Chapter Two #2
Why, why, why can’t he be just a little less attractive?
I nod, eyes locked back on the floor, mortified even though he clearly doesn’t know what’s happening in my head. “I’m sorry in advance if I ruin this.”
“Look. At. Me.”
Obeying is reflexive and immediately chased with self-recrimination for my own instinct to say, Absolutely! No problem! How high, sir? when told to jump.
The kindness in his eyes makes me feel a tiny bit better about listening. “You can’t ruin this. Swear. I got you.”
The light goes green.
I run. Across the room and through the cabin door and wall bisecting the “stage.” Slamming the door behind me, I stumble to the far wall, pressing myself against it.
No problem.
All good.
There aren’t two dozen people looking at me right now.
Though the cabin wall and door block my view, I know Caine’s entered when a few soft shrieks come from the crowd. Fog floats around my legs. There’s a mic in his mask; I don’t miss a word when he growls, “Knock, knock, Little Red.”
Low and rough, his voice echoes through the haunt, rattling my rib cage and setting bats free inside my chest. I’m not thinking about the crowd anymore.
I’m thinking about the delicious fear that’s tightening around my throat, making my “Go away!” sound just as terrified as it should be.
Every cell in my body is shrieking, but my mind is completely quiet.
There’s no room for anything but terror; I hold on to it with both hands.
The first blow of his boot to the door makes the audience scream along with me.
Loud and long, every bit of the anxiety I’ve been carrying since I left Texas comes out in the sound.
Another blow, and then another. The door explodes, shards of soft wood flying.
Caine saunters into the room like he owns it.
Clawed gloves, long robe, he’s terrifying to behold even before my gaze reaches the mask.
“Don’t cry, Little Red.” Caine’s voice is mocking, almost cruel. It makes my already-racing heart catch in my throat and drives the fear in my chest lower. Much, much lower. I don’t want to run. I want to fling myself at him. Find out how it feels to be eaten alive.
WHY do I like this?
I snap back to sanity in time to play my role.
Darting past him, I shriek how I’m supposed to when he lunges for me, and race out the demolished door into the next room.
He follows. Artificial thunder rolls. This set is a forest, with fog swirling higher and trees throwing ominous shadows.
I huddle at the base of the largest, wide-eyed and shivering.
Even though I know he’s entering through a trapdoor behind the tree, I startle when he snatches my arm, fighting on instinct.
Big, clawed hands grip my upper arms. He drags me to him.
The mask lowers, the skull’s muzzle grazing my head, knocking my own hood back. I’m being sniffed by a monster.
“Delicious.” His throaty rumble is arousing, confusing, and my voice comes out squeaky.
“You don’t have to eat me.” Swallowing hard, I finish stronger. “At least, not yet.” Hand on his hard chest, I lean in provocatively.
His growl echoes through the haunt.
“Have you ever had a human?” My voice is breathy without trying. Tentatively, I reach up, running a gentle hand down one of his cheekbones. “We’re so soft. Everywhere.”
Wind gusts. Fog thickens. Taking one of his claws, I place it high on the side of my rib cage. To the audience, it will look like he’s touching my breast. Another low growl, and he grabs me, yanking me toward him as the lights cut.
I’m barely aware of the nervous sounds from the guests.
We have less than five seconds to get in position.
Dropping to my knees a little too quickly, I bang one on the floor.
Roughing my hair so it looks freshly fucked, I get in position: ass up, elbows on the ground.
Doggy style to be railed by the wolfman.
One of his claws gently grips my hair, the other hikes up my skirt the slightest bit.
He’s shifting as the lights come on; I am too, simulating eroticism though his hips aren’t connecting with my ass.
Gasps from the crowd prove we look obscene.
Strategic shadows and props are creating the appearance of actual debauchery.
He lets out a ferocious growl, hunching forward.
I pull the dagger from my garter, wrenching halfway around to sink it deep into his torso.
Collapsing on me, he lets out a pained growl as I crawl from beneath him.
Flinging him onto his back, I straddle him, plunging the dagger into his chest over and over as the lights dim in our room, and brighten in another, ushering patrons onward.
