Page 37 of Redeeming Rabbit

I waited for her to continue, but instead, she released me and leaned against the back of the couch, stroking it like it was made of velvet or something. “What?” I asked.

She startled and peered up at me. “I’m glad you’re a sneaky bastard who stashed your keys at my place.” At least she was still speaking in mostly complete sentences.

“You are, huh?”

“Abso-frickin-lutely.” She laughed, cracking herself up. “Today sucked, but tonight was fun.”

Leaving Elenore to pet the sofa, I made my way to the bed. I’d only slept on the sheets once since I’d last changed them, but I tossed them in my laundry basket and put the clean set on anyway. I hadn’t made a bed since I’d been discharged from the military. It was pointless since I was usually the only one in my room and didn’t give a shit if it was made. But I surprised myself now, going through the motions to make her comfortable.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I said, fluffing the pillows.

“Are you upset with me?”

Surprised, I turned to study her, taken aback by the concern written all over her beautiful face. “Why would I be upset with you?”

“I can be a bit… competitive. I like to win, which tends to be a turn-off for most men.”

Judging by the way my cock had been rock hard all night, I didn’t think there was a thing she could do that would turn me off. “Only those suffering from some serious little-dick energy. I don’t have that problem.”

Her gaze shot to the front of my jeans. “No. I suppose you wouldn’t.”

I barked out a laugh, wishing I could pull down my pants and show her exactly what she did to me.

Eyes sparkling with mischief, she pushed away from the sofa, stepping toward me. “Do you want to see a magic trick?”

The only trick I wanted to see was my dick disappearing down her throat, but saying so would make me an asshole. Especially since she was drunk. I nodded. “Sure.”

She smacked a hand to her back, wincing as she overextended her elbow. “Wait. I have too many clothes on.”

She pulled off her borrowed tee and tossed it on the bed, sucker-punching me with a glimpse of creamy pale skin. Against all odds, I was trying to do the right fucking thing here and keep my filthy hands off her. Couldn’t she help me out just a little? Obviously not, because she reached up her shirt and unclasped her bra. Her breasts shifted into their natural position, hugged by her tight-ass shirt. Hard nipples tented the front of the fabric, making my hands itch and my mouth go dry.

She was just… perfection, and she was…fuck. She was removing her bra. Without lifting her shirt, she yanked one bra strap over an arm before struggling with the other. Then she pulled the entire black lace brassiere—it was too fancy to be called a bra—through an armhole and tossed it aside.

“See? Magic.”

The real magic trick would be me not devolving into my primate brain and fucking the hell out of her tonight. Just when the situation couldn’t get any worse, she palmed her breasts, lifting and lowering them as she sang some song about milkshakes and atoms. And pizza.

It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

Unable to help myself, I let my thumbs dip under her T-shirt and sample the softness of her skin.

She sobered. “That’s what I want for my last meal.”

“Milkshakes, atoms, and pizza?”

She nodded. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think I’m mentally cape. Cape. Capable of sharing this or any information right now. Besides, there are other things better suited to take up our time.”

Her hands dropped to my zipper, and my self-control snapped.

Then she puked all over me.

14

Elenore

Iwoke up alone in an unfamiliar bed. An alarm clock on the nightstand swam into focus through my gritty eyes. The glowing red display showed the time as 9:24 a.m. The only other light came from a pale border around blackout curtains. Memories of the night before trickled in like obnoxious camera flashes, each sending a shock of agony through my brain. There were no words in the English language to describe the taste inside my mouth, and I had to brace myself as I caught a pungent whiff of afterparty penitence. The combination of cleaning products, vomit, and stale booze made my stomach roil.

Contrary to popular belief, alcohol doesn’t kill brain cells. But if one drinks enough, it will make them wish for death. Proving the point, I threw back the covers and sat up, only to experience what felt like steel spikes hammering into my head. The edges of my vision darkened, making me regret the decision to move. Or breathe, for that matter.

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