Page 69 of Claiming His Bunny
It’s probably not early, but considering we got to bed way past two a.m. last night, I didn’t get nearly enough sleep.
After helping Georgia and little Arya settle back at their apartment and reassuring her several times that her parents won’t be coming again, I left a message for my boss to let her know what happened.
Despite the ungodly hour, Victoria Smith called me right back, both to praise me for doing the right thing and to scold me for working even though I was sick. I’d been so preoccupied by Georgia’s situation that I’d completely forgotten about Ethan calling her, pretending to be me. As it turned out, my handsome kidnapper made it sound like I was nearly on a deathbed. After convincing Victoria that I’m really not dying and that I’ll be back on Monday, I dropped into bed and slept like the dead. Until a certain someone started kissing my neck to wake me up.
“You don’t have to wake me up for sex,” I mumble, trying to pull the blanket over my head.
“Yes, I do,” Ethan replies, ruthlessly taking my blanket away like the mean serial killer he is. “And it’s not about that. I have a surprise for you, but we have to leave soon if we want to be there on time. Come on, bunny, you can sleep in the car.”
I groan. Would he leave me alone if I just ignored him? Probably not. “You know, I think I liked you better when you just did what you wanted without waking me up,” I complain halfheartedly. “Like getting me to your house. How did you even do that?”
“I carried you through the backyard and that patch of trees by the cemetery to my car.”
My eyes fly open. “You did what?!” I try to imagine the distance. I haven’t exactly explored the area yet, but it must be at least half a mile from my house to the cemetery parking lot, if not more. “You carried me all the way? How?”
Squealing, I throw my arms around Ethan’s neck when he scoops me up. “Like this,” he proclaims smugly. “Except it was a bit more difficult since you were unconscious. Now, get dressed. Your yogurt is waiting for you in the kitchen and”—he waggles his finger in my face—“you’ll put the cup away or I’ll spank you.” He smacks my butt to punctuate his words and disappears while I’m still trying to figure out how he could have possibly carried me all that distance. I’m not extremely curvy, but I’m not a small girl either. I knew Ethan was strong, but damn!
“Wait, where are we going?” I call out as I open the closet.
Across from Ethan’s jeans and shirts, there’s an assortment of women’s clothes. A few pieces I recognize from my own closet, but most are brand new, still with price tags hanging from them. All are in my size and my style. Everything similar to the pieces I already own. It looks like Ethan bought me an approximate copy of my entire wardrobe.
“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it?” Ethan snickers from the bedroom door.
Running my hand over the soft material of the gorgeous suit jacket right in front of me, I shake my head in disbelief. My breath hitches as I notice the number on the price tag. “Why did you buy me all this? I have plenty of clothes back…back at my house,” I finish. I was going to say back home, but it didn’t feel right. I love that tiny house, but did it ever truly feel like home?
“I bought it because I could.” Ethan steps closer, hovering just behind my back but not touching me. “Because I wanted you to be happy here. You can return anything you don’t like and get something else. The same goes for everything in the house. If you want to redesign or add some decorations or stuff like that, you can.”
He doesn’t mention the option of me leaving and neither do I. I realize our relationship is anything but normal, but I don’t care. I can’t help but tease him, though. “That’s great. This place definitely needs more pastel colors. Blue and yellow, probably. Oh, and pink. Definitely pink. Pink drapes on all the windows. What do you think?”
Ethan narrows his eyes at me, seeing through my bluff. “Absolutely. Pink drapes sound great. Just make sure they’re sturdy enough for me to tie you up with. Now, get dressed.”
My pussy tingles when he mentions bondage, but I force myself to ignore it, curious about what surprise he might have for me. I hope it’s not a dead body. “I can’t get dressed if you don’t tell me where we’re going. Can you at least tell me if it’s like, a fancy setting or something casual?” I wave a pencil skirt and a pair of leggings in his face.
“Oh, right,” he smirks at the skirt. “Probably not that. Just wear something sportsy.”
I suppress a groan. “‘Sportsy’ is not a word,” I grumble as I change into the leggings. “Please, tell me the surprise is not going to the gym.”
Ethan probably works out a lot, but I’m not a person to exercise regularly. I can do some yoga and stretching—and the soreness in my hip joints after yesterday’s “exercise” convinces me I definitely should do some stretches—but grunting with weights and using all those torture machines is just not me. Or running. Unless… “We could go for a run, if you insist on exercising,” I suggest, wagging my eyebrows. “You could chase me through the woods.” Now,thatis an exercise I might partake in with excitement.
“What a kinky bunny I have,” Ethan grins. “We’re not going for a workout. Just put on something comfortable.” Trying to act unaffected, he walks to the door, but I don’t miss how he adjusts himself on the way. “And I’ll definitely take you up on that offer later,” he adds. The hungry glint in his eyes makes my pussy throb.
I quickly put on leggings and a T-shirt, finishing my “sportsy” look with a hoodie I pull out of the laundry basket. It goes halfway down my thighs, and I have to roll the sleeves several times to get my hands out, but it’s nicely warm and comfy, and, most importantly, it smells like Ethan.
It’s surprising how quickly I began to associate his scent with comfort, but then again, he has been sleeping in my bed for almost a month now, slowly getting me addicted to it. I’m a user now, and I refuse to go about my day without my fix of Ethan’s scent.
He cocks his brow when he sees me. “There were no clean hoodies in the closet?”
I roll my eyes. “The clean ones don’t smell like you, dummy. Besides, this one is hardly dirty. I bet you only wore it once before tossing it into the laundry.” With his meticulous approach to keeping things tidy and organized, I doubt Ethan has a pile of “used but still good” clothes stuffed on a chair like normal people do.
“That is beside the point,” Ethan argues, confirming my suspicion. “I do like you wearing my clothes, though, bunny. Eat. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?!” I gobble down my yogurt, purposely leaving both the cup and the spoon on the kitchen table. Spanking sounds like fun. And I sound like a lunatic.
We drive for half an hour. Ethan spends it telling me about his life. He tells me some funny stories from college, how he moved to Bluebell Springs, and about his friends here who, apparently, were supposed to come over to watch a game tomorrow, which he canceled because he had to turn his man cave into a makeshift holding cell. He speaks about his mom a lot, how happy she is withFreddy—he always says the word with a grimace, even though I can say he doesn’t really hate the man—and how she calls him once a week.
He never speaks of his high school years or childhood. Never mentions what drove him to kill pedophiles and child abusers. I don’t push him, content to simply learn more about him, to even the ground, since he seems to know everything about me already. He’ll tell me the rest when he’s ready.
“Okay,” he says eventually as he drives down a nondescript road between pastures. “We’re almost there. Close your eyes.”
