“No.”
I pushed down the anger boiling up and stuck out my other hand, finding the rough and bumpy rocks of the stone wall to my right. Michael slowed down, letting me cautiously feel my way down the stairs as we traveled in a spiral.
The grains of dirt grinded under my flats, and chills spread up my thighs, reminding me that it was getting colder and darker…
And that I was too unaware of my surroundings.
I didn’t know who was down here, what they were doing, and depending on how deep we travelled into the maze, I might not be able to find my way out, either.
Michael had made it very clear that, while he may have my hand right now, he didn’t have my back. So why didn’t any of that make me want to stop?
I slid cautious steps down the stairs, travelling deeper and deeper and feeling like the walls were getting closer to me. I inhaled a hard breath, the thin air under the earth weighing on my skin like a heavy blanket.
Michael took another step, and I followed, coming up to his side where he’d stopped.
Like a Storm’s Love the Way You Hate Me played all around me, and I gathered that all the tunnels were wired with speakers, the music probably filling every room.
But then a cry rang out, and I jerked my head to the right, hearing the high-pitched moan traveling toward me.
Hushed whispers seemed to spill out of the walls, groans and breaths floated around me, and I twisted my head to my other side, hearing bellows and cheers ring out from my left.
I slid my foot forward along the ground, feeling dirt instead of stone now, and listening for any sound I could grasp.
A woman’s moans carried down the tunnel, vibrating off the walls, and I licked my lips, my chest rising and falling faster.
Other kinds of fun.
Michael’s hand slid into mine again, making my skin tingle. “So how far you want to go?” he asked, his voice thick and husky.
The girl cried out again, sounding high and euphoric, and laughter and groans followed.
I rubbed my palm up and down my thigh, trying to distract from the heat building between my legs. God, what was happening to her?
I pulled my hand out of Michael’s. How far would I go?
I held out my hands, stepped toward the noises, and shook my head, wondering instead if I’d ever stop.
I knew from pictures that the catacombs were a small collection of tunnels and vaults, or rooms, underneath the church, and I wasn’t waiting for an invitation from him or his permission. He brought me down here, he wanted to play with my head, but I wasn’t playing anymore. I’d do it myself.
And he seemed to finally realize that. He hooked the inside of my elbow and jerked me back. I let out a small gasp as I stumbled.
“You stay with me down here, you understand?”
I stood still and remained silent as I swallowed the lump in my throat. He’d suddenly become more protective than he had been upstairs. Why?
He took my hand, pulling me gently along down the tunnel. My legs broke out in chills, but my neck and face heated up as the moaning and deep male voices got closer and louder.
Michael made a turn, taking me with him as we rounded a corner—or a doorway, I couldn’t be sure—and slowed our walk as the air suddenly changed, smelling of sweat, hunger, and men. My heart pumped in my chest so hard it hurt, and I couldn’t slow my breathing.
A young woman’s moans and pleasure-filled panting filled the air, and I instantly touched my blindfold, the urge to take it off strong.
But I held back. I didn’t want to give him an excuse to send me back upstairs.
I dropped my hand and let Michael take me further into the room. At least I thought it was a room. He stopped, both of us facing the sounds, and my whole face warmed with embarrassment. I turned my head, my nose touching the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“Ah, Christ,” a guy groaned. “Fuck, she feels good. You like that, don’t you, baby?”
I heard her sexy, lustful laugh as she breathed hard, and my stomach flipped, hearing the sounds of approval and laughter around the room.
From all the men. Oh, God.
I opened my mouth in shock, speaking quietly to Michael. “Are they hurting her?” I asked, knowing he could see everything.
“No.”
I licked my lips, listening to the grunting and kissing, the gasping and growls. Was she the only girl in here?
I faced the noises again. “Are they…?” I trailed off, not sure how to ask what I wanted to know.
“Are they what?” Michael’s low voice taunted.
I opened and closed my mouth, hating the amusement I caught in his tone. He was laughing at me.
I cleared my throat. “Are they….” I inched out, “Are they fucking?”
I rarely ever used that word, but it felt appropriate.
The sound of skin hitting skin, hard and fast, filled the room, with the girl’s moans matching the rhythm, and I gritted my teeth to stifle the groan in my own throat, feeling the heat grow between my thighs.
“Michael?” I called when he didn’t answer me.
But he still said nothing. A white-hot heat fell on my left cheek, and I turned my head to face him.
“Are you staring at me?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
My breathing got shallower, and I adjusted my hand in his, not sure if it was his sweat or mine I was feeling.
“Why?” I asked.
He hesitated a moment before answering. “You surprised me,” he said quietly. “Do you use the word ‘fucking’ a lot?”
My shoulders started to drop. Was I too crude?
