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At the thought of him, I turn on my mattress and look over to where I find him every morning, sitting on his stool in his usual place.
Except he’s not there.
My eyes scan my cell in one swift motion, wondering if I’ve woken up before the doors open, but then I notice other inmates walking and talking beyond my closed gate. Where is he?
I shift to a sitting position and a fire pools low in my belly and I squirm, the reminder of last night creeping up my skin. I remember King’s hands on me, his fingers in me, and I clench my thighs together.
I’ve been sexual before with Emerson, only some basic foreplay and sex, but that was only once and a few years ago now. A rebellious moment where I was angry at my father and wanted to get back at him in some secret way.
I also wanted to lose my virginity before it was either stolen from me or it would never happen. But nothing with Emerson felt as intimate and electrifying as last night with King. And all he did was use his fingers.
I suddenly feel like a blossoming teenager with her first crush and having no idea what to do.
It’s pathetic.
What was King doing? Why did he come here last night? Am I being easy? Is he interested or is he stringing me along… again?
A million questions rack my brain and I wish my mum were here to talk about it.
Puck will have to do for now.
I stand up on slightly shaky legs and head over to the gate to make my way to Puck’s cell where he must still be asleep or knowing him, doing some kind of workout. Before stepping out of the safety of my cell, I call his name just to double-check, but as his name leaves my lips, a tall, slim man, who is most definitely not Puck, walks out of his cell and stands in front of me, the gate my only protection remaining between us.
My hands tighten around the bars as the stranger watches me. He cocks his head and smiles, licking his lips, and a shiver escapes down my spine, fear creeping in.
How can so much change in a few hours? These bars last night were a hindrance, an inconvenience, locked when we wanted them open to give us more access to each other.
Whereas now they’re all I have for safety and the damn thing is unlocked.
“Puck,” I call out again a little louder, my voice shaking, waiting for him to appear from his cell and offer me the protection I’ve become so accustomed to.
“Puck’s not here, sweetheart.”
I almost heave at the nickname, hating how it sounds from his lips, the opposite effect it has on me when King uses it.
The man brushes a greasy strand of hair out of his eyes and steps closer, placing his hands on the bars above mine. I immediately tighten my grip, pushing all my force into keeping the bars closed, but I’m not strong enough against him and the gate slides open, my safety net gone.
I stagger backwards to the opposite wall to create as much distance as I can between us. I know I’ve been extremely lucky having Puck in my corner, but I’ve clearly taken his protection for granted considering the first time I’m left alone without him, I’m vulnerable, with no idea how to protect myself.
Sure, I could put up a good fight, but that isn’t going to last me in the long run. Not with that gate wide-open, easily accessible to every sleaze in here.
The guy approaches me in a few steps and towers over me easily, like all men in my life seem to do.
He reaches out a dirty hand and strokes my cheek with the back of his knuckles and I cringe, turning my head away, trying to get away from his touch.
I tense my jaw, suck in my cheeks, and spit in his face, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
The only option I have left is to fight back.
I lift my fist to hit him right across the cheek, but the momentum behind it does nothing to help me as he grips my wrist just as I make contact. He yanks it above my head and pins it up against the wall, grabbing my other wrist harshly and joining my hands together. I kick and try to wriggle myself free, but it’s no use. He’s too strong. I try my hardest not to scream, not to cause a scene and lure in any more unwanted guests. I’m screaming inside, praying with all I have that this isn’t real.
“Keep still, bitch,” he spits, striking a hand across my face, the sting kicking in immediately, “or it’s gonna be a lot more painful.”
The spray of his saliva coats my skin and my eyes well up from the slap and the situation I’ve found myself in. His free hand finds the zipper to his jumpsuit as he pulls it down, releasing his erection, and I try to hold back my bile. He smirks again as his hand finds the zipper to my own jumpsuit, pulling it all the way down, baring my naked chest and way below my thighs, the large jumpsuit sagging at my knees.
His hand slides over my helpless body, grabbing harshly at my breasts and pulling tightly on my nipples and ever so slowly, his hand slips lower between my thighs, cupping my mound, and tears slip silently from my eyes.
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