Page 29 of The Trap

“Oh please, since when have we ever been nice to each other, Colson?” I yelp, driving another flick at him, for good measure. “If you’re expecting me to kiss your ass now, all because you give good head, you can fuck right off because that’s not happening. And in case you didn’t catch on, we’ve been kidnapped, so do you really think it’s the time for hand-holding and being nice?” I huff, shifting to my knees.

He lets out a chuckle disguised as a sigh. “I don’t know. I just thought-”

I clear my throat, cutting him off. “That was rhetorical. Big word, I know. If we had our fucking phones,” I shout, “you’d be able to look it up.” I pause, stewing on how to insult himfurther when a dot of red light breaks through the unending darkness, piquing my interest. He mumbles something I don’t care to pay attention to. Ignoring him, I rise to my feet, wanting to further inspect the small red orb that has been flashing every few seconds.

“Are you even listening to me?” Colson asks.

“No,” I deadpan, motioning for him to join me, forgetting that it’s pitch black in here. “Come here,” I demand.

“Where? I can’t see shit,” he scoffs, but like a good boy, he listens and the shuffling of his jeans against his obedient movements is like music to my ears.

“Alright, just follow my voice,” I instruct and, of course, it’s met with a sigh.

“Okay, well you’re going to need to say more than three fucking words, Raiden. How do you expect me to–” he’s about to drone on further, but I cut him off with a loud click of my tongue.

“How do you expect me to say more than three words if you don’t kindly shut the fuck up? Now be a good boy–”

“Good boy, really?” he cuts me off.

“Ah,” I sigh, “fine, be a good little man-whore and follow my voice. Is that better? Or would you prefer something more degrading?” I ask and, finally picking up on my sarcasm–and what a rhetorical question is, for that matter–he keeps his mouth shut and starts walking closer to me as I begin to rattle off the lyrics to the first song that pops in my head.

“Are you singing ‘You Wanna Get Me High’”? he asks, not hiding the impressed inflection in his tone.

“I’m talking, not singing. Of course, your pothead self would recognize that song,” I correct him, trying to downplay how impressedI amthat he recognized the song.

“Obviously The Donnas are an underrated gem of the ‘90s and early ‘00s.”

Be still my heart because…facts.

“Whatever. Hurry up, let’s get a move on,” I urge flustered, just as his large, warm palm clumsily taps at my crossed arms. Fuck, why is it that even the slightest touch from him excites me when it shouldn’t? The two of us are arguably a bigger nightmare than the one we’ve currently been thrust into.

“What now, princess?” he taunts. Thankfully, the nickname kills the vibe, which means I can stop thinking with my pussy and focus.

“Alright, buttercup,” I taunt back. “Give me a boost.”

“Why?” he asks, as if me trying to figure a way out of here is an inconvenience to him.

An exasperated sigh slips past my lips, echoing in the cramped, cold space. “Just fucking give me a lift,” I bite out. I can already sense that he’s going to be a condescending dick about it. “Please?” I drag out, not hiding an ounce of sarcasm in my tone.

“Atta girl,” he praises condescendingly, as if he really wasn’t going to do it if I didn’t say please.

Who knew a guy willing to break into my house and hide in my closet after he slipped me with what I’m pretty sure was melatonin –given the mild tiredness it gave me – would be such a stickler for manners.

In silence he presses his surprisingly warm chest against mine, and I can tell from the semi-suppressed grunt he makes as my breasts skim across his chest that he likes the forced proximity. Not going to lie, so do I, but there isn’t any time to explore that, not when we’ve been literally fucking kidnapped.

“On the count of three,” he instructs.

I nod even though he can’t see it and press further into his warmth.

“One, two–”

“Three,” a robotic voice interrupts, stealing our attention, followed by a bright flash that cuts through the darkness, fillingthe room with shades of neon light. “Welcome, Raiden and Colson. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Colson’s hand drops to mine, tugging me toward him. “Did you hear that?” he whispers.

Not even bothering to look at him, I let go of his palm. “No shit.” I roll my eyes. Stepping forward, I look into the now visible camera lens in the far corner of the room. “Where are we?” I ask.

“That doesn’t matter,” the voice deadpans.

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