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In prison, I thought about it. Admittedly, some of the men that wanted me to fuck them were good looking, but I wasn’t really feeling it. But with Finn, the feeling hasn’t gone away. The curiosity is still there, regardless of the situation we’re in. Nothing will happen though, his fear of me will prevent him from really enjoying himself.
Despite what he may think, I know Finn only wants to fuck me to guarantee his safety, using what he has to stay above ground. If he fucks me, his mind will be on survival, not because he wants to. And the first time I fuck a man, I want him one hundred percent present, just like the women I fucked were.
Shaking off the thoughts of getting my dick wet, I get comfortable and I’m knocked out in less time than it takes to blink.
I’m jolted from my sleep because I hear someone screaming and I leap out of bed, hands up as if to ward off a punch. Inmates used to shout from their cells when a guard was coming to fuck somebody up. I was on the receiving end of an ass whooping like that a few times from Trenton and his loser-ass followers.
It takes a few seconds to realize there’s sunlight streaming through the windows, I’m in a safe place and the screaming is coming from down the hall. Lowering my hands, I roll my eyes and go use the bathroom. After I shake my dick and wash my hands, I walk into the room where Finn is still lying in the bed. His face is red from screaming and he looks on the verge of tears.
Rolling my eyes again, I walk over to uncuff him so he can go to the bathroom. When I have the cuff off his wrist, he hustles away from me, pulling the blanket high on his chest. I reach for him, but he slides back further. “Leave me alone,” he murmurs, turning away from me.
Getting sick of his games, I grab his arm and pull him out of the bed. He tries to pull the blanket with him, but it slips from his grasp. When he’s on his feet, I see a wet stain on the front of his jeans that he has no hope of covering with only one hand.
With red cheeks and a horrified expression, he whispers, “I tried to get your attention for the past two hours. I couldn’t hold it anymore.”
Surprisingly, I feel bad. I don’t normally give a fuck about most things, but in this moment, I feel like shit. He’s been doing everything I asked him to do. The least I could have done was make sure he got to the bathroom.
Gruffly, I say, “Take those clothes off and hop in the shower.” That’s as close as he’ll get to an apology.
He waddles into the bathroom and starts the water. I grab some body wash, a fresh pack of boxers that I hope fit him, and an oversized white t-shirt from the bag I brought in with me. It’s not much, but we won’t be going anywhere.
The bathroom is an ensuite, so I’m not worried about him running while I grab everything. After I drop the clothes on the closed toilet, I pick up his soiled clothes and strip the bed of the wet sheets. The blanket didn’t get wet, so I leave it there. I place everything outside the door and go back in the bathroom, leaning against the counter. The shower is frosted glass and I can just make out Finn’s silhouette. He’s leaning back, wetting his long hair, his back arched into the spray.
I saw his form when he had on his jeans, but his ass looks a bit thicker outside of those pants. I’ve seen curvy men in prison—some that offered me the opportunity to get inside their ass—but none of them have the complete package like Finn.
Shaking my head at that, I’m brought out of whatever the fuck I was thinking when the shower turns off. Finn opens the door and stops short when he sees me. I look him up and down, noticing how his cock is starting to plump as he returns my gaze. Grinning sardonically, I meet his eyes. “Get dressed. I need to find the laundry room and put the bedding in there. We can have some breakfast and then I need a shower. I smell like prison walls and our long road trip.”
Quickly, Finn dries himself. He looks at the boxers with distaste but slides them over his creamy thighs and slides the shirt on. “Something wrong, sweet pea?” I ask tauntingly as he comes to stand before me.
Looking down, he says, “I haven’t worn boxers in forever. They feel weird.”
“Tough.” I nudge him and he walks out of the room. He grabs the laundry and won’t hand it over when I tell him I got it. He’s probably still embarrassed, so I don’t hassle him.
After finding the washer and dryer, we toss everything in and start it. Then we head up to the kitchen and search through cabinets. “Make us some breakfast.”
“I can’t cook,” Finn mutters.
Snarling, I turn to him. “What do you mean you can’t cook?”
“Just what I said. I can’t cook. I can make eggs, but that’s about it.”
Grunting, I open the fridge and pull out the carton of eggs. “Then get busy.”
I walk into the living room—keeping Finn in my line of sight—and pull out my burner phone to call Zeke.
“Yo,” he says when he answers on the second ring.
“Hey. Any news?”
“Yep. You’re in trouble,” he says in a singsong voice.
“How so?” I ask.
“You should have cable out there. Turn on CNN. Or MSNBC. Or any news channel for that matter.”
I tug my hair out of its ponytail. “Fuck. I thought I had more time. I even texted that asshole Hicks to tell him Trenton would be out.”
Hicks is the supervisor that sometimes joined Trenton on his ass-beating quests when he got irritated about one thing or another. I found his number when I was scrolling through his contacts to see who to tell about Trenton being home sick.
