Elevator Trap: Chapter 2

MARCUS

Fuck.

I was already hard as steel before the elevator even stopped.

The second Elena stepped into the car tonight, that tight pencil skirt hugging her perfect ass and those full tits straining against her blouse, my cock twitched with vicious interest. Three months. Three fucking months of riding this elevator with her, breathing in her sweet, floral scent, watching the way her hips swayed when she walked away from me. I’d jerked off to the thought of her more times than I cared to admit imagining bending her over, spreading those thighs, and burying myself so deep she’d forget her own name.

And now we were trapped.

Alone.

The emergency lights cast a dim, reddish glow over the small space, making everything feel even more intimate. More dangerous. Elena stood pressed against the mirrored wall, chest rising and falling rapidly, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. Her nipples were hard. Obvious. Two tight little peaks begging for my mouth.

I took a slow step back, giving her space even though every instinct screamed at me to close the distance and pin her against that wall.

Control yourself, Marcus. Don’t scare her.

But God, the scent of her arousal was already in the air faint, sweet, musky. It was driving me insane. My cock throbbed painfully against the zipper of my slacks, thick and heavy, leaking pre-cum into my boxers. I wanted to fist it right here, stroke myself while she watched. I wanted to make her drop to her knees and take every inch down her throat until she gagged.

Instead, I leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed over my chest, trying to look calmer than I felt.

“You okay?” I asked, voice lower than I intended.

Elena nodded quickly, but her eyes darted to my forearms, then lower, before snapping back up. She licked her lips nervously. That small pink tongue made my balls tighten.

“Yeah… I think so,” she whispered. Her voice was breathy. Shaky. “How long do you think we’ll be stuck?”

“Could be an hour. Maybe more.” I shrugged, but my eyes never left her face. “Building’s old. Maintenance isn’t the fastest at this time of night.”

She shifted her weight, pressing her thighs together. I knew exactly what that meant. She was wet. Soaking. Probably aching. The thought made my cock jump again. I imagined sliding my hand under that skirt, finding her drenched panties, and pushing two thick fingers inside her tight little pussy while she moaned my name.

I wanted to ruin her composure. Wanted to watch the elegant, always-put-together woman from 31B fall apart on my cock.

Silence stretched between us. Thick. Heavy. Charged with everything we’d never said.

Elena’s breathing grew shallower. I watched her nipples tighten even more, her chest flushing. She kept stealing glances at me at my chest, my arms, the obvious bulge in my pants that I wasn’t even trying to hide anymore.

“You’ve been avoiding looking at me for three months,” I said quietly, unable to hold back any longer. “Why?”

Her eyes widened. A fresh wave of color flooded her cheeks. “I… I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Liar.” My lips curved into a slow, dark smile. “Every time our eyes meet in that mirror, you squeeze your thighs together like you’re trying to hide how wet you get.”

Elena’s breath hitched audibly. Her pupils dilated. She looked equal parts mortified and turned on. Fuck, that expression made me throb harder.

“I don’t” she started, then stopped, biting her lip.

I took one step closer. Not touching. Not yet. Just close enough that she had to tilt her head up to look at me. “It’s okay, Elena. You’re not the only one who’s been suffering.”

Her lips parted in surprise.

“Every night I get home,” I continued, voice rough, “I think about you. About bending you over in this elevator. About shoving that tight skirt up and fucking you until you’re screaming.”

A tiny whimper escaped her throat. Her hands pressed flat against the mirror behind her like she needed something to hold onto. I could see her pulse racing at the base of her neck.

My cock was leaking steadily now. Aching. Demanding. I wanted to pull it out and show her exactly what she did to me. Wanted to watch her eyes widen at the size.

“But I’ve been good,” I growled softly. “I’ve kept my hands to myself. Even when I hear you moving around in your apartment. Even when I imagine how tight and hot your pussy would feel squeezing my cock.”

Elena’s thighs pressed together again. Harder this time. Her breathing was ragged. I could practically taste her arousal in the air now sweet and feminine and so fucking needy.

“Marcus…” she breathed. Just my name. But the way she said it desperate, almost pleading nearly snapped my control.

I wanted to drop to my knees, push that skirt up, rip her panties aside, and devour her dripping cunt until she came all over my tongue. I wanted to feel her thighs shaking around my head while she moaned and begged.

Instead, I stayed where I was, fists clenched at my sides, muscles tight with restraint.

The silence returned, heavier than before. Only the sound of our breathing filled the small space. Hers fast and shallow. Mine deep and controlled barely.

Minutes ticked by. Ten. Fifteen. The emergency lights hummed softly. Elena’s eyes kept drifting down to the thick outline of my cock, then away again, like she was ashamed of how badly she wanted it.

I smiled darkly.

“You’re soaked right now, aren’t you?” I murmured. “Your little thong is probably ruined. Dripping down your thighs.”

She didn’t answer, but the way her eyes fluttered and her lips parted told me everything.

I was losing my mind.

Trapped in this elevator with the woman I’d been obsessing over for months, breathing in her scent, watching her body react to me, knowing she wanted me just as badly.

And still… I couldn’t touch her.

Not yet.

The tension was torture.

Beautiful, filthy, perfect torture.