I pushed down the anger boiling up and stuck out my other hand, finding the rough and bumpy rocks of the stone wall to my right. Michael slowed down, letting me cautiously feel my way down the stairs as we traveled in a spiral.
The grains of dirt grinded under my flats, and chills spread up my thighs, reminding me that it was getting colder and darker…
And that I was too unaware of my surroundings.
I didn’t know who was down here, what they were doing, and depending on how deep we travelled into the maze, I might not be able to find my way out, either.
Michael had made it very clear that, while he may have my hand right now, he didn’t have my back. So why didn’t any of that make me want to stop?
I slid cautious steps down the stairs, travelling deeper and deeper and feeling like the walls were getting closer to me. I inhaled a hard breath, the thin air under the earth weighing on my skin like a heavy blanket.
Michael took another step, and I followed, coming up to his side where he’d stopped.
Like a Storm’s Love the Way You Hate Me played all around me, and I gathered that all the tunnels were wired with speakers, the music probably filling every room.
But then a cry rang out, and I jerked my head to the right, hearing the high-pitched moan traveling toward me.
Hushed whispers seemed to spill out of the walls, groans and breaths floated around me, and I twisted my head to my other side, hearing bellows and cheers ring out from my left.
I slid my foot forward along the ground, feeling dirt instead of stone now, and listening for any sound I could grasp.
A woman’s moans carried down the tunnel, vibrating off the walls, and I licked my lips, my chest rising and falling faster.
Other kinds of fun.
Michael’s hand slid into mine again, making my skin tingle. “So how far you want to go?” he asked, his voice thick and husky.
The girl cried out again, sounding high and euphoric, and laughter and groans followed.
I rubbed my palm up and down my thigh, trying to distract from the heat building between my legs. God, what was happening to her?
I pulled my hand out of Michael’s. How far would I go?
I held out my hands, stepped toward the noises, and shook my head, wondering instead if I’d ever stop.
I knew from pictures that the catacombs were a small collection of tunnels and vaults, or rooms, underneath the church, and I wasn’t waiting for an invitation from him or his permission. He brought me down here, he wanted to play with my head, but I wasn’t playing anymore. I’d do it myself.
And he seemed to finally realize that. He hooked the inside of my elbow and jerked me back. I let out a small gasp as I stumbled.
“You stay with me down here, you understand?”
I stood still and remained silent as I swallowed the lump in my throat. He’d suddenly become more protective than he had been upstairs. Why?
He took my hand, pulling me gently along down the tunnel. My legs broke out in chills, but my neck and face heated up as the moaning and deep male voices got closer and louder.
Michael made a turn, taking me with him as we rounded a corner—or a doorway, I couldn’t be sure—and slowed our walk as the air suddenly changed, smelling of sweat, hunger, and men. My heart pumped in my chest so hard it hurt, and I couldn’t slow my breathing.
A young woman’s moans and pleasure-filled panting filled the air, and I instantly touched my blindfold, the urge to take it off strong.
But I held back. I didn’t want to give him an excuse to send me back upstairs.
I dropped my hand and let Michael take me further into the room. At least I thought it was a room. He stopped, both of us facing the sounds, and my whole face warmed with embarrassment. I turned my head, my nose touching the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“Ah, Christ,” a guy groaned. “Fuck, she feels good. You like that, don’t you, baby?”
I heard her sexy, lustful laugh as she breathed hard, and my stomach flipped, hearing the sounds of approval and laughter around the room.
From all the men. Oh, God.
I opened my mouth in shock, speaking quietly to Michael. “Are they hurting her?” I asked, knowing he could see everything.
“No.”
I licked my lips, listening to the grunting and kissing, the gasping and growls. Was she the only girl in here?
I faced the noises again. “Are they…?” I trailed off, not sure how to ask what I wanted to know.
“Are they what?” Michael’s low voice taunted.
I opened and closed my mouth, hating the amusement I caught in his tone. He was laughing at me.
I cleared my throat. “Are they….” I inched out, “Are they fucking?”
I rarely ever used that word, but it felt appropriate.
The sound of skin hitting skin, hard and fast, filled the room, with the girl’s moans matching the rhythm, and I gritted my teeth to stifle the groan in my own throat, feeling the heat grow between my thighs.
“Michael?” I called when he didn’t answer me.
But he still said nothing. A white-hot heat fell on my left cheek, and I turned my head to face him.
“Are you staring at me?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
My breathing got shallower, and I adjusted my hand in his, not sure if it was his sweat or mine I was feeling.
“Why?” I asked.
He hesitated a moment before answering. “You surprised me,” he said quietly. “Do you use the word ‘fucking’ a lot?”
My shoulders started to drop. Was I too crude?
