cock hardening against my abdomen.
I blush. Oh god. This is not happening.
I shift my stance. “Can you not . . . do that?”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Can you not . . . have tits? Can you not . . . smell that good? Can you not . . . feel so soft?”
I tense. “What?”
“I’m a man. You stop turning me on, baby, and maybe I’ll stop being turned on.”
I’m . . . turning him on? Me?
Change the subject. “So, what is the strategy for this?”
“Same strategy as always. Win. Just follow my lead.”
“How can I follow you when I’m facing you?” I snap.
“You know what I mean.”
With a struggle, we manage to stumble to the starting line. It’s nearly impossible to walk because I’m going backward. I can’t take the lead because I can’t see beyond Luke’s massive chest, so . . . sucks for me. Meanwhile, his cock is growing into a redwood tree between us, pulsing and alive, poking my already roiling tummy. I try to concentrate on the challenge so I won’t think about how it’s turning me on too. Or wonder what it would feel like if he dipped his head down and kissed me.
“On your mark!” Will Wang shouts.
“You ready?” he mumbles to me.
I nod.
“Get set!”
He whispers, “When he says go, I want you to lift your legs up and wrap them around me, okay?”
He didn’t just say that, did he?
“Wait . . . what?”
“Go!”
It all happens so fast. He hoists me into the air, wrapping my thighs around his hips, my arms around his neck, so that he’s cradling my ass. And carrying me, ahead of the other two couples, he races into the maze.
Luke
It wasn’t hard. She weighs, like, ninety pounds soaking wet. What was hard was the rain. It was like ice, and sloshing through ankle-deep icy mud sucked. We don’t get weather like that down south.
—Luke’s Confessional, Day 2
“Go left! For the last time, go left!” she screams at me.
My timid little church-mouse wife is the worst back seat driver.
But I can’t deny, she has some incredible tits. I’ve gotten very close to them, so I know them intimately. Her nipples are hard against me. What I wouldn’t give to feel her, bare, against me, skin against skin.
And I also can’t deny that I’m rock hard for her. For some reason, the more she screams at me which way to go, the more I want to throw her down in the mud and have my way with her.
It started pouring about two hours into the maze, and it hasn’t let up since. I haven’t seen another soul in about that long. We’ve made it through five of the markers, and we’re looking for number six.
I ignore her screaming to go left, and it bites me in the ass, because five seconds later I run into a dead end.
Shit. I let out a growl.
“What?” Even before knowing what the problem is—she can’t really see shit, her face buried in my chest—she says, “Told you we should’ve gone left.”
“You’re fucking brilliant.” I spin to move, and that’s when I see it, about fifty yards away and closing in.
A ghost.
Well, really, a guy in an all-blue outfit, slowly lumbering toward me. It’s the first one we’ve seen.
Fuck.
“Hold tight,” I tell her, racing forward and taking a quick left like she told me to, running at top speed. Mud is flying everywhere, the rain blurs my vision, and everything bleeds together as I careen left, then right, then left again, trying to lose the ghost. It’d really blow if we had to start from the beginning after all this.
I see the blue number six up ahead and race for it. She grabs it, tucking it in my jacket, between us. “Number six! Yay!” she shouts.
“Shh,” I tell her, peering through the dried corn husk wall as I stop to catch my breath. “Think we lost that ghost.”
“We did? Then let’s keep going.”
“Give me a second,” I say, still breathing hard.
She lets out an annoyed sigh. “Just so you know, my favorite pastime is not filling in ovals. I actually am a very good harpist.”
I let out a laugh. The Marriage Test was more than two hours ago. So that’s what she’s been stewing about all this time? “You’re going to give me shit about my answers when you didn’t get any of them right yourself? What was that shit about me bringing a woman on an island?”
“Well,” she says, into my T-shirt. “Clearly