The Land of Rabbits: Long Shot Love Duet (Book One)

by Aven Jayce

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Hey, look at me.” His fingers touch my cheek, sliding toward my ear before slipping through my hair. “It’s okay to leave. I’ll hang out with my brother tonight and tomorrow we’ll spend the day together, just you and me. I have a little money if you want to get lunch somewhere. A real date.” He shares a delicate smile.

  I take another drink, bigger this time, and pass him the bottle. “That’s not it. I’m talking about the future. My mom’s planned life for me and her idealistic ways had nothing to do with all of this.” I look over and see Dylan drinking a beer, listening to our conversation with the door cracked open, not trying to hide his meddling. Quinn repositions himself between us, offering some privacy, at least visually.

  “She led me in a direction with her goals, not my own, and they were all safe bets. It was a phony life. I wasn’t allowed to experience anything real, like what’s around me now, what I’m curious about now.”

  “Sounds like she wanted to keep you safe.”

  “But...” I look at Dylan, thinking that his crude behavior and sleaziness will loom over us the entire night. People with his personality can make me edgy and defensive. But liquor helps. It should relax me enough to deal with his shit.

  I sigh, taking the bottle back for another sip.

  “But what?” Quinn asks.

  “But I’m no longer following her path.”

  “Maybe that’s good.”

  “Maybe.” I walk toward the door, bypassing a broken stair on my way inside. “We’ll see.”

  The kitchen I enter is small, hot, and smells like mothballs. Trent opens the front living room windows, trying to cool the place down. Besides the newspapers piled on the floor and the cigarette burns in the carpet, the house is clean. A stairwell to the second floor is opposite the front door and another leading to the basement is to the right.

  “Dad sleeps upstairs. It’s one big room and a bath. Your stuff from Schenectady is in the basement, along with our old furniture.” He turns on the basement light and we follow him down the wooden stairs. “It’s cooler down here.”

  “Much cooler.” Dylan smacks Quinn’s back then takes a seat in a stuffed green chair. Trent sits in the matching chair next to him, leaving Quinn and me to a vintage gold-flowered couch. “It’s a step up from a tiny cell. I thought I was going mad this past year. No fucking visitors after you two disappeared.” He rubs his dick through his jeans, staring fixedly at my body. “So, Madlyn.”

  “Adlyn,” I say.

  “Yeah, whatever... what are you doing with my brother?”

  “Her name does matter. Don’t be a dick,” Quinn says.

  “Fuck you. Let her answer the question, or are you too much of a pussy to hear that she’s using you for your money?” He laughs with Trent, raising their beers before they drink.

  I respond to Dylan in a slow, aiming voice. “I was asked last week if I was fascinated with your brother because of my mom’s murder... it was suggested we have that in common. Murder. So tell me... I heard you went to jail for assault, so have you ever killed anyone?”

  “What the fuck?” he says, lowering his beer with a deep crease in his forehead. “Is your girl psycho, or what?”

  “Answer the question,” I say. “Or are you too much of a pussy to come clean?”

  “Ohhhh, man.” Trent laughs. “For Christ’s sake, Quinn, shut her up.”

  “No.” I take another swallow of whiskey, letting the liquor pacify my fears. “He asked me a question and I’ll answer... Quinn’s nice to me. He’s not a scheming, manipulating dickhead. And he doesn’t act like a twelve-year-old. He uses his brains and his balls the way a man should, not like the pussy that you called him. I have a high opinion of him, but you, not so much. And you shouldn’t be drinking if you just got out of prison, it must be a violation of your release.”

  “Holy shit.” Quinn throws his head back with delight. “My woman just burned your ass.”

  “Not funny.”

  “It’s very funny. Lighten up and admit she’s fucking amazing.”

  Dylan squints while he drinks, keeping his eyes on me, even when Trent’s cell rings with a call that the prostitute’s here. And even when Trent stands and heads upstairs to let her in, he ignores the action and continues to stare.

  “What?” I finally ask.

  “Did they catch the fucker? The guy that got your mom.”

  I shake my head, taking a huge gulp of liquor, coughing some back up. It drips down my chin and Quinn takes the bottle, forcing me to take a break.

