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“And how I know you’re worth a hundred dollars?”
She arched her back, allowing her breasts to poke out further. “You don’t.”
He grinned, his dick throbbing, straining against the fabric of his pant leg. He wanted to fuck her. Right here, right now. He wanted her sucking his dick with her on her knees, worshipping his cock like a good little bitch. And then he wanted to bend her sweet ass over, handcuff her hands behind her back and fuck her long and hard, balls deep. And then after he finished nutting in her cunt, he wanted to eat that pussy, clean her out with his tongue and suck on those sweet tits.
“And if I wanna fuck?”
Crossing her arms, Heaven tossed her head to displace a wisp of hair dangling on her forehead. “Then you’re going to need to get me on a housing unit where I can maneuver more freely.” She liked being back on 3 West. But she was sick of those depressing prison bars. They made her feel like some wild, caged animal.
At least a door would make her feel . . . well, more normal. That was the beauty of being in lockup. She had the gift of a door. Privacy. Yes, yes. She wanted a steel door.
God, she couldn’t believe she actually wanted a door with a food port, instead of the open bars on her cell. At least having a cell with bars afforded her a better view of the housing unit. She could see who was moving around on the unit, but it also made it easier for some hateful bitch to sling piss or shit bombs—or worse, a Molotov cocktail—into her cell in an attempt to set her ablaze.
No, no. No thank you.
A door would prevent that. Provide more safety. She was precious cargo. She needed safeguarding. Besides, she couldn’t even talk on her cell without fear of getting caught.
Wait. That Coletta chick from 4 East flashed in her head. She didn’t want to risk ending up with another crazy bitch like her for a cellie.
“I want a single cell,” she stated. Then she licked her lips. “But, until then, I might be willing to give you a sampler if . . .” She paused, her gaze fluttering down to his crotch, then all the way down to his feet. Size thirteen, at least. He had on a pair of shiny black, military-style boots.
He rubbed a hand over his dick. The mischievous look in his eyes said he was ready to devour her, ravage her cunt, her mouth—and possibly even her ass. The idea excited her. She felt a tingling in her clit, her inner walls clutching with horny want.
“If what, baby?”
She flitted her gaze back up to his eyes. “If—”
She was cut off by the low crackle of his radio followed by a baritone voice. The officer in central control was looking for him. Fuck. He cursed again under his breath, then radioed in, his gaze never leaving hers, giving the officer in central control his ETA.
He glanced at his watch. He really had to bounce. They’d already been in the tiny space for almost ten minutes. Getting caught in a closet with an inmate wasn’t an option. He’d kill this bitch first. Well, maybe, not literally.
He licked his bottom lip, then pulled it into his mouth. “I gotta bounce, mami. But know this”—his eyes darkened, making him look more predatory than ever—“you gonna be my lil’ prison whore,” he said bluntly.
Her hazel eyes flashed with indignation despite the heat that suddenly pooled low in her belly. “I don’t think—”
He stole a kiss, slamming his mouth over hers—his plush, cushy lips and thick tongue demanding her mouth open as he framed her face with his large hands. The effect was unexpected. Potent. His tongue brushed over hers. And then . . . she felt it—his big dick. No, no—his very thick, very long dick.
Without a second thought, she ran her hand up and down the length of it. When she finally reached the head of his dick, she let out a soft whimper into his mouth. It was the size of a plum. She kneaded it, and his dick grew harder and thicker in response to her touch.
A groan slipped from the back of his throat, c
ausing her body to reverberate with desire. Her mouth watered, and their kiss became wetter, juicier; her tongue slick heat against his. She knew then. She’d fuck him.
God help her, him—she’d let him spear her cunt with his long, thick sword. But she’d be dammed if she’d fuck him right here, right now.
Not when her wet cunt was desperately clinging to her cell phone—sealed in plastic and tucked inside a latex glove—by its slippery walls. God, no, she needed to remove it, before, before . . .
Shit.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she released her grasp on his hardened dick and pushed him slightly back from her—breathless—before she reached for the button of his uniform pants, lowered his zipper and tunneled her hand into his pants, freeing him.
She needed space. Air.
Suddenly, she felt claustrophobic.
And incredibly wet.
FORTY-ONE
