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PROLOGUE
Throw This Money On You . . .
As Heaven’s hips naturally swayed, as she made her way down the near-empty corridor, CO Thurman rubbed a hand over his dick as he watched her on one of the zone-A monitors.
He was sitting behind the desk in central control, several large surveillance monitors strategically placed on the wall for easy viewing of the entire prison. He quickly—with the push of a button—zoomed in on the long-lashed, hazel-eyed beauty, his gaze caressing over her dangerous curves.
His tongue slid around his bottom lip.
“Goddamn,” he hissed.
Everything about her did it for him. She fascinated him. A woman looking like her inside a prison could only mean one thing—chaos. Those eyes, that body . . . he was sure she’d end up causing a damn riot in the building if they didn’t keep a close eye on her.
And, shit, he’d loved nothing more than to be the one to stand watch over her. He wanted to watch her back it up on his dick. Watch his tongue glide around her clit, then push into (what he believed would be) her gushy slit. Fuck yeah.
And he’d love to see what was beneath that orange hip-hugging jumper she somehow managed to make look like something from off a Parisian runway. Prison couture.
He chuckled to himself. She definitely had a way of owning it—her sensuality, in the way she walked, in the way she carried herself. She walked like a woman who knew she had good pussy, like a woman who knew she was a bad bitch. And that shit in itself turned him on.
He loved dime-pieces, especially those sexy red-boned, long-haired, pretty-eyed ones.
The bow-legged, six-one, dark-chocolate CO with the big red lips had been working in corrections for almost twelve years, and he’d not seen an inmate as graceful or as beautiful as her. Sure, they had their share of pretty women come through the gates of Croydon Hill. But none compared to her thus far.
She was fucking mesmerizing. And every time he saw her, he found himself turned on by her presence.
Shit. He’d fuck around and dick her down, then trick up his whole overtime check on her fine-ass. He kept his gaze on her as she walked through the magnetometer on the right side of the hallway. He witnessed her roll her eyes up in her head as one of his colleagues, CO Clemmons—a stocky, big-breasted woman who wore her hair shaved bald—called back to her, and told her to go back through the metal detector again. She complied.
The machine must have beeped again. CO Clemmons walked over and said something to the inmate, and then she took the wall. Palms pressed against the wall, legs spread apart, her plump ass poking out just right.
He pushed out a hiss, massaging the head of his dick. He knew he’d end up with a nut-stain in his drawers, but fuck if he cared. He’d find some little trick-ass ho to suck him clean later (all the while thinking of her) once he clocked out.
Clemmons ran her hands over the inmate’s body, sliding them over her back, down over her hips and then up and down the length of her outer and inner legs; her face mere inches from the inmate’s ass.
He let out a groan, grinding his ass down into his chair as he discreetly squeezed and kneaded and rubbed his swollen dickhead. He felt the heat bubbling up around the sensitive gland and swallowed back a mouthful of drool.
“Yeah, Clemmons, what that ass smell like?”
Like sweet rainwater, he mused. Hell. He’d drink her piss water if she offered it to him.
Clemmons said something else to her, and the inmate gave her a murderous look, swinging her hair over her shoulders. There was disdain in her eyes.
The CO’s gaze darkened. “What the fuck is you doing now, Clemmons?” he questioned as he continued to look on.
She must be up to her bullshit, again, he thought. She was known for trying to push up on inmates for pussy. But she had to know there wasn’t shit she could do with a beauty like her. Nah. A woman like her needed a freaky muhfucka with lots of dick, like him.
He let out his breath in a long exhale. No inmate should be this fucking bad.
Bottom line, he planned on fucking her.
He didn’t care how long it took—one year, two, three . . . he was getting inside her, and he was going to make it his mission to feel the stretch of her pussy over his dick before another CO got to her first.
Cash in her hand, or money on her books—whatever this hazel-eyed enchantress wanted, needed, he’d make it happen.
The question was, when?
ONE
Breathe You in My Dreams . . .
Fifty-five-year-old Lee Kateman—or Warden Kate, for short—sat behind her mahogany desk and fumbled with the button on her slacks, then undid it. Next she eased her zipper down, then slid her neatly manicured hand down into her opened slacks and cupped her pussy, but then she quickly shot up from her chair, knocking her knee against the desk. She grimaced, biting back a yelp as pain shot through her thigh.
She limped over to her door and locked it, then hobbled back to her desk and pressed the DO NOT DISTURB button on her desk phone, before easing back in her chair with a groan. Then she sighed. Now she could orgasm without any sudden interruptions.
She rubbed her knee a few times, then brought her attention back to the throbbing between her legs. She moaned in anticipation as she leaned back and spread her legs, her hand sliding back into the opening of her pants. She closed her eyes for a moment and moaned softly as she massaged her throbbing sex over the fabric of her white cotton panties. Mmm, yes. The ache between her thighs, which had started out as a slow burn over the course of the day, had now become an intense blaze.
She needed this release, this time alone, so very badly. Being the chief administrative official of a women’s prison, which housed nearly nine hundred and fifty inmates in maximum, medium, and minimum security, along with another ninety women housed in the camps—coupled with the multiple personalities of nearly five-hundred-plus staff under her charge could be challenging in itself, some days more stressful than others. And today had been one of those days.
There’d been a gang fight on 5 East during breakfast, where eight women jumped two other women. And one of the women who had been atta
cked had had her eyeball nearly gouged out with a broom handle. Then an inmate coming out of classroom B had been caught with a brick of marijuana wrapped in cellophane. She and the teacher had been the only two in the classroom. And when she’d come out of the room ten minutes later, she’d tried to avoid being frisked. Hidden down in her jumper were the drugs. The little sneaky twat tried to run off from the COs, but they’d restrained her shortly after she’d given chase. Surprisingly, neither she nor the male teacher would say how or where she’d gotten ahold of the drugs—enough to light up a whole housing unit.
Then—as if her day hadn’t already been shitty enough—another inmate jumped off the third-floor tier over on 8 North in an attempt to kill herself.
And all this occurred during first shift.
These crazy bitches had stressed her out today.
She’d already had three shots of pick-me-up by eleven this morning to take the edge off. Mmmph. These nasty bitches trying to drive me to smoke crack. She pinched her clit, and heard herself whimper as she touched herself. Her overly sensitive clit, all swollen and ready, protruded from beneath its hood, causing her whole body to shiver each time her hand stroked over her panties.
“Mmm, yes . . . ooh,” she murmured.
As her hand slowly caressed her sex, she silently wished she had traded her granny panties—white Fruit of the Loom with pink flowers—in for something sexier, like a lacy thong. But she had been in a rush this morning, scrambling to get dressed and in on time for a nine o’clock meeting with the commissioner. And now she was reminded of the mismatched panty-set she’d been wearing beneath her designer pantsuit all day.
Not that she considered herself a sexpot, but there was something about the feel of silk rustling against her pussy lips that made her feel sexy. Even though that wasn’t at all what she ever saw reflected in her husband’s gaze whenever he looked at her.
