Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
Margot
My sneakers squeak as I take the corner too fast. Caine’s laughter is hot on my heels. “Watch out for monsters in the dark.”
I’m already suffering from a case of wobbly knees, and his words make my pulse skyrocket. Fear is snaking through me, wrapping around my organs. With every step, it tightens, making me breathless, though the dimness of the haunt has me moving at a slow jog.
I know exactly where I want to be found: the mirror maze.
It’s essentially a figure eight, with a few dead ends for confusion’s sake.
There, I can keep moving to evade Caine, work the loop, and change directions without being trapped the way I might in some of the other rooms. Though I’ve been in various halls of mirrors at different events, the Abattoir’s is unique.
In addition to the expected large, mirrored panels, the walls are built at different angles, and there are hundreds of smaller mirrors mounted on the larger ones.
The ceiling is mirrored as well. It’s mind-melting, giving the sensation that the whole space is about to fall in on itself.
As I turn into the maze, anticipation makes me want to scream.
There’s faint, barely fluorescent residue left over from last year’s safety tape trail.
When there are other lights going in the haunt, and numerous bodies moving through, the just-in-case-of-emergencies exit route identifier is not noticeable unless you know where to look.
Now, the marks keep me grounded as I move through the maze, a dozen iterations of myself mimicking my movements.
The way the mirrors are angled and layered means that not all images of me move in the same direction.
Many are warped and misshapen. It’s as if I’m being stalked by doppelg?ngers.
A growl echoes through the haunt. Goose bumps creep down my arms.
“Time’s up, Little Red.” Caine’s voice carries, bouncing off the walls, making it impossible to tell where he’s coming from. Electricity streaks down my spine. My stomach flips deliciously. His voice is deeper, ominous. He’s using a modulator, which means he’s wearing a mask.
Yes.
I’m frozen in place, anticipation so strong it’s rooting me.
“There she is.”
I yelp, whirling. Not even fifteen feet from me is a monster.
The wolf skull mask leers at me. With his black hoodie pulled up, dark jeans, and boots, Caine doesn’t blend into the darkness; he is the darkness. I can’t stop staring.
Run.
Fight.
Do something.
I can’t. I’m frozen.
His growl is the satisfied sound of a predator with prey in its sights.
It breaks the spell. I bolt, his chuckle chasing me the same way his footsteps do.
The mirrors make me feel off balance, unable to go as fast as I’d like for fear of tipping over.
On the back of my neck, my hair stands on end.
I barely have time to think, This is what it feels like before lightning strikes, before his arms close around me.
“Caught you.” The words come as he yanks me off the ground mid-stride.
My back is against his chest; my heels drum the floor, rubber squeaking as I try and fail to get away.
Each breath is a painful, ragged gasp. His hands roam my body, gripping and grabbing with a ferocity that makes me think of a wolf tearing apart its kill.
“Such a pretty little thing.” Words that should sound kind are cruel, the taunt unmistakable. “Is your pussy as pretty as the rest of you?”
My legs give out, catching us both by surprise.
The drop is enough to free me from his hold.
Desperation carries me deeper into the mirror maze.
Above, beside, and ahead of me, I see my reflection, and the reflection of the monster hunting me.
Calling him Caine feels inappropriate. In the mask, he isn’t—he’s a ruthless, loathsome predator.
And I’m prey, acting on instinct, mindlessly fleeing, giving myself over to fear that would overwhelm me in reality.
Here, I don’t have to find a solution or behave rationally.
All I have to do is run. Maybe I’ll get away, and maybe I won’t, but that doesn’t matter: for the time being, I’m feeling, not thinking, and it’s decadent.
I’m aroused beyond the point of good sense, each step a struggle because I want to spin and offer myself to the monster. Enjoy every single second of being consumed.
Tomorrow I’ll deal with what this says about my psyche.
Catching reflections of bone-white muzzle and sharp teeth, I realize my continued freedom has nothing to do with my athleticism.
He’s letting me believe I have a chance, getting in my head.
I’m being played with. Keeping my gaze forward is impossible when everything I want is at my back.
Focused on my pursuer, I follow a curve in the maze without thinking.
Oh, shit.
The Monster makes a cruel, mocking sound. “Wrong turn?”
