. Below it, “is elemental” was written in a simple font. Goddamn, could she be any more amazing?

“Why eat something you have to get used to?” I asked.

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