Page 19 of Claiming His Bunny
My fingers speed up, sliding out to caress my clit, then right back in, just the way I like it. As the pleasure coils tighter, I arch my back, the streams of water whispering over my skin. With my eyes closed, I can easily imagine fingers touching me instead of droplets.
Fingers sliding down my back, tracing featherlight touches over my sensitized skin. All the way down to my ass, which they would squeeze roughly. I have no doubts Ethan could be rough and tender at the same time, finding that delicate balance that would push me closer to the edge.
He’d knead my buttocks, maybe spank me a little, since I’m being a very naughty girl right now. Then he’d force my legs apart and touch me between them. Rub my clit mercilessly until I’d beg for more.
“Yes…please…” The words mingle with my moans. “More, Ethan.”
And he’d give me more. Judging by the way he watched me tonight, he’d give me much, much more, maybe more than I could handle. He’d use his fingers, his long, nimble fingers. Dip them deep inside me, touching and exploring my wet, hot pussy until he’d find that right spot, teasing it until the pleasure became unbearable.
Would he make me come with just his fingers? Or would he give me his cock if I asked for it? Begged for it? “Ethan, please,” I whimper, the words breaking into a breathless moan. “I need you. I need your cock inside me.”
He’d rip his pants open, grab my hips, and just slam into me, filling me up with his big, thick—
“OH!” The pressure is finally too much, and I shatter, shuddering as waves of pleasure wash over me. Maybe I’m screaming his name. I don’t even know myself. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Nobody’s here to hear me. No one will ever know I came with Ethan Bennett’s name on my tongue.
Chapter 12
Ethan
My hands grip thesteering wheel so tightly I fear it might crack, but I need to hold on to something to quell the scalding fury raging inside of me.
That fucking bastard talked to my bunny. He flirted with her!
It took everything I had not to pounce on him right there and then in front of his friends. In front of Kayla. Just the thought that it would scare her made me hold back. I don’t want her to be scared of me, and slashing someone’s throat right in front of her would hardly help me win her favor.
Somehow, I restrained myself to only slashing the bastard’s tires. Mostly to prevent Kayla from getting inside his car, but also out of spite. It was a petty act, I’ll admit it, but if the choice was between damaging a car and brutally murdering its owner…well, I think I know what my little bunny would want me to choose.
But even now, my control is slipping, and I’m seriously considering going back to the Rusty Mug and taking that guy out. He thought he could talk to MY girl?! I bet he imagined bringing her home, taking off that riveting dress, touching her, kissing her… I know I have.
I should go back and cut his fucking cock off so he never thinks of Kayla this way again. But I can’t. I can’t.
Sucking in a desperate breath, I slam my fist into the steering wheel. I need to calm down. Going around killing people isn’t the answer. I need to stay in control.
That guy didn’t do anything. He just talked to Kayla, which, as much as I hate to admit it, is not a crime. If he’d bothered her, if he had touched her, then I’m not sure I could hold back. But he did nothing inappropriate, so he gets to live. It’s the right decision, even if the darkness inside me disagrees. It demands me cutting the guy’s cock off and gifting it to Kayla wrapped in a nice box.
“She’d hate that,” I mutter, rubbing my forehead. “Wouldn’t she? Yes, I’m pretty sure she would.”
Kayla Reynolds is not like me. She’s pure, kind, and compassionate. She has devoted her entire life to helping children, even though her intelligence would have allowed her to pursue more reputable and better-paid careers. She’s too good for me, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting her go. But unless I want to drown her light in my darkness, I’ll have to meet her halfway. Now more than ever, I need to be mindful of the line between justifiable killing and mindless murder.
I park the car in my usual spot by the cemetery. It’s after midnight, so the place is deserted. The moonlight casts shadows all around me, and as an occasional cloud passes, the shadows shift, giving the cemetery an eerie vibe.
I ignore it. I’m not afraid of the dead. If anything, the dead should be afraid of me.
I make my way around the cemetery wall. Kayla’s house is submerged in darkness, but I don’t approach it yet. I need to wait for her to be in a deep sleep so my sneaking around won’t wake her.
The cemetery wall is cold as I lean against it, slightly cooling the rage simmering in my blood. Damn, I really need to get a grip.
The active feed from the bedroom cameras shows Kayla in her bed, curled under her thick blanket. Her wild hair is tucked away under a satin bonnet, a single escaped curl framing her face. As I watch, Kayla rolls from side to side, smacking her lips and mumbling something not even the military-grade listening device can pick up.
Content to see that she’s asleep already, I switch to the recorded footage. I watch Kayla come home and sigh in relief as she takes off her pumps. Like the slob she is, she leaves the shoes lying in the middle of the entrance hall and carelessly tosses her purse onto a low dresser by the door.
In the bathroom, she twists to reach the zipper of her dress, then wriggles out of it, holding on to the sink for balance. She appears slightly inebriated, but fortunately, not enough to pass out and smash her head against the toilet rim. I’m not sure how I’d explain barging in to rescue her if she hurt herself.
As expected, she leaves the dress in a pile on the floor. A tiny thong and a matching bra join the dress, and I swallow roughly as saliva pools in my mouth from the sight.
As if to taunt me, Kayla stretches out her arms, groaning at a few pops and cracks from her neck and back. The motion puts her beautiful breasts on display. She runs her fingers over nipples, a few shades darker than her smooth, umber skin, and the dark peaks tighten under her touch, making me groan. What I wouldn’t give to touch her like this!
Mesmerized, I watch her enter the shower and lather her body with the cherry-scented shower gel. She takes great care to wash her breasts and the tantalizing spot between her legs. A little too good a care, I think, as she keeps running her hand over her pussy.