Spinning to face him, I stumble backward, watching him close in on me. Fear and arousal combine into a delicious buzz in my brain. My back hits the mirrored wall of the dead end. I jump.
“Nowhere else to run.”
Why do I feel like his teeth are suddenly sharper? Or that a feral grin is now on the creature’s face? Tilting his head, he waits. Beyond him, the possibility of escape and the thrill of a longer chase beckon.
Fight. The word echoes in my head.
I charge him, nearly knocking myself down in the process.
It’s like hitting a wall, a wall with hands that grab and hold.
The Monster chuckles, a depraved sound that has me flailing with no thought to how effective my movements are.
Strategy is an afterthought; there’s only fear, crowding out everything else.
He spins me until my back is to his chest. Rough hands undo my jean shorts, shoving them down my thighs.
They catch above my knees, and I give a helpful wiggle so they fall to my ankles.
The sight of my black lace thong makes him groan.
Everywhere I look, I’m watching myself be ravished by a monster.
Mirror after mirror, reflection within reflection, I can’t escape the sight of my body arching into him as he cups my pussy.
Wild-eyed, gasping with fear and pleasure, the woman in the mirror is a stranger.
My eyes squeeze shut as fingers slide beneath my underwear, brushing my clit.
His erection is rock-hard against my ass.
Thick fingers plunge inside me so suddenly I gasp, my knees betraying me again.
The Monster is ready this time, crushing me to him as I clamp around his fingers.
He tries to turn a groan into a growl, but doesn’t quite get there.
“Thought you didn’t want it,” he rasps. “Your pussy’s awful wet for someone who doesn’t want it.
Gripping me awful tight too. I think you like being prey for me. ”
“I’m not, it’s not—” I pant, then lose the ability to speak.
Lose the ability to do anything but come around his fingers as he curls them inside me, manipulating my body in a way I’d find unfair if it wasn’t so incredible.
My cunt convulses while the rest of me falls to pieces.
The only thing keeping me upright is the Monster, specifically the hand between my legs and the ropy forearm holding me tight to his body.
I don’t realize I’m whimpering until the mask nudges my ear.
“Eyes open, Little Red Riding Whore.” The instruction is snarled. “You wanted to be fucked by a monster? You want one to make you scream? Watch.”
I do, but I clamp my jaw tight, refusing to scream, though I want to.
The vacant eye sockets. The hungry teeth.
My writhing, bared body, his hand working between my legs shamelessly.
The sight of us thrills and scandalizes me.
Beneath it all, fear flows through my veins.
I didn’t know I could come like this, that my body could withstand this much pleasure.
Skilled fingers keep stroking, pumping, playing.
He releases my upper body, and at first I think he’s just realized I’m not going anywhere.
Then he lifts his free hand to cradle my throat.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. “Th-that’s—”
Words won’t come. I can only stare at the tattoo on the back of his hand.
It looks exactly like the choker from the costume I wore that first year.
Intricate lace and carefully placed gemstones elevated from a flimsy piece of costume jewelry to art on his skin.
Permanent. Heat surges through me, and an unexpected thrill.
Stop.
There’s no way.
You’re having an arousal-induced hallucination.
There’s no time to process; I’m coming again, a clawing explosion of an orgasm that pushes everything except ecstasy from my mind.
He’s thrusting against my ass, clamping me to his body, humping me obscenely, as if he’s incapable of stopping.
His movements are vicious, with power that would knock me to my knees if he released me.
“Fucking hell,” he groans, stiffening behind me, the hand between my legs clumsy as he loses control, coming in his pants as he clings to me.
This loss of control is going to be on replay in my head every time I touch myself, his desperation as hot as the hunt.
I’m trying to make sense of the tattoo, despite the fact that my brain is currently floating down the lazy river equivalent of endorphins, and has zero desire to do anything except savor the ride.
Caine’s body relaxes. He slips his hand from between my legs.
“I—” I start and don’t know where to go. There are no words. Caine yanks the mask off, eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
“You okay?”
That’s when I realize my failure to communicate could seem like a bad thing. Every cell in my body thrums with pleasure. Letting my head fall back against him, I laugh.
“I’m amazing.”
