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“The money is still nearby. In this state, in the same county where it was stolen.”
She searches my gaze for a long moment. Probably trying to gauge whether I’m telling the truth. She must finally decide that I am, because a faint smile touches her lips. “Okay,” she repeats, but this time it’s softer, without the aggression and anger and fear her voice had in it before.
I never noticed, until just this moment, what a beautiful voice she has. How nice it sounds when she talks like this, like a real person. My chest aches, a stabbing pain right between my ribcage and… fuck.
Fuck.
I cannot start feeling anything for this girl.
A knock pounds on the door.
Has it really been an hour already?
“Time’s up,” the guard announces as he undoes the lock without further ceremony. Neither Ashley nor I say anything this time. We just watch each other, eyes locked, for as long as we can, until the guard slams the doors between us.
I’m in trouble.
4
My legs shake as I exit the prison. It’s all I can do to stay upright on my heels. Especially when every few steps I have to pause and clench my thighs together—without any panties on, in this tight as hell skirt, it’s going to become very obvious very fast to any passersby if my own juices start dripping down my legs. Which they’ve been doing ever since Damon—fucking Damon, that bastard—got me so turned on I can barely think straight.
I’ve never come like that before. That orgasm made my whole body feel high, and even now, almost half an hour later, I can still feel leftover shocks every now and then, jolting through my nervous system.
My cheeks are on fire as the guards smirk to one another and wave me through the outer gate of the prison. Do they know? They must be able to tell. I’m sure it’s written all over my face—that post-sex glow that I can’t ever hide. Not to mention the way I’m walking, with my legs half-pressed together, trying to contain as much of the evidence as possible.
Fuck.
I’ve never been so turned-on in my life. That orgasm left me shaking, and yet, I want nothing more than to turn around and run straight back into this prison to beg him for another one.
What kind of negotiator am I? I broke at the first damn test he put me to. Part of me knew—especially after last time, after seeing Damon and feeling the way my body was so instantly, insanely drawn to his—that this could happen. But I had no idea it would happen this fast, this dirty, or that I’d feel so damn… addicted, already.
I square my shoulders and ball up my fists. It doesn’t matter. At least I got something out of this encounter, even if it’s less than I would have liked. I know the money is nearby. The bank Damon robbed for my father is only two counties away from this prison. The cash is hidden somewhere within our reach. All I need to do is meet with Damon one more time—beat him at his own game this time, and get that last little detail I need.
Something else nags at me, though, as I cross the parking lot and climb into my car, legs still clamped tight because my bare pussy is still wet beneath this skirt, and the cool breeze out here makes me shiver for more reasons than just the chill. I drive the key into the ignition, and I can hear Damon’s voice replaying in my head. Not just the sexy-talk at the end of our encounter, but the other things he said.
Things about my father.
You don’t know your father half as well as you think you do.
If you think your father has never stabbed any of his people in the back either, then you’re more naive than I thought.
I know Dad has done terrible things. You don’t get ahead in the mafia business without being willing to cut some corners, lie to or rob or bribe or threaten the right people. Damon has probably met some people on the wrong ends of those deals, so he’s developed an overblown sense of my Dad’s guilt. Dad is guilty, of plenty of bad things. But nothing like what Damon did. Nothing like murdering an innocent bank owner in cold blood.
That’s the stuff of hardened criminals.
Like the hardened criminal I just let finger-fuck me senseless, part of my brain points out. I ignore that, shove it to the back of my mind as I start the engine. The tires squeal as I whip out of the prison parking lot, suddenly all too eager to put miles between my bad decisions and me.
I cannot let Damon Tell get to me. I cannot start thinking sympathetically about that monster, just because he gave me one good orgasm.
It doesn’t take me long, driving at the speed I’m going, to reach home. I head directly to my room via the back entrance, not wanting to run into Dad or Jasper or another of Dad’s unsavory henchmen while I’m in this state, so obviously disheveled. Once safely in my rooms, I strip down and head to my private shower, the enormous one with the rain shower head that Dad had installed just for me after his last big score a few years back, when we renovated the house.
I duck my head under the hot stream and try to wash away any memory of Damon.
