Page 100 of Red Rabbit

Theron’s eyes flickered to Graham’s in approval at the demand and he rose and pulled down his pants as Graham pushed me gently off his lap and settled into the corner of the couch to watch. A thrill rushed through me. Being passed between these two men was intoxicating and every time they looked at each other or demanded something of the other I grew weak and incapable of breathing properly.

Theron’s eyes blazed into mine before he turned me and pushed me down over the arm of the couch and drove into me hard. I cried out as the pleasure ripped through me and I saw Graham smirk, a pleased look on his face. Theron fucked me hard and fast until I was a shaking, whimpering mess. I was so sensitive, every thrust electric through my body. His hands on my hips held me steady and when his hand slapped my ass, I heard Graham vocalize his approval at the gasp and whine that escaped me.

“Fall apart, princess,” I heard Graham say and my breath caught as I tightened around Theron’s cock at his words.

Theron groaned and pulled me up by my neck, continuing to thrust into me, his other hand went down to my clit and I cried out as an orgasm slammed through me, sending me straight into the storm raging inside him.

“You’re mine, baby girl,” he growled in my ear as I convulsed in waves in his arms and around his dick. His breath caught and his hand tightened around my throat possessively. His fingers sent me straight into another orgasm, this time I heard him gasp and as I cried out my release, he came apart inside me, his teeth against my neck and his breath hot against my skin.

We hovered on the edge of ecstasy together until he turned my head and kissed me, gently and deeply, letting his kiss say things his words never could.

“I’m yours,” I said breathlessly. I saw that same devotion in his eyes, speaking of deeper things not yet expressed and then it was gone and he smirked.

“You’re ours,” he said, his eyes smoldering wickedly at everything that implied and I smiled because it was true.

THREE DAYS LATER

I was in my studio, putting the finishing touches on a painting I had worked on relentlessly for the last three days. Theron and Graham spent the rest of that night and deep into the morning showing me just how much they owned every part of me until I was dead to the world and fell asleep between two men who at some point had crept in and stolen my heart and soul.

I didn’t plan on asking for either of those things back anytime soon though—I was theirs but they were equally mine and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Our broken pieces fit together and every time we shattered, it was like our souls found each other again and were remade into something new, something more whole and expansive than it was before.

I stepped back and tilted my head, debating on whether I needed another touch here or another highlight there. The painting wasn’t particularly large but it was the balm on my soul and the healing touch I needed. Time didn’t heal all wounds—I would always wear my scars on my body, visible reminders of the cracks created when I’d broken. Except now I don’t think we only break once. I think we break a thousand times, again and again, so our pieces can find the ones we fit together with and those pieces heal—refining and reshaping each time. Maybe we need to break in order to expand and maybe we need to shatter across the universe in order to find the pieces of others who fit in those spaces left behind.

I heard the door open and the murmur of voices reached me. I heard Graham laugh at something Theron said and my soul soared in pleasure. I loved their friendship and the easy way they shared me between them. I felt the men come up behind me—they carried my fragments inside them, as deeply as I carried theirs, keeping them safe, healing them so when we broke again, and we would, we could give them back and maybe not be as broken as we were before.

I dragged my brush, dipped in red, across one small section and then put my paints aside. It was done. A dark forest, battered by storms, raged in the background, fading into shadows so dark there weren’t any distinct details. Bursting from between the trees was a blood red rabbit, running and mid leap as though it would escape. It was broken and bleeding but the look on its face was barely animal, twisted in triumph and strength.

“Beautiful,” I heard Theron say.

“A fitting tribute,” Graham murmured. “What are you going to do with it?”

I didn’t turn, still looking at the painting. This was my tribute to the end and I realized I thought I would feel different because in the Warren and the six months after, I was alone, fighting a war with only an army of one.

But now I wasn’t.

My two fallen angels—my villains—my antiheroes—were with me. They weren’t my saviors—but then again I didn’t need saving this time. This time I wanted to be pulled into the shadows with them.

“I was thinking of hanging it in the living room,” I said casually.

“Like hell you are,” Graham said.

“What’s it called?” Theron asked.

I turned and kissed them both before answering.

“Redemption,” I said.

Theron smirked as his eyes flashed and he slipped a hand around my waist.

“I like it,” he said darkly.

Graham slung a hand around my shoulders on my other side and leaned into me.

“It’s perfect—but you’re not putting it in the house.”

“What? You don’t think it goes with the aesthetic?” I asked, mock offended.

The men laughed and started bantering about where the painting should or shouldn’t go and I joined them, feeling at home and safe in their arms as we walked out of the studio—leaving the painting to dry while next to it sat an empty vial of blood.