*
“Sorry,” I say, entering Bunny’s attic studio. “I’m late. Totally my fault.”
He looks up from his low worktable, once wood but now just a thick pile of paint and goop. A cup with a stirring stick is in his good hand and his sweet smile nearly cracks my heart.
“It’s fine.”
I cross the room and stand next to him. The substance he’s mixing is gold and shimmery. I rest my hand on his shoulder and feel the instant heat between us. “It’s not. It’s important for me to keep my time with everyone equal.”
He nuzzles his face in my neck and I feel the ticklish prick of his spiky copper hair. “You took a shower after training and smell delicious. It was worth the wait.”
I wrap my arms around him. “You’re too good to me.”
With a light kiss to my neck he holds up the container and says, “Come on, I want to try something new today. Can you grab those brushes?”
Bunny lost the use of his left hand and arm when he was in the shape of a raven. I was there when it happened and it’s my biggest regret and most lingering guilt. I’d led an agent of the Darkness, in the form of a cat, deep into the forest. Bunny tried to stop us. The result was a terrible disfigurement, including limited use of his arm and hand. As a raven he could no longer fly, but as a human he miraculously still creates the most amazing pieces of art.
I pick up the slender cup holding a variety of brushes of all lengths and sizes. Bunny is already across the room where a table has been set up. A thick cloth covers the top.
“What’s this?”
“Today I’m going to paint you.” His eyes flash coppery-brown behind the dark frames of his glasses.
“Bun, you paint me every day.” I glance around the room at the dozens of massive canvases lining the walls, floor to ceiling. They each have the same theme. Me.
He smiles and moves closer. He smells like chalk and oil paint. A scent I’ve grown to love—almost crave.
“No, you don’t understand.” He rests his container on the table and runs his hand down my arm. “I’m going to paint you. Your body will be my canvas.”
This ignites a small fire in my belly. I’ve never been naked in front of Bunny before, even though he has a variety of paintings depicting me nude. Interestingly, they’re all incredibly accurate. The tiniest moles and birthmarks specifically detailed. I’m afraid to ask how he knows.
“We don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.” His eyes flash with worry.
“No,” I assure him. “I want to. I really do.”
The next moment is charged as Bunny turns to give me some privacy. I stop him and say, “You can watch,” because the barriers between us need to be broken and this is just one of them.
Bunny freezes in his spot, Adam’s apple bobbing as I reach for the button on my shorts. I shimmy them over my hips and push them aside with my foot. Reaching for the hem of my shirt, I quickly pull it over my head. Bunny’s right hand clenches into a fist at the sight of me in nothing but my pink lace bra and panties.
“Jesus,” he mutters, eyes roaming over every inch of my body. He starts at my red painted toes and travels up my legs. He licks his lips, eyes skimming over my belly button. I reach for the clasp at the back of my bra when he blinks. “Wait.”
I frown. “What?”
“Can I do it?”
I nod, wanting nothing more than to feel his touch as he undresses me. The spark of energy flares between us. Like the others, Bunny is an extraordinarily handsome and unique man. He’s much smaller than Clinton and Dylan. They’re ridiculously large, tall and broad-shouldered. Bunny is thin but solid. A wisp of air but he carries the same intensity and power as the others. I wouldn’t want to see him angry.
In my adolescent memories Bunny holds a special place. Not just because of the injury but from before when he would hop around the ground, following me everywhere. That’s how he got the name Bunny. I gave it to him.
His artist’s fingers are long and agile. His movements are precise. He doesn’t need brawn, he has skill, and even one-handed he removes my bra with a quick flick of the wrist.
The strip of fabric drops to the floor. I feel his breath on my belly when he hooks his fingers into the sides of my panties. They fall in the pile and in less than two minutes I’m bare in front of him. I wrap an arm around my waist nervously.
“Can you take off your necklace?” he gestures to his arm.
“I thought I was supposed to wear it and the ring all the time.” Damien forged the ring from precious metals to provide protection.
“Just for a bit—it will be fine.”