Caine
Amazing is an understatement. She’s perfection. I hit my knees, dropping the mask.
“What are you doing?” The question is breathless.
“Cleaning you up.” Shouldering her legs apart, I press a kiss to one thigh, then the other.
“Oh.” Shifting, she gives me better access.
Hell yes.
Glistening and swollen, she’s stunning. I want to fall in face-first and never come out.
“Priorities,” I mutter. Tugging her panties farther to the side, I run my tongue along her.
Incredible. The hint of her I sucked from my fingers can’t compare.
Gripping her hips, I kiss her clit, alternating with long, slow licks.
She’s squirming the slightest bit, rocking into me.
Not quite grinding; it’s as if she wants to, but isn’t letting herself.
I’m not the only one who isn’t ready to be done.
Dragging my mouth from her, I rasp, “If you’re going to fuck my face, do it like you mean it.” I grab her hands, guiding them to my head. Fuck. Her fingers threading through my hair feel incredible. “You’re driving. Your call, but I’d suggest like you stole it.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re delicious.” Sealing my mouth over her, I tease her until she’s pulling my hair, rocking against my face, guiding me to where she wants me.
“Like that.” She gasps when I switch up my rhythm. “Just like that.” Cock stirring at her instruction, I keep going.
That’s my fucking girl.
“Oh, fuck.” Margot’s mewling now, her words nearly nonsensical. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
I’d laugh at the idea, but my mouth is busy.
Thighs trembling, making the most unholy sounds I’ve ever heard, Margot goes to pieces.
The way she moves when my tongue is between her legs, how her fingers tangle tight in my hair—these are the things that could make me believe in heaven.
Lapping as her hips slow, then stop, I don’t relinquish my position until she gently tugs me away.
Dazed and breathy, she blinks at me for a moment. Licking my lips, I reluctantly stand.
Hurriedly sorting herself out, she drops to her knees, but her energy isn’t right. She’s on the concrete floor for only an instant before I tug her back up.
“What are you doing?”
Eyes orgasm-drunk, she blinks at me. “I was going to go down on you.”
“Not on your knees on concrete, you’re not.” While my cock is very interested in this idea, he’s going to have to relax. I’ve been waiting for this woman for years; I can wait until we’re somewhere more comfortable.
“You were on your knees.” Her protest is pointless; I’ve already grabbed her hand and headed toward the door.
“I’m wearing jeans; you’re in shorts.”
Shaking her hand free, she keeps pace as we head back to the office. “But I should. You went down on me, so I need to return the favor.”
Need to?
“Hold up.” I stop hard, putting out an arm.
She bumps it, but I’m turning toward her, backing her all the way to the wall.
Caging her between my arms, I study her face.
Margot can deliver a joke without the slightest hint of a smile.
She doesn’t seem like she’s joking now, though, only curious why I’ve stopped us.
“There is no ‘need to.’ ” I gesture between us. “Every single thing you do better be because you’re dripping for it. Unless you need it so bad you ache, I don’t want it.”
Margot ponders. “Interesting.”
“No, not interesting. That’s a rule. You love rules, so jot that one down on your mental list. Put it right at the top: You don’t want it, you don’t do it.”
“Okay,” Her nose wrinkles; it’s cute and dangerously distracting, but I don’t think what I’m trying to communicate is clicking.
“You know how you feel good trying something new with me because you trust me to listen?” I’m paraphrasing, but she nods. “I feel good trying something new with you because you’ve been telling me where to go and how to get there since we met. Don’t you dare stop now.”
Margot nods, but I don’t quite trust it. Her eyes are all over the place.
“Look at me.” I wait until she does, then almost lose my train of thought. Deep brown eyes pull me in, make me forget my name, let alone what I was talking about. “I want complete honesty. Always. Can you do that?”
When she speaks, her words are thoughtful. “I can be honest with you about what I want sexually.”
“Good.” Feeling like I can take a full inhale, I step back. Together we continue down the hall.
“You may regret this. What if I don’t like your new tattoo once I see it up close?” Her tone is teasing as I lead her into one of the dressing rooms to do a quick cleanup before the drive back.
My laugh carries through the haunt.
“Then you can tell me.”
But I know you’re going to love it.