Page 83 of Haunted Spurs

"Straight ahead, Ron. Run!" she orders.

I lunge forward blindly. The ground beneath my boots changes, shifting from hard gravel to packed dirt, and finally to the wooden floor of the barn. The air suddenly turns freezing and damp. Ghostly wails and the rattling of chains blare from hidden production speakers.

She is glued to my back.

"Left. Duck your head!"

I duck right as I graze something hard, maybe a low-hanging beam. As I do, she presses herself flat against my back. I feel the softness of her breasts press against my shoulder blades, her ragged breath hot on my neck. Her right hand slides down my arm, grabbing my wrist to guide me, while the other grips my belt tightly.

Jesus.

Being blind amplifies every single fucking point of contact. Every time her fingers squeeze my hips to steer me left or right, a jolt of pure lust shoots straight to my groin. This sensory deprivation game is driving me insane. The erotic tension of letting her guide me in the dark, of completely depending on her touch, is making me rock hard.

But we aren't the only ones pumping adrenaline through this dusty maze.

The echo inside the barn acts as a perfect live sports broadcast of what's happening a few feet ahead, to our right.

Over there, the chaos of the race has turned into pure, explosive competition. Carolina, guiding a blindfolded Indya, and Cade, guiding Cole, are locked in a frantic, screaming neck-and-neck sprint.

"Faster, Indya, to the right! We are destroying these fake cowboys!" yells the ex-princess's shrill, provocative voice.

"Watch where you step, Princess, or you're gonna end up right under our boots," Cade growls back, his voice incredibly close to hers. "Straight ahead, Cole, lengthen your stride, stay on 'em!"

"Don't get cocky, Cade," Carolina laughs, panting from the effort. "Indya is moving a hell of a lot faster than your twin, just admit it."

"Don't kid yourself, Princess," Cole chimes in. "When I take this blindfold off and catch you, I really want to see if you're this fast at doing other things."

"Oh, cowboy... you're going to have to work up a serious sweat to find that out. Indya, watch the post, duck!"

To our left, however, the atmosphere is a total disaster.

"It is not geometrically logical for the lasso to be hidden in a blind corner, Susan!" Emerson's whiny, nasal voice is steeped in panic at falling behind.

"Feel around on the floor, get down, shut the hell up, and use your fucking hands!" she shrieks at him, furious.

"You forced me to play the cowboy!" he snaps, tripping loudly over something metallic. "I don't even know how the hell to tie a lasso!"

"Stop, we're here. It's down here."

Selene's voice silences the rest of the world around me. Selene slips around in front of me. Her hands land on my chest and slide down to my stomach, guiding me downward. I crouch obediently. Her fingers tangle with mine, guiding them into the prickly straw. We dig together, and the touch of her skin against mine distracts me for a split second, until I feel the familiar, rough hemp of a rope.

"Got it," I grunt.

"Now the hay bale," she pants, pulling me up. She steps in front of me. I feel her hands flat on my pecs, pushing me backward until my heels bump into a heavy block. "Tie the knot, Ron. Hurry up, we're in the middle of the pack."

I start tying the rope around the hay bale blind. It's pure muscle memory. My hands move on their own, pulling, looping the rope, and cinching the knot with a sharp, precise yank.

Just as I grab the end of the rope, ready to throw my weight forward to drag it, a sharp, desperate, and entirely unscripted scream cuts through the air in the barn.

I freeze, my muscles locking up.

"AHHH! Fuck, no!"

"LIZZIE!" Josh's voice booms, heavy with terror. "Stop! Fuck! She hurt her ankle!"

I hear the sound of bodies colliding, the noise of wooden crates being shoved violently out of the way, and Josh cursing in the distance.

However, no production whistle blows to suspend the race. The game is still on.