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“Well, ma’am. Forgive me for my forwardness. But I’ve noticed on several occasions that you haven’t worn your wedding band to work in a while. And I was wondering . . .”
Self-consciously, she slid her right hand over her left, and raised her brow in silent question.
“I don’t mean to pry. But I was wondering . . .”
She swallowed, feeling her cheeks heat as she intently focused her curious gaze on him.
“I mean.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “What I’m about to ask you is so inappropriate, I know. And if you throw me out of your office, I’d understand. But . . .” He shook his head. “Hell, ma’am. I was wondering, if you’d like to have dinner one night this week with me? I’d love to spend some time alone with you.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. This couldn’t possibly be happening. Not here. Not in her office. Jesus, God, was this man offering her a night of good fucking? Did he want to slide his dick into her pussy? Give her a night of hot, slow lovemaking?
Lee Kateman, stop this, she admonished. It’s only damn dinner.
She blinked and refocused and saw that he was staring at her, waiting for a response. And another wave of heat crept up her neck.
“That was way out of line,” he said apologetically, rising to his feet. “I knew I shouldn’t have come. Forgive me, Warden. I knew this was a bad idea. I hadn’t meant to offend you.”
She leaned forward, giving him a slight glimpse of the mocha-chocolate mounds of her breasts, plumped up by the bra she wore, and a tortured groan lodged in his chest. He wanted to lick her there, kiss her there, slide his dick in between the delicate flesh and fuck her there.
Her face scrunched in what looked like dismay, and she shook her head a bit. Oh, hell. He’d gone too far. Shit. Perhaps he should have kept his fantasy of spending time with her to himself.
Her nipples tautened, and the muscles in her pussy tightened. She took a steadying breath, then pushed out, “Captain. I think you should leave my office”—she stood and walked around her desk toward the door—“before I forget I’m the warden and do something naughty. But tomorrow night”—she glanced back, catching his gaze on her ass again—“say, seven o’clock. I can be as naughty as I want to be.”
His smile widened as his eyes burned into her, concentrating on her lips.
God, he wanted to kiss her, taste her lips. And she wanted him to.
In wet panties, her lips parted and she sucked in a minty breath as his finger trailed down her cheek. “I’m counting on it, Warden.”
She swung open her office door and ushered him out. When she shut it behind him, she sagged against the door and closed her eyes, reaching for her aching breasts and pinching the tingling heat knotting around her nipples.
A groan escaped her as she hiked up her skirt.
NINE
The Saga Continues . . .
Heaven yawned and stretched sore muscles. She’d been doing calisthenics for most of the night as she’d been doing most nights if she wasn’t getting that good CO cock. Holy fuck, yes!
Every chance he got, he was creeping into her cell fucking loose her pussy juices.
Mmm. She momentarily closed her eyes, relishing the thought of being dicked down almost every other night. All she needed was her television and commissary and she’d be fine.
She yawned again. She was exhausted. She hadn’t been able to get much sleep last night, thanks to several rowdy bitches spending most of the night, well into the wee hours of the morning, yelling out their doors, while others banged on theirs.
She stretched again, kicking off the rough sheet that had covered her body. These fucking sheets felt like sandpaper across her skin, as did the toilet paper she had to use to wipe her ass.
A twinge of sadness nipped at her as she thought about all the simple things in lif
e she’d taken for granted, like wiping her ass on cottony-soft toilet paper and the luxury of being cocooned beneath silk sheets.
She missed her bed. Her shower. Oh, God, yes, her shower, with the nine pulsating jets that flowed over her body in all directions. These prison showerheads here were worthless pieces of shit. But, at least she didn’t have to worry about sharing the shower with a bunch of other women while in lockup.
She guessed that was one of the perks of being in solitary. She got to shit and shower in peace.
She missed her kitchen. The privilege of cooking what she wanted, when she wanted. Her stomach rumbled. Oh what she wouldn’t do for a plate of scrambled eggs with Pepper Jack cheese, and several slices of turkey bacon right now.
She closed her eyes, sighing. Eighty-five percent of ten years equaled one hundred and two months.