But the second I close my eyes, I can see him standing over me, my legs spread to either side of him on that prison mattress. His eyes were white-hot with lust as he gazed up at me, dark as pits, and just as terrifyingly easy to fall into. He kept his eyes locked on mine as he licked my legs, knee to thigh to hip, then back again, slow and teasing. When his tongue flashed across my mound, it took every ounce of my self-control not to thrust up toward him in anticipation.
And when his tongue slipped between my lips, pushed into my pussy, thick and strong at once, I couldn’t contain the gasps any longer. I bucked against him as he licked and sucked at my pussy, desperate for release. And the whole time, all I could think about was how his cock would feel—that thick cock I could see bulging against his jeans, wanting me as much as I wanted him. How would it feel if he spread my legs around his waist and drove it into me? How would it feel if he fucked me across this bed, thrust his cock deep into my pussy over and over until we were both screaming?
Before I know it, my hand is between my legs, and my fingertips are spreading the lips of my already-sensitive pussy. I hold my head under the stream of water, press my lips tight to hold in a cry as I trace my fingers over my clit, the same way Damon did earlier. I rub back and forth, slowly increasing the pressure until I’m gasping, still sensitive from having his fingers inside me, his tongue all over me. I come with a faint gasp, and the hot water rushes down my throat, tickles my belly and my hand where it cups my pussy. The orgasm is short and sharp and just leaves me wanting more again. Because it’s nothing like the high he gave me.
And I want to feel that again.
That scares me.
I finish washing up, then get dressed. This time I make sure to put on panties under my jeans, since I’m sure my daydream reminiscences about Damon aren’t finished.
When I look presentable again—or at least less like a woman who’s recently been fucked in the conjugal visit cell of a prison—I head downstairs to find my father.
He’s in his study, as usual. I walk in on the tail end of his meeting with Jasper, the latter of whom shoots me an appreciative side-eye as he walks past me toward the door.
“Back from your dirty business at the jail?” he asks, licking his lips as he passes.
“That’s enough, Jasper,” my father replies calmly from behind his desk. Jasper merely shrugs and slams the office door behind him. Dad, I notice, doesn’t reprimand him any further than that.
“You realize he’s a total creep, right?” I ask, the moment the office door is shut.
“I don’t employ him for his sunny disposition,” Dad points out. With that, he goes back to organizing some papers on his desk, all but ignoring me. “How did it go today?”
“Better. The money is still in the same county as the jail. It’s close.”
Dad’s gaze ticks back to me for a fraction of a second, one eyebrow raised. “That’s good news. But you don’t have any leads on an exact location?”
“Not yet. Damon is warming to me, but not enough yet. I need…” I
pause, tongue flashing across my lips as I think how best to word this. “I need more time to win his confidence fully.”
“So you decided to ingratiate yourself with him instead,” Dad muses. “Not a bad idea, if outright threats didn’t work last time. You’ll need to go back and visit Damon again, though. Soon.”
“Of course,” I reply. I must say it a little too fast, or a little too eagerly, because Dad’s attention flicks back to me from his papers, and this time, his eyes narrow in suspicion.
“Does the prospect of spending more time in a conjugal visit jail cell amuse you, Ashley?”
“Of course not,” I answer, voice steady. I keep my gaze locked on his, because I know how much Dad appreciates eye contact. That’s one of the first things I learned from him. How to look someone dead in the eyes and lie. “I want to do good work for you, Dad. I failed to get the information you needed the first time I took on this job, but now I’m making progress. I intend to see this thing through, no matter what it takes.”
Dad holds my gaze for a long, quiet moment, during which my palms start to sweat. But in the end, he smiles, a slow-moving thing, a real smile, the kind I don’t receive from him very often. “Good. Good, Ashley, that’s what I like to hear. You’re finally taking some initiative.”
“Well, you’ve finally trusted me enough to give me an important job,” I counter, letting a slight edge creep into my voice. Because it’s true—I’ve been waiting for him to give me a real assignment in this business for far too long.
“You’ve proven that you’re ready. You’re smart, Ashley. You know when a job is just a job, and how to perform that job optimally.” He sighs and turns back to his work, shaking his head a little. “It’s just a shame that Damon Tell wasn’t as smart as you. Now he’s paying the price.”
I leave the office with those words ringing in my ears. Now he’s paying the price. Is that what awaits me, if I fail to do this?
I square my shoulders. Doesn’t matter. Because I won’t fail. I have Damon right where I want him. And now, I’m going back to finish the job.
