Page 37 of The Trap

The validity of his statement only adds to my rage.

“Whatever,” I scoff.

“Round Two,” the voice announces, but my blood is pumping too violently to focus. Everywhere my eyes fall is covered in a neon haze.

“You will have twenty minutes to feed the meter. Once the meter is fed, you will then find the key hidden in the room and unlock the door to your left,” the voice instructs.

Meter? What Meter?

“Wait,” I shout.

“Yes, Ms. Ramos?”

“Doesn’t he have to unpin me?” I ask, trying to wriggle my way out.

“No,” the voice answers, dry and robotic as ever. “I mean, he could, but that wouldn’t be much fun. Isn’t that right, Mr. Cromwell?”

A stiff chuckle slips his lips. “Yep. Check the meter, Raiden.” Colson points my gaze in the direction of the scream meter in the upper corner of the room. I do a double take. The meter looks like a cross between a traffic light and a thermometer. There’s a middle portion with a small orb of white light poking through the bottom that I’m guessing will rise when we “feed” it.

“What the –” I begin, though my words melt into an unexpected moan.

“What are you doing?” I whimper as I cast my gaze down to where his hand is brushing against the wet lace at the apex of my thighs.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he traces the edge of my lace panties once more before sliding his calloused hand in. His fingers glide through the arousal that’s waiting for him.

Wasting no time, he curls his fingers into me with an attentive thrust. All I can muster up is a loud gasp. We’re rewarded with a loud ding and a small surge of light moving on the meter.

“Colson,” I breathe intending to sound angry, but my body is held captive to his touch.

He leans in, mask scratching at my face as his exposed lips hover over mine.

“Shh,” he whispers, his breath sending an unexpected need for more through my body. “Don’t fight this. Tomorrow – if we live – you can go back to pretending you hate me like you do when you touch yourself, thinking of me. But right now, I’m going to get us out of here. One moan at a time.”

SEVENTEEN

It’s amazing how the body is nature’s lie detector, fully equipped to act how it sees fit. Even if the words that spill out of our mouths say one thing and the deceptions we keep buried deep within ourselves say another, the body knows what it wants, consequences be damned. And for some reason, the cryptic voice that has been taunting us since we were dragged here has put great emphasis on how Raiden and I have a lot in common. Debatable, given that I’m not a lying, manipulative thief who apparently works for the fucking mafia. But one thing that even I can’t deny, as stubborn as I am, is that our bodies have been begging to be set free, to be unleashed on each other.

“Colson, what the fuck are you doing?” Raiden pants, trying to wiggle free from the axes that have her body trapped for me to play with.

I don’t answer her, instead opting to enjoy how pissed off she looks.

“I asked you a fucking question,” she repeats, lips pursed as if she’s about to spit…again.

Robbing her of the opportunity to cast her saliva my way, I step to her, eliminating any and all space between us.

“Ssh,” I silence her, bringing my hand to her chin, swiping the pad of my thumb against her skin.

She turns her head, trying to loosen my hold on her, but I work with her defiant motions, shifting as she does. Clicking my tongue, I lower my masked face to hers, maintaining eye contact. She’s more than capable of tearing herself free. But she doesn’t want to. She won’t admit that, though. She’s too stubborn. Too in denial that fate played a sadistic and cruel game in keeping us together, but fuck if I’m not thankful, because I missed her and all the chaos and carnage she leaves in her trail. And the fact that she isn’t shredding the silk of her robe or swatting those pretty little palms at my chest in a defiant tantrum lets me know, in her own way, that she’s just as grateful as I am.

It doesn’t matter that we are pawns in a sick puppeteer’s game. We need this for reasons we don’t understand, and I’ll be damned if I let this opportunity slip past my fingers.

With one last swipe at her chin, I finally let go, already missing the feeling of her, but what I miss more is having her sweet cunt on my taste buds. Eyes on hers, I begin the slow descent to my knees, relishing in the way the barbell that pierces her tongue escapes her mouth in undeniable lust, waiting for me to kneel before her. I feel her body quiver. Her heart is practically knocking against every inch of her body.

“Are you nervous?” I ask, purposely dragging my voice to disguise the legitimate concern that prompted my question.

She swallows, her face conflicted. “The fuck do you care?” she scoffs, and it doesn’t take a genius to see that she’s trying to deflect. I may not know all that I someday hope to know about her, but I’ve been around her enough, alias, or not, to know that a lot of her bite stems from masking her true emotions. So, the drum like beat of her pulse is likely from her nerves being shot and hopefully, judging from how I’m feeling right now, experiencing lust strong enough that the fear feels secondary.

Knees pressed against the concrete; I squeeze her supple ass in my hands, immediately feeling the blood rush to my cock. “Last time I checked, we were in this together, and it’s okay to be scared. If it helps you come, harness all that phony hatred you have for me and feed your own delusions while I kill two birds with one stone.”

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