  “Why do you think that is?” he asks. “Murder can’t be fucking easy to get away with. I couldn’t escape a sentence for beating some douchebag. What makes you think I’d get away with murder?”

  “Because, forty percent of them go unsolved each year... I checked. It must be easy to get away with it if those are the statistics.”

  They rub their index fingers over their lips in unison, imitating each other’s movements, both in thought until Quinn breaks the silence.

  “I think Roxanne brought that up, the murder thing, because we’ve both dealt with crimes. Don’t take what she said too seriously.”

  Dylan takes off his shirt after hearing the door to the kitchen close, while Trent’s voice and footsteps head toward the basement.

  “New tat,” Quinn says, gesturing to his brother’s chest.

  “And new scars. I found out fast that there’re more blades in prison than in our old neighborhood... and the tat.” He runs his hand around his neck, following a crude broken rosary design down his torso. “I thought about mom a lot when I was sitting in that cell. You remember she used to keep a rosary on her nightstand?”

  “Yep, and she used to drag us to church on Sunday mornings in light blue dress shirts. I remember.”

  “Catholic?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “Me too.”

  Trent rushes down the stairs with the hooker—a woman my age with long black hair, a white tank that matches her pale skin, frayed jean shorts, and a pair of high-heeled black strap sandals. He waves a hand in front of her body, putting her on display for Dylan.

  “Nice.” He leans back, placing his hands behind his head with his legs spread and his tongue moistening his lips. Another trait he shares with Quinn—the lick lip. “Take off your shirt.”

  She scopes out the room, unhappy about the extra people around. With a hand on her hip in protest, her finger points at our faces...

  “No cameras. Don’t tape me. I don’t want to be on any porn sites,” she says. “You can watch, but if this turns into an orgy, it’ll be an extra hundred.”

  Dylan pushes his chest forward, eyeing her slim body. “Shirt off,” he repeats. “They won’t touch you.”

  I cross my legs and bite my fingernail... then put my hands in my lap... then to my forehead... my brain can’t process this. I take the bottle from Quinn, needing to keep occupied. Should I watch? It’s so hard not to.

  “Those are fuckable tits.”

  “Told ya so,” Trent says, crumpling his beer can in one hand. He takes another from the case and leans back, maintaining the same position as Dylan, ready to savor the show.

  “Start with that little mouth of yours on my big cock. Then we’ll fuck.”

  She kneels on the concrete floor, unzipping his jeans.

  “Oh.” I gasp as his erection comes out. And... and he’s not even paying attention to her. He’s talking to Trent. Oh. My. God!

  Quinn’s fingers rest under my chin, closing my mouth. “Come here.” I’m helped onto his lap, no longer facing them. “You wanna go upstairs or outside until he’s done?”

  “No, it’s fascinating.”

  “Really?”

  I drink again, and again, giving him a sexy grin between swigs. “I’ve never been a part of anything like this. I thought it would disgust me...” I glance back, seeing her lick his length before
she takes his dick into her mouth. He’s holding her hair, drinking, his tongue continuously wetting his lips as she sucks. “I’m surprised how... whoa, that’s deep... I’m surprised how exciting it is. I can’t believe I’m saying that. I would never be with a prostitute, but watching them... Jesus, watching the two of them is crazy hot.”

  I laugh and fall forward, catching myself on the back of the couch. Ohhh, yeah, I’m definitely starting to feel drunk. I sit up with a silly smile as my hands run down his chest.

  He touches my tank, taking the light fabric between two fingers, thinking for a moment before sliding underneath. My tits are attacked in a frisky tease... guess I’m not the only one turned on by the open foreplay in the room.

  “I won’t take it too far in front of them,” he says. He looks at Dylan then massages my chest, my head slowly rolling in a clockwise motion, captivated by his gentle touch. I tilt my head and lean in, pressing hard into his swelling lips.

  “Dark hair and pale skin, is that why they call you the dark angel?”

  “Hmm-mm,” she mumbles with a mouthful.

  “Sit on me. Sit on my cock. It’s time to fuck.”

  I turn, seeing her nude body straddling his hips. With his hand on her back, he positions himself, ready for her to lower onto his dick.

