Page 60 of Claiming His Bunny
Just like the bathroom, the kitchen is squeaky clean and meticulously organized. Everything has its own spot. The pans, the knives, the spices, everything down to the sponge on the sink that lies perpendicular to the tap at what I’m sure is a strictly set distance from the dish soap dispenser.
I break into hives as I imagine even something as simple as making myself a coffee here. I’m sure I’d put everything in the wrong place.
Then again, it might be a fun thing to do if I want to tease Ethan someday. Rearranging his alphabetized spices, for example. Who even alphabetizes their spices? Or I could swap the utensils that are laid out in the drawers so neatly they don’t even touch each other. Not all of them, so he wouldn’t notice immediately, but just a few. I bet it would drive him crazy.
Wait a second, why am I coming up with ideas to drive a serial killer crazy? What the hell does that make me?
“That’s one sly smile you’ve got there, bunny,” Ethan says. He pulls the pan off the stove and fills two plates with its contents while grinning at me. “Should I be worried about your nefarious plans?”
“Nope,” I swiftly reply. “No plans. None at all. It smells great in here.”
As far as deflections go, this was a lame one, and I’m sure he can see right through me, but he doesn’t press further. “Well, you said you were hungry,” he says with a shrug, “so I’m making food. I’d hate to be accused of not taking proper care of my captives again.”
It should feel strange to joke about it, but somehow, it doesn’t. “Hmm, it still remains to be seen. The food smells great, but the way you just shoveled it on the plate without an ounce of artistic flare calls for point deduction.”
Ethan snorts, failing to suppress an eye roll. “Eat your food, Kayla,” he orders. “Before I decide to play the game you crave so much and make you work for every bite.”
“Yes, sir,” I tease, my pussy clenching at the thought of being forced to give him a blowjob for every meal. I’d happily oblige, and not just because my stomach is growling.
I dig in, a moan of delight escaping me as I take the first bite. The food is a simple stir fry with meat, vegetables, and noodles, and it’s absolutely delicious. In fact, it’s a homemade version of one of my favorite takeout foods I often order from an Asian bistro downtown.
It takes me way too long to realize Ethan must know that. I’ve eaten this food several times over the past couple weeks, and he’s been watching my every move. Of course he knows my favorite food. He knows everything about me, and instead of using that knowledge to hurt me, he makes me my favorite meal.
Butterflies flutter around my stomach, a whole swarm of them. Not even when Nick and I started dating, and he was all sweet to me, did I have this bubbly feeling in my chest, as if my heart was floating on a puffy cloud. I want to smile, to dance, to be in Ethan’s arms. And, most importantly, I want that big cock of his so much it hurts.
I’m falling in love with a serial killer, and I don’t know how to stop. Or if I even want to stop.
I finish everything on my plate and barely hold myself back from licking it clean.
“So, was it acceptable?” Ethan teases. “Did I pass the test?”
“Mmm,” I hum as I down a glass of water. “It was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
His playfulness gives way to something tender. “From my mom. She’s an excellent cook. Although this particular dish I taught myself just recently.”
Because it’s my favorite. My heart does a backflip. “Will you tell me more about your family?” I ask, choosing my words carefully. He seems to be in a talkative mood, and I long for more information, but I don’t want to pry in case family is a sore subject for him. After all, there must be a reason he murders child molesters.
“There’s not much to say, really. It’s just me and my mom. And, well, Freddy, whom she met after moving to Florida.” He smirks. “I think he’s rather obnoxious, but he makes her happy.”
“And…your father?”
Instead of glaring at me and telling me to shut up, Ethan grins. “Are you asking me if my father raped me as a child? If he’s the reason I do what I do? If I killed him?” Before I can blabber out a response, he shakes his head. “The answer is no to all questions. I know Victoria Smith believes I’ve been abused as a kid, and that’s why I help her with the cases. I don’t know how much of her beliefs she shares with other people—”
“None,” I say, interrupting him. “I’ve heard a lot of rumors about you but none about your childhood.”
“Rumors, huh? From other women, I assume?” He chuckles. “Let me guess. I’m gay. My cock doesn’t work. I’m asexual. You lot say terrible things about men who refuse your advances.”
I don’t refute his claim because there’s nothing to refute. He’s right. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” I say with a shrug. “Most rumors about you are positive, though. You’re a local celebrity. Isn’t it a bad thing for a serial killer?”
“If the FBI ever connects the missing person cases and profiles the killer, who do you think they’ll look for? A shady hermit living by himself, hating the entire world? Or a popular guy, loved by his community?”
It makes so much sense that I don’t know how I didn’t realize it earlier. Of course the law enforcement would go after the people on the fringes of the society first. They wouldn’t believe a social, outgoing person like Ethan would be involved in a series of murders. I’m the brightest example of that line of thinking. I didn’t even consider him being my stalker until he showed himself to me, even though it should have been painfully obvious.
“So, everything you do here in Bluebell Springs is to provide you with a better cover? All the charities? The puppy photoshoot?”
Ethan groans. “Oh, don’t even remind me of that damned thing! I mean, I’m all for making money for charity, but after that calendar came out, women went from fawning over me to groping me on the street. It was terrible. There was this flock of girls barely out of their teens who literally stalked me everywhere I went.”
“So, stalking is only acceptable when you’re the one doing it?” I tease.
