“Trust me.” This time it isn’t a question. It’s a command. I rub my dick against her pussy, knowing that it’s causing friction in just the right places, and I use my fingers to tease and stroke and knead her ass. She may never have thought she would ever do it, but before long she’s pushing back against me again. Enjoying it. Presenting herself to me, allowing me to apply more pressure every time she rocks her hips.
I push a little harder this time, inserting my finger just a little, and Sloane cries out, her body shaking so hard against me that I feel like I’m vibrating. “You like that? Huh?”
“Yes. Yeah. Yeah…” She sounds like she’s completely wasted.
I’ve waited long enough. I take hold of my dick and I slide it inside her, pushing so hard that my balls clench. I want to be rough with her. I wanna bruise her and leave my fingerprints all over her, but I don’t. I gather her hair and I wrap it around my hand, and I jerk on it hard. Hard enough that her head pulls back and her body bows again, far enough for me to lean forward and bite her shoulder.
She gasps through the pain. “Oh, fuck!”
I pull her head to one side, so that her chin is drawn back toward me, and I can see that I’m not overstepping any boundaries. Sloane’s eyes are rolled back in her head, her bruised lips swollen and parted as she pants out my name over and over again each time I force my way inside her. She’s tight. She’s so fucking tight it’s almost painful, but in the best fucking way.
I risk applying a little more pressure with the fingers that are still playing with her ass, and she responds by sighing, pushing back against me.
“Oh my god, Zeth. Yes. Please. Please…”
Yep. That’s what I thought. It’s game on. I’m not a fucking douche bag though. I’ve just shown her. I’ve shown her that she likes it.
“Please…”
Shit. Well, I’m not a fucking douche bag, but I’m no saint, either. I thrust my dick into her as deep as I can, and I ease my finger forward at the same time, going slow so that I can stop as soon as she wants me to. Her body is trembling so bad, and I can tell that she’s fighting it, but she doesn’t tell me to stop. Her small pants and whimpers are of strained pleasure, not all-consuming pain. I can feel my dick inside her through the wall of her pussy, and it’s… it’s just…I can’t…
I fuck her. I fuck her hard. I gauge her reaction and act accordingly when it comes to what my finger is doing, though. When it looks like she’s tilting, when the pleasure is turning to pain, I stop altogether and I use both hands to grab hold of her hips. With the added leverage, I pound myself into her harder than before, my blood singing through my veins.
I can tell when she’s about to come. She starts to shake, yet her muscles are straining, trying to keep her upright. I don’t have a hope in hell of holding back. We come at the same time, and neither of us are quiet. I slowly pump myself in and out of her, catching my breath. I must be a freak but I take a great and perverse pleasure in rubbing my cum through the slick folds of her pussy and into her ass.
“Bravo! Bravo!”
Sloane rockets off my dick like someone’s just thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over us. In the hallway, leaning up against the wall opposite our alcove, a guy with a torn black T-shirt and ripped black jeans claps, grinning ear to ear. I don’t recognize him, but he’s young. Like early twenties. And he’s a Widow Maker; that much is obvious. “Good show,” he says, still clapping. “Didn’t think the fun started ’til tonight. Obviously I was wrong.” Sloane scrambles for her clothes, swearing under her breath—her panic is nowhere near as funny as it was when someone busted her in the toilet. Now it makes me angry. I turn and angle my body so that I’m standing in front of her, blocking her from view.
“Usually polite to announce your presence, asshole,” I snarl. Fuck that I’m naked. Fuck that Julio will be pissed. I’ll break this kid’s jaw if the next words out of his mouth aren’t I’m sorry.
Lucky for him they are.
“Sorry, bro. My bad.” He’s not laughing anymore. He’s holding his hands up, looking suitably concerned about the expression on my face. He must have thought I’d be embarrassed, too. But living in prison takes all that away from you. Your modesty, your humility, everything. “I didn’t mean to come up on you like that, man,” the kid continues. “But shit, dude. You were fucking in a hallway.”
I still think I should hit him. My fists are already clenched when Sloane grabs a hold of my arm. “It’s okay. He’s totally right.”
She sidles out from behind me, somehow now fully dressed though looking mighty dishevelled. Her cheeks are crimson, but she manages to look the kid in the eye. The kid’s face blanches when he gets a proper look at her. “Holy. Fuck. Me! What the…?” His reaction is instant. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“Mal, what the hell are you…” A voice, commanding and annoyed, comes from behind us, and then another Widow Maker rounds the corner. Black boots, black jeans, black tee, finished off with a leather cut that bears the VP badge over the top pocket. The guy stops dead in his tracks when he sees me, and this time it’s my turn to look like I’ve seen a ghost. Because he is.
Cade Preston.