Reaching over my shoulder, he callously grabs my face, prying my jaw apart to sweep his tongue deep in my mouth, then he’s eagerly sinking inside the sloppy mess pouring out of me.
The moan breaking off my tongue has our lips smacking apart. But he comes crashing back, silencing me with a harsh kiss and thrusting in hilt deep—giving me all of him.
I love the way he fills me. The seamless acceptance of our bodies extends beyond sex. He’s managed to smooth over fractures and heal cracks I thought I was destined to die with. That I’d die from.
Wounds aren’t so bad when you have someone to kiss them. Selfishly, it makes you want more. Just so they keep caring.
Lost in him, I naively smile around the pants racking my chest, locking my heavy eyes on his through the sweaty hair hanging around his brows.
He strokes my throat, cracking a smile back at me. “Are you in love with me, Bunny?” He hangs his head to the left, thrusting in and out of me. “I told you my cock would ruin you. Now look at you. My horny little rabbit is getting fucked in the dirt like a slut. Ohh, and she’s fuckin’ smilin’ at me while takin’ it.”
Getting so wet it drips down my clit, I nod, keeping my infatuation on him while resting my head on the prickly grass.
His brows hike, his hips rolling on a controlled flow that has me bouncing off him. He starts to say something, but quickly becomes tongue tied as he watches me reach down my own body, his eyes curiously moving to where my hand’s disappearing between my thighs.
“Yeah, I am,” I answer.
Touching myself gives me the courage to actually say it. My brain tries to convince me to regret it. But the way he’s slashing back up to my face with dilated pupils is enough to fade the brief insecurity.
“You are what?” he exhales, searching my face.
“I’m… I think I’m in love with you.” Whether it’s the ecstasy returning or shyness getting the best of me, my face gets overwhelmingly hot, my entire body breaking out in a rupture of sweat that covers me in sap.
Letting a groan out from his nose, he’s raising a brow and biting the back of my shoulder, giving me the pain I need to remember how good he makes me feel.
“Razor,” I moan whinily, working my fingers faster.
He bites harder. Andharder. Etching the sharp ache to my soul and branding my body, despite how many maggots I might still have inside me.
Warmth streams down my back, the sound of his slurp getting lost in how loud my moans have become, how violent the splashes smattering my thighs are getting.
He sucks my skin into his mouth, and that little bit of added pressure makes me implode.
My hips jut and my stomach vacuums, shaking to the merciless sputter of acid eating me from the inside out. I belt a choppy, hoarse cry, my larynx strained from driving my chin into the ground.
There’s a moment when you orgasm, right when you’re about to let your fingers drift away. It’s a spazzing, lustful rush that knocks your head around, has you chasing it, wanting to see how high you can get. It kind of makes you feel rotten for being so carnally driven, you’re willing to make a monster out yourself just to feel it.
I claw at the ground, moving my swollen bud in circles and bucking my hips, using my knees as leverage to fall into the mindless solace.
Then I drift, entering the state of reverie I long for.
Razor’s rusty moan crowds my head, my lax body moving to the momentum he’s coming inside me with. “Bunny… Bunny… Bunny, Bunny.”
He chants my name like a prayer, huffing and moaning, worshipping my outstretched body with his palms. It’s validating coming from him. But there’s something insatiable about being chased like meat, then softly touched—like the intention all along was a chance.
We’re both pretty adamant on getting out of here. As soon as he’s pulling out of me, he’s zipping his jeans and pulling my panties up. I don’t expect him to hunch down and kiss my vagina. He’s sweet and tender about it, as if he’s grateful for what I just gave him.
Flushed and dizzy, I giggle to myself, sitting up on my knees and panning around for my overalls, numbly yanking my top back down as the drips of him slowly spill out.
“Here, baby,” he hums.
I look back at him flipping my overalls around to get them pried open for me to step into, and as I wobble up to my feet, the rabbit’s foot is falling from the pocket he’s shaking out—landing right next to his shoe.
My heart fries, stiffly straightening my spine, glued to the little, white bow contrasting against the dirt and grass.
I’m scared to look up at him.
He’s already looking at me. His slits for eyes are dark in my peripheral, like he’s assuming this was a gift from someone.