Chagrin and arousal collide. I dismount Caine so fast I nearly tip over.
Composing myself, I straighten my dress and smooth my hair.
He hops to his feet. Grabbing my hand, he tows me to the trapdoor that takes us to the hall leading to our original cubby.
In nine and a half minutes, we’ll do it all over again.
I can’t wait.
· · ·
The last group has gone through, but the haunt isn’t closed yet.
Little Red is one of the first scenes, and patrons continue to move through the other rooms. Their distant screams are white noise as Caine turns toward me.
He tugs off the mask, his hair going in all directions.
Mine can’t be much better. I’m exhausted and exhilarated all at once.
Also more turned on than should be humanly possible, though I’m doing my best to ignore it for the sake of professionalism.
“Look. At. You.” The praise and his smile make me squirm. “Handled it just like a pro.”
“Thanks.” I’ve straddled him and plunged a dagger into his chest at least five dozen times tonight, but the compliment feels awkward. “You were great too.”
You were great too?
Really?
“Did you have fun?” He gives me a wicked grin as he guides me back down the hall toward the dressing room. “Or were your little knees knocking the whole time?”
My pussy shrieks, Yes, so much fun, my brain refuses to answer, and once again my mouth has decided that the best way to respond to a ridiculously hot man is by getting prickly. “My knees were not knocking.”
He raises his hands, his smile anything but apologetic. “Must have been mistaken.”
We’re at the door to the dressing room now, but I hesitate, hand on the knob.
It felt good not to be me for a few hours.
Felt good to be touched, even if it was for a scene.
Except now I’m humming with need, craving what I forgot existed.
Caine is right beside me. He’s going to think I don’t know how to use a doorknob.
But when I look at his face, he isn’t looking at my hand.
He’s looking at my throat. I fight the urge to touch the beaded choker I’m wearing, worried I broke it somehow.
It’s costume jewelry, a fragile, lace-like design I’d hate to damage.
“Did I break it?” I cave, reaching for the necklace.
“No, no. You’re perfect.” He leans on the door frame, voice rougher, eyes darkening to the color of rich, aged whiskey. “It looks good on you. Dress does too.”
Too many feelings swirl through me at once: Discomfort at the compliment. Off balance from how he’s looking at me. Aroused because the horny little creature I keep hidden away has crept up to the surface.
“Did you have fun, though?” At my nod, he adds, “Did you think it was hot?”
I choke on an inhale. Caine’s face is perfectly innocent, as if he just asked if I prefer coffee or tea. I don’t know him, but I know what he’s expecting me to say. A wild, reckless urge fills me, and for the first time in a long time, I give in.
Ticking off items on my fingers, I give him an equally angelic look. “The scene was hot. The mask was hot. Stabbing you was incredibly hot.”
Double blinking, Caine tries to process this information. I can literally see his brain buffering. It’s far more satisfying than I expected. His absolutely nonplussed expression to my forwardness takes me from daring to downright bold.
“I’d ask for your thoughts, but I felt how much you liked it, so…
” I’m bluffing; I never felt a thing, despite how close we were.
Up until the Did you think it was hot? question, he has been the picture of professionalism.
But I think I’ve hit something. The tips of Caine’s ears have gone red, a faint flush spreading across his cheeks.
“Well, damn, look who’s got teeth. I like that.” Leaning in closer, he runs a finger along my collarbone, heat following his touch. “Want to feel it again?” Half come-on, half challenge, the question annihilates any reservations.
Letting my eyes travel down his body and back again, I give my best unimpressed shrug. “Why not?”
This audacity stuns me. I should check my own forehead for a fever.
Caine’s eyes are ravenous, the tendons in his forearm flexing where he grips the mask. “Get changed, then. I know a spot.”
“Do you have a condom?” Caught up in this reckless high or not, I’m still me. “I’m allergic to latex, but I don’t have any on me. Didn’t plan on fucking in a haunted house.” I say all this as if I’d planned on fucking anyone in the near future.
“Don’t you worry, I’ll find one.” He gives me directions to the rendezvous point, and he’s off. The look he shoots me over his shoulder on his way down the hall makes my heartbeat pound in my ears, and pussy.