Page 36 of The Trap

The axe hits the wood, and my heart is pounding too hard for me to determine if what I just heard was my heart giving out or the axe making contact with the door. Eyes pinched shut still, I attempt to move forward but I make it half a step before I’m pulled back.

Fuck.

I’m pinned.

Panic settles into my core. Trepidation wreaks havoc on my senses. Forcing my lids open to assess the damage, I look to where my arm is caught, but it’s not through my flesh. I lower my gaze to the blade pinning down the draping sleeve.

Relief floods me, but not long enough to stay around. I can’t believe him; he could have fucking cut off my arm. “What the fuck?!” I shout, trying to pull the sharpened steel from my robe, but it won’t budge.

“What the–” I begin again, but he stops me. Closing the space between us, he uses his free hand to reach for mine. Cuffing it in his warm palm, he raises my arm, and before I can say a damn thing or fight him off, he takes the other axe and in a short burst sticks it into the door, trapping both my sleeves.

“So close but, I win,” he announces with glee, causing my brows to fall in a confused line.

I crank my head up, staring at the sign hanging off the spotlight that reads “finish line” in red smeared letters.

“I hate to break it to you, buddy, but I got here first,” I point out with satisfaction.

“True, but, if you’d listened, instead of running off like a bat out of hell, you would’ve paid attention to the part about the axe wall or technically door.”

His mouth continues moving, but I only half pay attention. I’m too angry with myself. I let my anxiety and its ability to rob my hearing with its rush of misplaced adrenaline take over.

A mix of cologne and the weed he smoked earlier lingers on his body, overwhelming my every sense as he takes another step forward, the cool leather of his mask bumping against my forehead. I bite down, tightening my jaw, wanting to curse him out, but I remain uncharacteristically silent, awaiting his next move.

“Just admit it. You lost this round. Better luck next time,” he hisses gleefully, running his finger on my cheek. His digit traces the high point of my cheekbone teasingly before his touch abruptly vanishes.

“Fuck you.” I spit, intending for my saliva to reach his shoe, but he moves out of the way too fast, scuffing his boot against the concrete floor.

“Ha, guess I can add sore loser to the list of what you are,” he mumbles, kneeling to the ground to pick something up. It isn’t until he’s back in front of me, beneath the overhead light, that I see it’s another fucking axe.

“Colson Cromwell, I fucking swear. You put another axe near me I’m going to–”

I gasp, unable to finish my sentence. My mouth remains agape, silenced by the unexpected rush of blood that is gathering between my legs as I witness him lower his towering height, reducing himself to his knees in front of me.

He’s kneeling in front of me, with a mask on. I’m going to come. I’m literally going to combust right here.

“What are you doing?” I ask, panting morethan I would have liked, but fuck if this isn’t a sight to be seen.

His fingers crawl to my thighs, lightly tracing every curve, but he remains silent. Stubborn.

“I asked you a question. What the fuck are you doing?” I blurt, this time having more control over my tone, sounding less like I’m a cat in heat.

“Sssh,” he hisses, now fully kneeling before me. “Hold real still. I mean it. Just spread those legs for me, nice and wide,” he instructs, voice sounding all raspy like he’s drawing this out, whatever this is, on purpose because he can probably smell at this point how turned on I am. My eyes widen painfully, in shock at my own obedience, because I keep still with my legs spread wide just like he said to. “Atta girl,” he praises condescendingly,lifting the axe while he’s between my legs. He pauses, peering up at me, the piercing gray of his irises brighter against the crimson hue of his mask. It suits him, especially with the vantage point I have. This is torture. I’ve never wanted to suffocate someone with my pussy as bad as I do now, not only to gain pleasure from it, but to have him drown in it for putting me through this drawn-out game. He grins, pressing a quick kiss on my thigh, which feels like fire on my already burning skin. “Stay still, and the only thing that will get hurt is that ego of yours,” he murmurs, hovering his mouth over my thigh. My chest heaves in anticipation as I witness him scoot back on his knees and pin the axe barely a few inches from the apex of my thighs.

He rises to his feet, running his hand from my thighs to my exposed torso. Staring at my midsection, he parts his lips. “You are a fucking sight to be had when you’re stubborn, but fuck, you are something when you obey,” he pauses, digging his finger into my skin, now near my hip. His mouth swarms my ear. “And you’re even more irresistible when I’m the one you are breaking for and losing to all at once.”

Disoriented and horny–what a fucking combination–I’m about to ask him how it’s possible that I lost to him when I got to the axe wall or whatever this is first, but the creepy speaker beats me to it.

“Round One, complete,” the voice announces. “Cromwell one, Ramos zero.”

Anger shoots through my veins, quickly replacing the distracted, wanton state I’d been thrust into. I don’t like losing. Especially not to him.

“How?!” I shout.

“I told you, they announced that there was an axe throwing section. Good thing I axe throw in my spare time,” he winks.

“You cheated,” I retort.

“No. Ilistened, unlike you. You just went off into that maze because all you could think about was how hot and bothered it would make you feel watching me chase you with a mask. And because of that you missed the entire part about needing five axes in the wall to open it.”

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