Page 8 of The Trap

Pulling me in closer, she clicks her tongue. “You are a fuckingmoron. Gutsy, but an epic moron, nonetheless. Threaten me again or attempt to put me in my “place” again, and that finger I was just sucking on will be chewed to pieces, by my fucking teeth. Do I make myself clear?” she warns, letting go of my shirt, and even her threat is laced in seduction.

I adjust my collar. “Whatever,” I grumble, turning away from her, refusing to look back.

I need to get the fuck away from her. Not only do I not trust her, but I also don’t trust myself around her.

I make my way to the threshold of the dining room leading out to the hallway. I’m practically there, mere steps away fromleaving her alone in the dining room, when a throaty scoff sounds, forcing my attention back. And like before, my gaze settles on her ample cleavage.

“Eyes up here, big boy.” She snaps her finger, lifting my attention from her tits to her eyes. “Much better,” she praises, voice dripping with condescension. “I was just looking out for you and making sure you were listening to him, since you seemed distracted. No need to be so hostile. Next time your brother needs to tell you something important, I’ll make sure he does it while he’s railing me. Maybe then you’ll pay more attention,” she taunts, making my blood boil. “That is, if you don’t blow your load first.”

This fucking woman, I swear to god.

“I’d watch it if I were you,” I rasp, my anger on the verge of becoming unhinged rage.

“Or what, Colson?” She settles her lips into a tempting pout. This is dangerous. She’s challenging me.I like being challenged. “Are you going to talk dirty and call your brother’s girlfriend a filthy fucking whore, pretending it’s an insult when you and I both know you’re jealous you can’t call me that whenever you want?”

Raising my hand, I point an accusatory finger at her, but all it does is fuel her more. “Watch yourself,” I warn again.

A soft chuckle breaks from her lips as she rises from her seat, that perfect ass shaking with every step as she makes her way to the bar. “Likewise,” she retorts, eerily calm.

I stand, dumbfounded by the audacity of this woman as she makes herself at home, pouring herself a heaping glass of champagne. Seriously, she’s a savage. She isn’t even using a champagne flute. There is a literal goblet in her hand, filled to the brim with Dom Pérignon.

“Special occasion?” I poke, clearly unable to stop engaging with her.

Ignoring me, she stands with her voluptuous backside turned to me, she takes a long sip, swirling the goblet of champagne, forcing my gaze to the large tattoo that covers the top of her tanned hand. Flowers surround a black and gray coffin, while snakes with split tongues and beady red eyes fall down all five fingers. It’s beautiful and angry looking,just like her.

After what feels like an eternity, she finally turns around. Taking another sip of champagne, a droplet misses her mouth, sliding down her chin. She waits until the alcohol hits her neck and, as it slithers its way onto her chest, she drags her finger to where the booze slides down her cleavage, retrieving it.

A breathy whimper leaks from her lips, and my cock aches painfully in response, watching the way she teases the back of her throat with her finger before bringing her wet digit to the tip of her pierced tongue.

“Hmmm,” she hums, moving closer, popping her finger out of her mouth.

Taking another step towards me, she leans her petite frame against the molding that lines the threshold of the dining room, eliminating any space between us.

“Very,” she deadpans, causing confusion to stir within my system.

“Huh?”

“You asked me if it’s a special occasion. It is.”

Before I can ask what she means by that, I hear Brett’s voice down the hall, coming back from wherever he took his phone call.

“We can discuss tomorrow,” Brett says into the phone. His voice, carrying from down the long hall, still a considerable distance away.

“Whatever,” I mutter just as the scent of champagne and coconut invades my every sense.

I peer down and notice her soft hand is pinching the skin of my wrist.

“Patético pendejo,” she whispers. The feeling of her warm breath grazing the shell of my ear creeps its way to my cock, intensifying the throbbing want that’s been building by the minute.

But before I can respond to whatever she just said, her petite hand has traveled lower, grazing the bulge between my legs. Tempting me. Teasing me to fucking oblivion.

“Mmm,” she moans in a hushed whisper. “I didn’t know standing so close to what you can’t have could make you so hard.” She’s practically boasting. It’s like she’s getting off on fondling my fucking balls through my pants.

I glance over to where Brett is still mumbling on his phone, taking his sweet time walking back to the dining room before I look back to her.

Her grip intensifies, curling her taut fist around one of the five barbells I have scattered about my cock, not including the fresh hafada piercing I just got.

I tip my chin down, admiring how good it feels to tower over her. “I don’t want you,” I lie.

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