  Quinn’s arms fasten around me and I’m carried up the stairs, rushed away from the scene.

  “I was enjoying that,” I whisper sexily into his ear, nipping at his lobe. My legs wrap around his waist as we head for the dim kitchen, the disappearing sun no longer lighting the home.

  “I’m not sharing your body with my brother or Trent.”

  He takes my mouth, immersing his energy into a powerful kiss. His tongue whirls with mine as he sets me on the kitchen counter, rubbing his groin over my skirt.

  “I wanna fuck you. Right here. Right now.” His mouth is buried in my neck while his hands circle my tits.

  “Sexcellent.” I laugh, hurrying to unbutton his jeans, lowering them partway down his ass.

  “You laughing at me, beautiful?” he teases. “You think a fuck from me will be amusing?”

  “No. A fuck on the kitchen counter, added to what I was thinking earlier, is funny.”

  “Oh yeah?” He lifts my tank and bra, looking at my aroused tits, stimulating me with licks and kisses on my nipples.

  “Yeah. Losing my virginity in my bed sucked, but my second time with you in the tent was incredible. Number three... on a kitchen counter. That sounds fantastic.”

  I love how he touches my face in such a suggestive way. I lean into his hand, noticing a look of wonder in his eyes.

  “No shit. You only had sex once before that time with me?”

  I nod and he snatches the liquor from my hand, downing a big gulp. He slams the bottle on the counter and hurries out of his shirt.

  “That makes me want you even more. Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you.” His jeans drop to his ankles as he works hastily to get my underwear off, tossing them aside and raising my skirt to speedily slip his dick inside my pussy. “I’ve wanted to feel this all week... waiting to find a private spot where we could fuck.” He looks down and marvels at my body then holds me against his chest. “I’ll make this fast so no one comes upstairs and sees, okay?”

  “Okay. Do it quick.”

  He grabs my legs and I’m conquered with rapid thrusts. His hands are full of energy, racing everywhere—over my back, tits, smashing into the counter next to my head—while his knees thump the lower cabinet in a reckless flurry.

  “Your dick feels incredible.” I touch the back of his neck with one hand and caress his balls with the other, sending him to his toes with a fierce moan. “Want to cum faster and harder than our last fuck?”

  “Yeah.” He exhales a forceful breath, seeing my finger in my mouth as I prepare for play, getting it nice and wet for him. I reach below his ass and slide it in, receiving a hard slam from his dick in return.

  His mouth is sealed to mine, obstructing his cries as he fucks me faster.

  “Mmm-mm-mm!”

  In less than a minute, his head’s on my shoulder as he shouts in orgasmic splendor...

  “Fuck. I’m cumming... I’m cumming.”

  His ass constricts, limiting any further movement of my finger. The pulsations are quick at first, with husky grunts joining each surge, gradually tapering until the pressure eases and his feet lower to the floor.

  We kiss as our fingertips skim each other’s flesh, down our arms and chests, then up to our necks. His face is flush while he zips his jeans, giving me an enamored gaze, confirming he’s sweet on me.

  “Thank you.” He charms me with a cute smile. “I’ve never been fingered. I think you’re lying. You have to be more experienced than having one screw before me.”

  “Nope.” I lower my bra and tank as he helps me into my underwear. “Well, I’ve had a lot of play with guys, just no penetration.”

  “Sometimes that’s better than a fuck.”

  He raises my sandaled feet to his bare chest, running his hands up and down my legs, generously awarding me with loving strokes across my flesh. Massaging touches from sensual hands. I take another drink of whiskey, watching him with a cheerful grin.

  “You drunk?” he asks.

  “Past tipsy, not trashed.”

  My leg’s kissed and nipped around my ankles before his delicate tongue slides up to my inner thigh. “You think you’ll regret this tomorrow? Coming to this place and meeting my brother?”

  “Not if I’m here with you,” I whisper, bringing him closer for a kiss.

  A tap-tap sounds behind us, causing Quinn’s head to warily part from mine. I peer over his shoulder, spotting a baseball bat knocking the wall. An older man with a heavy beard and a buzz cut taps the wall again and again. He’s brutishly huge—shit, it has to be his dad.

