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An extremely ugly snort burst out of me. “Oh yeah? How could you possibly be the rabbit?”
He shook his head. “There's so much to you. I thought...” For the first time, I saw a blush tinge his cheeks. It must have been a powerful one for me to see in the dark. He was embarrassed. “I thought you wanted me to free you. From...” He shrugged. “From all those things in your past that keeps you weighed down. Your parents. Your distrust. Your fears... Didn't you?”
If I hadn't known just how thick he was when it came to understanding people already, I would have slapped him. “No, you idiot, I want to free you.”
“I'm the tiger?” He looked astonished. “That's how you see me?”
“Of course.”
“But... I'm so...” He swallowed hard. His hands began to move, smoothing over my back, up and down my arms, warm and sweet and shivery. “I'm a coward. When it comes to you, I'm a coward.”
I smiled and closed my eyes. “You don't have to be afraid,” I said. “Don't be afraid of me. I'm only a rabbit. The worst I'll do is hump your foot to death.”
“Which one?”
“The right.”
“That's only my second favorite foot,” he said. “It's probably worth it to keep you around.” He kissed me and I laughed into his mouth, and then we were tangled together again, striving and straining, and we fucked like rabbits, fucked like tigers, made love like wild things until at last we fell asleep, entwined in the early gray light as the world turned toward a new day.
One Month Later
My shoes were hurting. My back was cramping. My legs were exhausted. My head ached. And I couldn't breath. My wedding corset? Had been great when we got married and then immediately retired to the limo to screw our brains out. When you have to stand around at a reception afterward, smiling and nodding at a bunch of people whose names have passed you like ships in the night? Not ideal.
In fact, pretty much the opposite of ideal. The Platonic ideal of unideal.
Haha, I thought to myself. I'm so clever. I really needed air.
Actually, I really needed to sit down. And I really needed to not be listening to this old guy with the inscrutable accent talk about hedge funds. Or was he talking about actual hedges? I couldn't even tell. Or was that care? I couldn't even care? Yeah. That was probably it.
With great effort, I drew a breath. The stays of my corset creaked as I struggled to suck air into my lungs, but in the end they held and I had to content myself with taking a light-headed gulp of champagne and smiling politely.
“Felicia!” My mother bustled up to me and grabbe
d my arm. “Have you met Mr. and Mrs. Mordon from the Mordon Foundational Trust? I'm sorry, Mr. Steinbeck, but I simply must steal my daughter for a moment.”
Out of the frying pan and into the suicidally boring fire, as they say. I gave Mr. Steinbeck an apologetic smile as my mother herded me off to meet yet another rich person I couldn't care less about. She, of course, was in heaven, so I couldn't very well throw myself on the floor and have a screaming tantrum like I used to when I was four, but the urge was still very much there. All my friends were busy hobnobbing and trying to suck up to all the rich potential patrons of the arts, Sadie was off somewhere making sure things ran smoothly, and my husband was nowhere to be found. There was no one to rescue me. I could really use a sledgehammer right about now. Smash up the bar, perhaps. Or one of the ice sculptures, even though each of them was a replica of one of my works.
It was a nice touch. Sadie really outdid herself. But a girl's got her limits, and I was fast approaching mine.
My mother's hand on my arm propelled me toward a couple in their fifties, laughing about something with another bland couple in their fifties, and I wanted to shoot myself. When I'd envisioned my wedding reception when I was slightly younger, I'd always imagined something like an Irish wake, but without the dead body. Or hell, bring a dead body. As long as it wasn't anyone I, personally, had known.
“Mr. and Mrs. Mordon!” my mother called. “Let me introduce you to my daughter...”
One half of the couples turned toward me, all smiles, and I smiled back automatically. Mr. Mordon, a pleasant man who looked like he'd eaten one too many Valium, held out his hand, and I automatically put my white-gloved fingers in his.
“A pleasure,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips. My god. What century was this?
But the second his mouth pressed to my fingertips, a jolt of electricity shot through me.
I gasped and staggered, the vibrator in my pussy suddenly roaring to life. My knees turned to jelly and I couldn't get enough air. I was going to faint—
A strong arm circled my shoulders, and I sighed with relief.
“Pardon me,” Anton said to the startled group, “but I must borrow my wife for a moment.” He guided me away, the vibrator ratcheting up in intensity.
“It'd better be longer than a moment,” I muttered to him under my breath, and he laughed at me as he gently pointed me through a door onto the balcony. It was cold out here, but there were still fellow revelers. To my immense satisfaction, they all took notice of us and discreetly dispersed, leaving us alone on the small side terrace.
I sagged into Anton, and he put his arms around me as I moaned. “Jesus,” I panted. “You really know how to keep a girl waiting.”
