Page 35 of On Your Life

The walls blur as I’m spun around violently, and the rest of my jumpsuit is ripped off. His hand doesn’t move from my mouth when I feel the cold metal bar pushing at my entrance.

Stars burst across my vision as he slams into me. A loud grunt is the only noise that comes out as I adjust around his cock. Wetness drips down my thighs like this is something I wanted. Did I want this?

His hips pull back before slamming into me again, over and over, harder and harder. I get lost in the rhythm of the sound of flesh meeting flesh. A moan escapes my lips as he hooks a finger in my mouth and continues to pound my body into the wall.

I feel pressure start to build in my lower abdomen. That piercing hitting the perfect spot over and over. I have never felt something so euphoric. Before I can reach my peak he pulls out of me. I spin around to protest and hot ropes of cum cover the front of my jumpsuit.

“You think I’d let you get off?” he laughs. “Get fucked, killer.”

His broad back is the last thing I see before the door slams.

Chapter 19

Fox

“What the hell was that all about?” Riggs asks the second I walk back in the pod.

My dick finally feels like it isn’t about to fall off, but I’m still fucking hard. The adrenaline hasn’t even begun to wear off. If anything it’s settled deeper, making it impossible to relax.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say.

My button-up is wadded into a ball on the floor. I scoop it up and shake it out, not giving a shit about the noise, but wrinkles still remain.

Maybe the captain won’t notice before the end of my shift. If I have to listen to another lecture about tidiness after working all night, I may actually burn the whole fucking prison to the ground.

“Whatever man, I’m not doing that solitary paperwork though. That’s on you,” Riggs calls behind him before the door slams closed.

Dick.

The paperwork for solitary is a pain in the ass, but it’s nothing compared to having to stare at her on the screen. She deserved every second of what she got.

The ink pen breaks beneath my grip. I stare at the broken pieces for a long second before tossing it into the trash.

The rage inside me is dangerously close to overflowing. And there’s no one to blame but her.

I have half a mind to create an unforgivable excuse for throwing her into solitary so she can fucking rot down there. It takes a lot these days to even let someone stay there for a day, let alone for weeks at a time.

There are rules, procedures, people breathing down your neck to make sure you follow every goddamn one of them. I don’t give a shit.

The drawer screams as I yank it open and dig out another ink pen. Maybe I’m not making myself the threat that I need to be. She thinks she has the upper hand because she managed one successful stab at me.

What she doesn’t know is that her torture has just begun.

***

The box is heavy in my hands. I haven’t had the nerve to open it but after everything that happened last night I need something to calm my nerves. Or maybe to keep the high going and make it worse. At this point, I’m not sure which one I’m searching for.

Cheap scotch tape seals the top. The adhesive is already tearing away from the cardboard before I even pull it open. The box gives a soft groan as I pry the flaps apart.

Cologne hits me first. I almost turn around, expecting Conner to have walked through the door. He always doused himself in the shit.

My chest feels hollow. Like the piece that’s missing is laying in my lap. It’s strange when you go from talking to someone everyday to not hearing from them at all. Everything that normally would have sparked a phone call or conversation suddenly becomes less interesting. Something happens and instinctively you reach for your phone.

Then you remember.

A blue shirt sits on top, wrinkled from being shoved into the box with everything else. I can picture him freaking out over it, dragging an iron across the fabric until it practically changed colors.

He hated not looking his best. It makes sense when you know how he grew up.