Page 11 of The Trap

Carmine: Report back after. I’ll be waiting.

Me: Got it, boss.

Carmine: And shame on you…

Me: ???

Carmine: Of course I read. How do you think I’m so good at pleasing my wife?

Me: Ewww. Gross. Did not need to know that.

Carmine: S. Schelectro is my favorite author

Me: She’s your wife, of course she’s your favorite.

Carmine: Talent is talent…even if I sleep with it =)

Me: GAG.

Carmine: Get to work

Me: It’ll be my pleasure. *eggplant emoji*

Carmine: Ewww. Gross. Do what you gotta do but make it fast.

Me: He always is. I’ll report back soon.

Tucking my phone back into my bra, I decide to relax a bit and mentally prepare myself for tonight's task, all while enjoying the last few moments of not being in Brett’s grating presence. Moving toward the bottom of the grand staircase, I swoop the flowing train of my dress into my palm, gathering it to sit down. Adjusting it, I peer up at the shadow in the foyer window.

Heat simmers in my veins, bringing with it a prickling sensation that attaches itself to my spine as a plume of smoke swirls around Colson’s frame. The strong, earthy scent of weed trickles past the sealed windows, making me want nothing more than to steal a hit from the blunt he has pinched between his lips.

All my hungry eyes can do is slowly take in every inch of his tall figure, fantasizing about what lies under those black dress pants that hug the muscles of his thighs—not to mention whatever he’s packing between his legs. Ah, I hate how even a simple all-black button up that barely reveals the sea of ink I know is underneath makes him look fucking edible.

The piercing in my tongue dances behind my lips as I watch the way his large, veiny hand rises to his mouth. His inked fingers crawl to the edge of the brown paper that nears his lips. I get lost in the way his scruffy cheeks hollow, sucking in a harsh rip from the dwindling roach as his eyes slide closed. Drool pools at the corners of my lips as I fantasize about what those strong hands and that foul mouth of his could do to me, wishing they would do everything Brett doesn’t…or can’t. I’m no stranger to weed. Hell, I usually join in. But this…this stupid motherfucker turns me on just from the simple act of watching him get high? Pathetic.

Wisps of smoke gather around him, momentarily blocking my view. Like a fucking idiot, I inch closer for a better look, enchanted by thispendejooutside. So enchanted, in fact, that I forget the bottom of my dress is a tad too long for me even with heels on. Another scoot forward, and the delicate silk snags on the edge of my shoe as I lose my balance and fall.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. Even with the distance and glass between us, I canfeelhim staring. My skin crawls from top to bottom, every inch tingling under his dark, steely stare.

I swallow thickly, preparing to meet his eyes. But to my horror, when I come out of this momentary daydream, the lace of my garter is peeking out from beneath my dress...again. I need to pull it together. Reality slaps me in the face, showing me that all this work I’ve done could be ruined, all because I can’t stop thinking with my pussy.

My pulse drums in my ears as I rise to my feet. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion as I readjust my dress.I hesitate, suddenly unsure if I should look up at him or make a beeline for the kitchen and distract myself with Brett’s ever-unpleasant presence. But a decision has been made for me. Colson is standing on the other side of the window, looking angrier than I have ever seen him before.

Mouth falling agape, my motionless body remains frozen, watching him lower all but his middle finger inward. I squint in confusion as he drags his extended middle finger down the pad of his tongue.

Whatever he’s doing, it isn’t helping to soothe the growing ache in my center. Still, I can’t look away. I don’t want to. He’s a train wreck waiting to happen, and I am the conductor who will willingly sacrifice herself in a crash just so I can experience his chaos, consequences be damned.

Again…pathetic. So damn pathetic how these immature games we play are more addicting than any drug I’ve ever had. And as he steps closer to the window that separates us, parting his lips to blow a gust of warm air onto the glass, I don’t think he can stop either.

Condensation collects on the window, providing him with a palette to write me a message.A downward stroke followed by two shorter horizontal lines reveal a sloppily written “F,” followed by an even larger “U”. He drops his hand into a dismissive wave before he angles himself in the opposite direction, but he doesn’t move fast enough. I catch a glimpse of the smirk he’s trying so hard to hide.

Flustered, I take a deep inhale, repositioning myself at the stairs so my back is now facing the window. Brett’s footsteps fill the grand foyer moments later, forcing me back into the role I’ve had to play.

“Sorry that took so long,” he slurs, with what looks like a freshly poured bourbon along with the canister of whipped cream in hand. “Thought this would go good with our dessert,” he winks.

It takes everything in my power to stop looking at Colson. He’s so fucking pretty to stare at. Strong and sexy, yes, but objectively so damn pretty. Especially when he gets mad, like he is now, it oddly suits him, only adding to his allure.

Brett presses a kiss on my cheek, and I take that as my cue to stop thinking about his brother and fall back into girlfriend mode.

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