  “Bat?” Quinn says in my ear.

  “Yes,” I reply, on full alert.

  “Fuck. I can’t believe he’s home. Must’ve run out of money.”

  “You mother-mmmother-motherfucker,” his dad slurs. “That bitch is gonna put ya away. Bitch. That bitch.”

  “Listen to me.” He cradles my cheeks and steadies my head, making sure I hear his directions. “Get out. Wait for me in the backyard. Don’t go on the street or anywhere else. Wait for me back there.”

  “Mmm-motherfucker.” The bat slams into the wall causing us to jerk.

  “Go!” he commands.

  I jump off the counter and dash out the back door, stopping when I hear the bat bounce on the kitchen floor and a struggle coming from inside the house.

  “Stop!” Quinn shouts. “I’ll leave. Just get off me.”

  I peek through the back door at the drunken animal on top of Quinn. He’s got him pinned to the living room floor with an arm over his neck. Quinn’s face is red. His legs are kicking and his hands are on his dad’s arms, trying to push him away.

  “You asshole. Get off.”

  His dad takes out a knife and runs it along Quinn’s face, taunting him before lowering the weapon to his leg. He unfastens Quinn’s jeans and tugs them down, placing the blade by his scars.

  “Stop.” He wheezes. “It wasn’t wrong. It’s not a mistake. Don’t cut me!”

  “Punishment... ya m-motherfuck.”

  He slices his leg, making him flinch and clench from the pain. He struggles to push him off, only to have the blade reappear next to his face.

  “Fucking kid.”

  I slip inside, searching desperately through the kitchen for an object to hit him with. My heart’s pounding wildly, my hands are shaking in fear.

  “Get off me.” Quinn pushes his dad’s face back. “Get off!”

  I grab a wooden cutting board from the counter and march up behind him, Quinn’s expression changing from rage to alarm when he sees me coming.

  “Don’t,” he says. “Adlyn, don’t!”

  His dad turns, seeing the
board in my hand. Drool dangles from his mouth as he tries to stand. He sways and catches himself then slowly rises, giving Quinn a swift kick before staggering in my direction. I swing the board, trying to stop him.

  “Get back. Leave him alone.”

  “Ya stupid bitch.” He snorts.

  Quinn attacks from behind, dragging him down with a hard thud.

  Fists fly.

  The room drowns in battle and deep-seated anger.

  “What the fuck’s going on up there?” Dylan shouts. Footsteps pound up the stairs and an irritated voice ensues as he races into the room. “What the hell is... Dad.” He hauls Quinn off, arms and legs flying from both men. “Cut the shit, cocksuckers.”

  “Dylan.” His dad tries to stand, but crashes onto the floor, surrendering to the booze. He curls into a ball, breaking down into drunken tears. “My s-stupid boy. Two stupid, stupid boys... dear Lord. Ohhh, dear Lord. My boys.”

  “Nice welcome home, pops. Get the fuck up.”

  He groans as Dylan circles him. He’s out of it now. The intoxicated noises diminishing until he passes out.

  Quinn examines his wound, wiping the blood on his hand before zipping his jeans. He’s furious over the fight, pacing next to his dad. “Drunken asshole. I’m never coming back here. Even if I’m freezing to death, never!”

  “Bro, you’ve been saying that since you were twelve. Stop being such a pussy and help me get the old man to bed.”

  I watch in silence as Dylan takes his dad’s arms and Quinn takes his ankles, lugging him up the stairs.

  “Yo, Trent. Don’t touch that girl down there. I’m not done with her. Give me a minute and I’ll be back down!”

  My heart’s about to explode, the beats penetrating high into my throat, making it hard to catch my breath. I drop the board and head outside, feeling dizzy. I hope the fresh air will help slow my racing pulse and calm my trembling hands.

  “Fuck.” I bend over, needing to throw up. Twice it happens, making my throat burn and my face feverish. I hate puking when I drink. Hate it. Hate it. Jesus, what just happened?

  Quinn’s hand rests on my back. He holds my hair away from my face while I lean over and stare at the ground—no longer sick, yet no longer enthusiastic.