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“Now spread them legs wide for me,” Clemmons stage-whispered. “I bet you love it from the back.”
Heaven huffed. “This bitch,” she mumbled under her breath. She cringed the minute she heard the snap of rubber gloves, and then felt her gloved hand slide over her shoulders.
“You need to start playing nice, Lewis.”
Heaven rolled her eyes. “Play nice how?”
Clemmons continued frisking her. “Don’t play. You know what I mean.”
“Uh, no. I don’t.”
“Yeah, okay. Play dumb if you want.”
Heaven sighed. “No. Tell me,” she coaxed. Not that she gave a damn. But she wanted to hear her say it. That she wanted to lick her cunt.
“You show me yours,” Clemmons said. “I’ll show you mine.”
Heaven made a face. I think not.
Clemmons’ hands went up over Heaven’s breasts, and then she pulled in her bottom lip; if there hadn’t been cameras up, the CO would have pressed up against the inmate and humped her ass.
Clemmons stepped back. “Now, get the fuck on.”
Heaven felt her blood boil. She was sick of this bitch fucking with her, and finding any excuse to cop a feel whenever she felt the need to. Nasty bitch. She gave her a dirty look and proceeded toward her housing unit. She wasn’t about to let her miserable ass get under her skin. Not today.
One day this bitch has it coming, she thought.
And so she whistled and swayed down the corridor.
TWENTY-EIGHT
This is What You Came For . . .
She rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Sabina’s snoring had reached an all-time high, and it had kept her up practically the whole night. Well—that wasn’t completely true. Though Sabina had been growling like a bear, Heaven had spent the better part of the night on her cell talking to CO Rawlings on his night off.
Their ritual of hot, steamy phone sex had been initiated once she’d slid her hands down into her panties and started playing with her clit. His deep voice had heated her skin, and caused her cunt to clench hungrily.
She wanted some dick. Hard dick. Thick dick. Thrusting dick. Dick that would stretch her pussy and give her multiple orgasms. But all she’d had at the time was her vented brush with a rubber handle. So she’d used that to get herself off—sliding the handle in and out of her clutching snatch—while CO Rawlings spoke low and dirty, and whispered sweet, naughty nothings in her ear.
She’d moaned and talked dirty back.
He’d come, hard. And she’d come soon after. Twice.
And then, two hours before the sun rose, they’d planned their next sexual rendezvous, inside one of the custodian closets.
“I need a Taser,” she’d whispered before their conversation ended.
“Say, what?” he’d asked incredulously. First she’d asked him for a smartphone—and he was still trying to figure out what was wrong with the one she already had. And now this shit.
“I said I need a Taser.”
“And how on earth you expect to get one of those, and keep muhfuckas from finding it?”
“I have a plan.”
“And what plan is that?”
“Get it to me, boo,” she cooed. “And leave the rest to me.”
