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My knees buckle. My striped ass rocks back, settles on my heels, burning, throbbing, as wave after wave rolls through my core.
I chant Trap’s name like a prayer. I try to remember how to breathe.
And still, my arms stay pinned to the seat of the chair. My fingers grasp the fabric. My knuckles turn to stone.
He kneels beside me. He reaches for the fabric that binds my wrists. He releases the knots and eases off the cloth. And he sits back against my desk, pulling me into his lap, folding his arms around me and rocking me until the shudders finally slow.
I follow the rules.
I’m Trap’s good girl.
And the camera catches it all, every single second, because he loves me and I love him, and this is the world we’ve built together.
4
TRAP
* * *
Sweet fucking Jesus.
Sitting on the side of my bed, I tap the screen on my phone, zeroing out the video. I’ve watched it a dozen times over the last week, and every viewing shows me something I missed before.
The desperate tilt of Alix’s hips as she assumes the position I command, instinctively sheltering her sensitive clit.
The way her fingers clench as she anticipates the second slash of my belt.
The tiny moan she swallows before she says nine.
My cock apparently thinks I’m a sixteen-year-old kid. I’m hard again, even though I beat off in the shower just thirty minutes ago. And Alix took care of my morning wood as the sun rose over the treeline in the backyard, before either of us was fully awake. And she blew me last night, after I finally unbuckled the gag I made her wear for an extra-long session with a vibrator.
I guess that means Alix is acting like a horny kid too.
So my plan fucking worked.
Plan. That makes it sound like I thought the whole thing out ahead of time. Like I knew the camera had arrived while I was up in Philly, setting up my extracurricular activity with Kelly.
It was a surprise to me. But the second I saw it in her hands, I knew what I had to do. What Iwantedto do. What I prayed would work for her.
My poor princess… She still refuses to let me see anything that Herzog filmed. She says it won’t change anything. It won’t wash away what happened in that fucking hellhole. It’ll just make me blind with rage.
She’s probably right about that. The thought of any man touching her… Of Herzog forcing her for three fucking years…
But I know she watches those goddamn tapes. She copied them over to her laptop. She said she was making sure evidence wouldn’t be lost if anything happens to Herzog’s computer.
She thinks I don’t notice her going into the guest room. She makes excuses about getting something out of the closet, about trying on shoes, about some other lie I pretend to believe. But her face is pale as milk when she comes out. And she rubs her fucking wrist like she’s still wearing the electronic cuff that cocksucker used to summon her.
I can’t erase the three years she spent in hell.
I can’t destroy the videos, not without making her even more ashamed.
But when I saw the new camera last Friday, a fucking devil planted his pitchfork in my brain. We can make our own videos, Alix and me. I can show her how gorgeous she is. How strong she is. How she can do more, take more,bemore than she ever imagined.
My finger hovers over my phone. One more viewing before I head up to Philly…
I’m about to give in to sweet temptation when Alix comes into the room. Her whiskey eyes look bright, like someone lit a candle deep inside a cave. Her cheeks are flushed too. I’m pretty sure that if I put the back of my hand on her forehead, she’d feel like a feverish child. “Shouldn’t you be gone by now?” she asks.
I mime a shot to my heart. “Ow.”
