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Kitty
The worst has happened.
Everything my father was afraid of, everything I blithely dismissed as remotely improbable is unfolding right now.
I’m in a locked room within a prison in the throes of a raging riot. And I’m clinging to the hardened convict I came to interview.
If I wasn’t terrified out of my mind, I’d probably laugh hysterically. As it is, I’m a little embarrassed by the noises coming from my throat.
Not enough to let go of Monroe though.
He’s solid and, call me crazy, but he has kind, if ferocious, eyes.
Yes, they’re set in a face that’s cruelly handsome in ways I can’t quite describe, but the moment he stepped into the room, I was drawn to slate-gray eyes that seemed to miss nothing.
And also…something within me roars to life and preens in excited alertness every time he fixes his intense gaze on me. As if I’ve been waiting years for this very man to look at me to awaken everything I thought I’d never feel. Never experience.
And God, he smells incredible.
I highly doubt that the prison provides top of the range toiletries. Which means the earth and green forest smell is all him.
When another blast rocks the foundations, I bury my face in his neck and breathe him in, and I whimper again when his smell soothes me.
I’m sure there’s an explanation for what I’m experiencing.
For the wetness that’s been growing between my legs ever since he called me kitty cat in that rough, gravelly voice. And even when I protested that I wasn’t a little girl, something about those words spilling from his sensually curved lips made me wetter.
As for the solid rod cradled between my thighs…the one that’s been growing thicker and longer since I wrapped my legs around?—
Boom.
I jolt and his arms tighten around me. “They’re not just letting off steam, are they?”
His jaw clenches against my cheek. I can tell he’s not pleased about his answer but I also know deep in my heart he’s not going to lie to me. “Doesn’t sound like it, baby,” he confirms.
For the next twenty long minutes, we listen as the riot grows closer and closer. My phone has no reception and Dad’s landline isn’t working either. There’s no way to reach anyone outside the prison.
Terror takes complete control of me.
What did Monroe say to me earlier? That there were just a few walls separating me a few hundred assholes? Assholes who would do the worst imaginable things possible if they got their hands on me?
Fear pummels me. Is this how I’m going to die? Oh God.
“Hey, calm down, baby,” he says, his hands rubbing soothingly up and down my back.
But I can’t calm down. Not when danger is rushing headlong at me. Not if I’m…I’m going to die here today.
Regret fills me.
For pushing to get my way when Dad had second thoughts.
For not settling for a simple A on an assignment just this once.
For…never having kissed a boy.
For never having experienced what sex was like.
That last one jolts harder through me.
