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No.Think of Reggie.Swallow it down. Like a big, sharp-edged rock.
I picked my way down the corridor. My ankles were rubbery. I was intensely aware of Halliwell, watching. I wasn’t doing Shane Masters any favors. This was just a tiny stay of execution. Talking to me was the last thing he would experience before they tortured and murdered him. The responsibility was crushing.
I paced past the seven empty cells. My heels ticked on the tiles. 803… 804… 805… 806… 807… and I gasped to see Shane Masters, standing right in front of the glass wall.
Waiting for me.
CHAPTER4
Shane
The room was soundproof from my side. They could hear everything I said or did, but unless someone hit themic on the wall outside, I might as well have beensealed in lead for all I could hear them.
And yet, somehow, I felt Red coming down that hall. It was a tingle in my balls, a prickle on my neck. A soft, caressing contact, humming deep inside my mind.
I’d started having erotic dreams about her, which surprised me. I’d figured that part of me had died. Hope had gone a long while back. Fear, too. Lust was a stubborn bastard, and it had hung on for a long time. Then it had faded away with the rest.
Lately, it had seemed like all that was left was rage. The last holdout.
Then Red popped up, with her big, curious eyes, and whammo, lust sprang up from the tomb and shambled around, as graceless and inconvenient as it had ever been.
Halleluiah. It was a miracle. One I’d have been much better off without.
It took me a second to be sure it was really her, all tarted up in a sexy evening gown with a thigh-high slit and a plunging vee neckline. Long, pale, shapely legs showed through the slit. Her shoulders and arms and chest were bare, to all intents and purposes. And I got a good, long look at the shape of her perfect little tits, nipples poking through the black lace on the sheer fabric. I felt them in my mind, tickling the palms of my hands. It would take barely a twitch to tear that filmy dress right off her.
My dick tented out the limp jersey fabric of my drawstring pants. Not that I gave a shit. Embarrassment had been gone even before hope. Dressed like that, she must be here on purpose to make my dick hard, so I might as well give her the satisfaction of a job well done. Besides, she was probably just a hallucination anyway.
I’d hallucinated plenty of times in here. My little girl had been here to visit me. My parents, too. They had helped me push back against the drug probes, in ways comprehensible only in a dream state. It was nothing I could describe to anyone rationally, but I appreciated the hell out of their moral support.
The fact that Mom and Dad had been dead for over twenty years didn’t bother me in the least. I was just grateful for the company.
Strange, that Red switched out her outfit, if she was an apparition. The others never did. Holly always wore the same pink sundress. Mom wore her gardening overalls, and Dad his hiking shorts.
Red had always worn snug, worn jeans and a tee shirt and the sweater. A masculine cut tee, in a dull, drab color. The sweater, too. Shapeless and oversized, chosen to hide the femininity of that willowy body. Utterly failing to do so.
The sexy outfit in itself was weird enough to make me think that she might be real. My subconscious would never have come up with that hairdo, those shoes, that dress. If it was up to my subconscious mind, I would have dreamed her up stark naked and in here, under me, legs wrapped around my hips, while I pounded away.
I stared at her hungrily. Her hands clenched and unclenched, creasing the delicate, sheer fabric of the skirt. Her eyes looked even more big and fearful, all painted up. Heavy black mascara weighing down her long eyelashes.
She’d never looked afraid before. Heavy smudges magnified her pale green eyes. And something else was different... the freckles, spattered with wild abandon all over her face, her arms, her hands. They were gone, at least on her face. It was a smooth matte mask, with just a carefully painted blush at the cheekbones. Like a china doll.
“What happened to your freckles?” I asked.
Her eyes went wide with panic and she lifted her hand briefly up to her ear, beneath one of the artful, dangling ringlets that had been tugged loose to frame her face.
I was puzzled. That urgent, worried look in her eyes did not change. An urgent little shake of her head. Was she trying to tell me that we were being listened to?
For fuck’s sake. Duh. When were we not? Was this a new theater piece?
I gave her a what-the-fuck shrug. A frown appeared between her eyebrows, and she gave her head another frantic little shake.
For real? I was fried after months of confinement, torture, interrogation. I was locked in a cage, with an electric shock collar around my neck. The burden of figuring out what she was trying to communicate really should not fall upon me. I wasn’t up to interpreting frantic eyelash flutters and finger twitches, goddamn it.
Please.She mouthed it, her eyes staring intently into mine. Begging me to be intelligent about whatever was happening here.
Aw, fuck me. She was just a wishful fantasy anyhow. I might be having a psychotic break, but at least it involved a beautiful woman. As psychotic breaks went, this one definitely did not suck. I would try to oblige her. It cost me nothing… I hoped.
She didn’t want me to mention her vanished freckles… why? Because it would reveal to whoever was listening that she’d been here before? She meant for me to think those visits were genuinely secret and private? Nice fantasy.
