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“Do they really speak like this?” I murmur, leaning over the laptop.
I’m sitting on the couch. Jamie sits on the armchair, resting his forearms on his knees, his arms so tempting I have to focus so I don’t toss the laptop aside and leap across the room. If his writing wasn’t so enthralling, I might.
I’m ten pages in without realizing it, captivated by the opening scene in which a new prisoner attempts to eat his lunch without another inmate stealing it. Now, I move on to a section where two inmates talk in a cell. They’re discussing virginity and their past sexual escapades.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Jamie says. “I heard a lot in there. The walls are thin. Some prisoners talk extremely loudly. It all makes for excellent material.”
The characters are talking about how inexperienced virgins are. It’s not the central part of the story, just some dialogue to give the scene color, but I fixate on it, staring at the words.
“Are these quotes?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “Direct quotes I overheard while in my cell. I don’t necessarily agree with them.”
His blue eyes are lookingintome, notatme, exactly.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I say, a challenge in my voice.
“Like what?” he counters with faux innocence.
I half close the laptop. “Like you’ve guessed something. Like you know why I’m lingering on this section.”
He moves from his chair, sitting beside me, placing his hand on my leg. Shivers instantly dance up my thigh.
“If that’s true, you need to know I’d never judge you. In fact, maybe I’d like it.”
I push the laptop onto the couch cushion, turn, and stare at him. His jaw is tight, his temples pulsing, everything looking as though he’s barely holding back a storm of emotion and desire.
“L-like it?” I murmur.
“If you’re hinting at what I think you are, I can share the new experience with you. It meansIget to be the one to claim your perfect, young, curvy body. Your release. Your lust. Your everything.”
He leans down, bringing his lips to mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he stays close, letting me feel his breath shivering over my cheeks.
“Say it,” he urges huskily.
“There isn’t even necessarily something to tell,” I murmur, turning my face away.
I know I’m being coy. I know I’m maybe even being flirtatious, something I’ve always found difficult because I was the loner—the orphan whose dad was killed so brutally.
No, notkilled. This man—the one I want to kiss so badly it hurts—slaughteredhim. Yet I’m aching, quivering inside, and I don’t care if that sounds cheesy even to me. It’s real. He squeezes my thigh, sending pleasure shimmering up my leg. My hole tingles as I remember what it felt like last time.
“Tell me.”
He stares at me with barely restrained hunger flaring in his eyes. His hand gets tighter on my leg, owning me, and it feels so good. I want to be owned by him forever, but what if he gets that glazed-over look again? What if he snaps and kills me too? What iswrongwith me?
“You say it,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, a smirk shaping his lips as though the idea appeals to him.
“It’s not my place.”
I reach forward and dig my fingernails into his solid chest. There’s so much mass there, rock-solid strength that thrums hotly at my touch. It makes me think of how his naked body would feel against mine, touching the scorching perfection of skin-on-skin contact as much as possible.
“Say it, Jamie. You owe me.”
He flinches. His smirk vanishes. I realize why. He thinks I’m talking about Dad.
“I gave you a ride, remember?” I say, trying to make it playful, but we both see what happened. We both know what’s always going to lurk between us.
