CHAPTER ELEVEN
RAZOR
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. For the five hundredth time.
Fuck, I’ll say it until my throat bleeds. Because I am. I just… It’s really hard to get out of a straitjacket.
That’s how it feels when it comes to Bunny getting disrespected or hurt. This smothering ire throws a tight tarp around me, and I destroy shit by trying to get out.
She turns around from her vanity to face me sitting on her stool, the warm bulbs haloing her sultry curls, her exhaustion shadowed with a thick wave falling over her eye. “I know. You keep saying that.”
How did I go from suffocating myself in between her thighs to walking on a tight rope for the right things to say?
I sigh heavily, straightening my neck for the brush she’s bringing to my face.
“Why aren’t you taking your medicine?” she asks quietly, gently raking hair from my forehead.
“I don’t need it.” Closing my eyes, I lose the view of her doing my alternate face for the first time.
I shoved my pride to the side and apologized to Xene in front of everyone earlier. Then Gwen proceeded to say, “I ain’t doin’ your makeup no more. You’re nuts,” with her cornbread attitude.
Uh, yeah. No shit.
So, I begged Bunny from my knees. Here we are. I got what I’ve been wanting.
“Really?” she presses.
But she’s so soft about it, like she genuinely cares about my well-being.
I’m internally decaying. And regretting my choice of continuing with regular programmed performance. I had been shifting in her dead silence while sitting on my hands for an hour.
I’ve looked down her top a few times. But quickly realized it was making my hands crawl out from their cage to discreetly rub over the pressure building up.
My hands find her hips, mapping up the violin curve for a dose of what I clinically need.
You can laugh and roll your eyes as much as you want. But Bunny is superior to the mild sedatives Carl expected me to live on. I can actually feel my heart beating; I can feel her femininity drag along my desperate palms and hear the air filling her lungs as she concentrates closely.
I’m not a zombie. Or a performance monkey.
She tames me with chains I’d crawl to her on.
She’s my asylum.
“Razor, you’re gonna mess me up,” she laughs hushedly, framing her hand around my head to hold the brush steady.
Fuck me up, her candied breath is directly in my face. I’m so needy, I inhale through my mouth and there she is. The taste of her tongue is dancing over mine, the high controlling my hands to slide up her denim overalls.
I get a little too courageous and dip into the openings on her sides, feeling up the warmth of her soft skin and counting the ribs I’m able to memorize the shape of—until she’s cutting me off and stepping away.
Six.
I know what six of her vital bones feel like in my hands. And now, I have a twitching impulse to collect the rest.
“Okay. All done,” she exhales, sending me a sweet smile through the mirror.
I don’t wanna take my eyes off her. She could paint me up like a bubblegum unicorn and I wouldn’t give a shit. Because she was touching me. Her attention anesthetizes me.
“You’re perfect,” I utter, still hanging on to the amber bulbs warming her eyes.
She flushes extra pink beneath her sunburn, biting her lip to try and contain a smile. “You’re delusional.”
“Really?” my brow lifts, my head angling. “If that’s the case, then you better come kiss me before I slip into a psychosis. I’d hate to be too far gone.”
I crook two fingers at her, growing entertained with the way she’s spinning around with dilated eyes.
“No,” she laughs.
“No?”
“No.”
She’s squirming again, digging her short, black nails into the edge of her vanity, and subtly cocking one thigh over the other.
My horny little rabbit wants more.
I take a brief look at my reflection, just to see the face that has Bunny, my wet fucking nightmare, writhing in place when my features are hidden.
The crisp, black lines slicing and contouring the white paint to design a stark skull has me leaning closer, my jaw falling a little loose from the pervasive awe I’m being attacked with. “Damn, Bunny…”
She shrugs coyly, raising bent fingers to her mouth to chew away the smile making her blush harder. “I still need to set it…”
Slowly panning my disbelief to her, I slink off the stool, backing her up against the vanity. “Years, Bun. You’ve been holding out on me for years.”
Throwing her arm down, her hand smacks against the vanity, rattling bottles of perfume and makeup, and she tilts her hips back to crane away with those innocent fucking eyes. “I’m not that good.”
Crowding her, I place my hands to the vanity on either side of her hips, lowering my still, desirous expression down to the mewl she’s letting out for me. “We’re still talking about makeup?”
“I thought so,” she murmurs, not blinking.
“No, baby,” I shake my head, swallowing the buzz creeping up my throat from the way she’s targeting my mouth. “You ready to rock? Or do you need something from me?”
“Uh-uh,” her head pendulums, that one curl swaying around her contradictive eyes.
She’s gonna drive me crazy with this. It’s like she knows the one thing I want the most is her pouty mouth. That’s the trademark of an established claim. Not eating pussy or getting head, or, fuck, sinking deep inside her.
Which will happen.
It’s her willingly giving me her softness, her allowing me to lock my lips with her intimacy for the taste of her illness.
I know she’s insane.
She just swallows it.
“Okay,” I whisper, lingering a moment longer to edge myself with suspense.
She doesn’t take the bait. She just gives me a big-eyed nod and waits for me to back up off her. I guess she really doesn’t wanna play seven minutes in the psych ward with me.
What a shame.