Crushing fingers. Brute strength.
I wait…but the only sensations to register are his touch. His hot breath on my lower lip, his scent flooding my nostrils, his heat…prickling between us.
“What are you doing?” I croak, painfully aware of his nearness. “G-Get off!” I feel my knee twitch, but he shifts, ensuring any target I could assault is well beyond my reach.
“Relax.” He deliberately adjusts his grip to trap both my wrists in one hand while the other slides down to my hip, ghosting around to my lower back. “You asked me what I’ve written. Feel for yourself.” Presumably, he’s referring to his fingers, skimming my body uninvited. Each individual digit flexes against my muscle and bone, imparting their rough, scarred, and calloused texture.
“Feel you groping me?”
“No. I don’t scribble my thoughts into a fucking notebook. I don’t work on paper, bunny. I work in flesh.” With the tip of what feels like a forefinger, he traces an invisible design against my skin. My thoughts spin, unable to interpret the lightning-quick motions. Words? “My ‘writing,’” he murmurs, letting his hand fall. “Blood and pain. Ink. The only shit that makes a real mark.”
“Ink…” My gaze darts to his chest. Beneath his collar, I can see the hint of the intricate designs I know span his torso. “A tattoo? Like you know anything about art?”
But he might. The drawings scattered across his warehouse contradict me, as does the dragon etched into his skin.
Rather than say as much, he chuckles again. Up close, his almond-shaped eyes aren’t entirely fathomless. A hint of silver glints off each pupil, reflected from the distant streetlights. The glow makes him look more serious than he should. Thoughtful.
“I do,” he counters gruffly, raking his eyes down the front of me. “I know it’s more than spewing out a bunch of pretty words. My ‘art’ is in pain. But what about you? Can you even describe one little emotion, rabbit? What this feels like?”
My chest heaves as I fight to suck in air, but every breath I take is tainted with the stench of him—cloying, endless smoke. Again, I try to squirm from his reach, but he tightens his grip. “It…It feels like I’m being assaulted.”
He laughs. “See what I mean, bunny? That little brain of yours only knows how to scamper. Run. You can’t even fucking describe what you’re running from.”
“Get off. I’ll…I’ll scream,” I manage to threaten between pants. My nails dig into the wall to reinforce the boast. “I swear, I will.”
“Do it.”
I suck in another breath.
“Do something useful with all that panting.” With one hand still braced above me, he reaches over and brings something to my mouth. “Inhale.”
Smoke irritates my nostrils as the sensation of wet material prods my lower lip.
“Take a hit,” he says. “Don’t play scared, bunny. I can see it in your fucking eyes. You don’t give a shit. Breathe.”
My mouth opens, and I inhale when he lowers the cigarette. My nostrils itch with the bitter flavor.
“Good,” he grunts. “Now, exhale.”
It hurts when my lungs manage to fully empty again. Fear is like a vise, fighting to constrict them. But I can’t deny the smug satisfaction I get by breathing a cloud of smoke directly into his face.
“Maybe that will loosen you up,” he taunts without batting an eyelash. “Why is it so fucking hard for you to describe what you feel?” His voice is too controlled. Too level. “Not your surroundings. You write a lot about a fucking cage, but how does it feel to be trapped?”
“I don’t know,” I rasp as he returns his cigarette to his mouth and takes a drag. “How does it feel to destroy a book shop or terrorize an old man?”
“Good,” he says, his next breath feathering my throat. “That’s what you expect me to say, isn’t it? It feels good to be bad, bunny rabbit.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me something. Does he appreciate your little hobby? Your boyfriend?” He laughs again, but the sound is decidedly colder this time. “Don’t answer that. Describe me instead. Describe me with your writerly words.”
“An asshole. A creep. A fucking liar,’” I snipe. “There. Satisfied?”
He lets me go, turning away. “I’ve been called worse. I bet you have too, rabbit.”
I bite my lip. Have I? Yes. The words echo, distorted and muted by memory. You’re so selfish, Hannah. Fucking selfish…
“I’m leaving now,” I say, struggling to sound like I mean it.
“Not before I get to critique your assessment.” He whirls to face me, stroking his chin. “A creep. Asshole. Well, I am all of the above…except that last thing. I’m not a liar.”
I meet his gaze again, but the darkness I find there is unwaveringly steady. He’s telling the truth, or at least he thinks he is.
Which strikes me as strange. Out of all the attributes on that list, I wouldn’t expect him to deny that one.
“You never lie?” I ask, still holding his gaze.
“No,” he says. “So think carefully about whatever you’re going to ask me next. Make sure you can sleep with it.”
I do. The air catches in the back of my throat as I open my mouth, and ask, “Why pick on me?”
He laughs. “I told you.” He moves slowly, giving me every chance to escape his advance. When I don’t, his hands return to my hips. “I want to know what makes a rabbit scream.”
One by one, he spreads out his fingers, and I’m riveted by the sight of them—long and slim, streaked with dirt. Or paint? Gradually, they slip between the denim of my jeans to connect with my skin. Greedily, seeking more. More. Once he’s gained enough leverage, he tugs.
I inhale, raising my hands. “S-Stop—”
“No,” he growls, yanking me to him. “Close your eyes.”
Something in his voice reaches past my logical brain, the part of me I’ve listened to my entire life. He goes deeper.
“Feel,” he commands in a tone that ripples down my spine. “What does this feel like? Tell me, and I’ll stop.”
Softness mingles with a slightly rougher texture. Definitely paint. Warmth from the fingertips traces a blazing path over my chilled flesh. Down, down, down…
“Breathe, rabbit,” he urges, his mouth near my ear. “I won’t hurt you. Unless you ask me to.”
“S-Stop—”
“You stop with the fucking words,” he counters. “Show me.”
I know what he’s doing. I can feel the tension tugging on the clasp of my jeans. Hear the rasp of the zipper coming undone. My heart races, throat thickening.
Is this fear? Yes, I decide as the air sticks to the inside of my lungs. “It feels bad,” I tell him.
“Bad,” he echoes. His warm breath sears me and wetness chases the sensation. I startle, my eyes fluttering shut. Feel? His mouth. Lips…parting over the hollow of my throat.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” he murmurs there, the words like smoke fanning smoldering embers. “You’d let me do whatever the fuck I want. But not because you’re afraid. You’re just too fucking numb to give a shit.” He pulls back, and my eyes open slowly, taking in his ripe, smug smile. “That’s no fun. I hate to tell you, rabbit, but you’d be a bad fucking fuck.”