Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“I’ve been sitting for most of the day. I need to keep my body limber.”
That’s the worst thing about this place: being hemmed in all the time. Sometimes, the urge to run is like a compulsion that burns in my limbs and tortures my fucking mind. An hour in the yard will never be enough, and when we’re confined to our cells, and the only physical activity possible is push-ups and sit-ups, holding in my frustrated rage can be overwhelming.
“You’re making me nervous.” Hyde grips the edge of the table, his huge, tattooed hands turning white across the knuckles.
“Relax, dude,” Rock says, his voice low and calm. “Just think of what we’ve got coming to us. Think of what it’ll be like to have a woman of our own.”
Hyde’s grip relaxes, but not completely. He’s thinking of it all right, and that’s the problem. He doesn’t deal well with change. Change is what triggers the swing between light and dark. Change and stress.
I rub the back of my neck. The muscles are thick and tight. I’ve been trying not to think about what the warden has promised us because promises in this place are easily broken. He owes us, or at least, that’s what he says. What we did for him wasn’t a hardship. There isn’t a man in this place who didn’t want to end Whitaker Evans for his crimes. The warden believes he owes us, and what he’s doing to repay the debt isn’t easy. Conjugal visits are a thing, but no one gets a live-in woman for a month in this place. There’s a lot of risk involved. Finding a willing woman. Organizing a place for her to stay that won’t raise the suspicion of the other staff and inmates. Getting us out of our cells and into another part of this hellhole. Trusting us not to fuck up.
It’s a big deal, and I don’t rest my hopes where risk is involved.
But it’s been a long time since I felt a woman’s softness. A long time since I buried my face in sweet-smelling hair and my cock in a warm, wet cunt. So long, it’s almost hard to put together the memories of what it’s like. I’ve gotten used to the tightness of my own rough hand. Jacking off isn’t even that pleasurable anymore. I’ve worn out my reel of fantasy images. Mostly, it’s become like eating the food in this place, a flavorless necessity to sustain my sanity.
“What do you think she’ll be like?” Rock asks for the millionth time. I grit my teeth, trapping my snappy response in my mouth. How the fuck do I know what a random woman is going to be like? She could be young or old, fat or thin, pretty or ugly. She could be a washed-up hooker with nothing soft left about her or a junkie looking for a way to feed her habit. She could be everything I wish I could still dream about having, all the things I used to imagine could be mine when I was a free man who hasn’t had all his hope tarnished.
“As long as she’s in working order,” I say.
That’s enough to make Hyde laugh, which was the point. He closes his eyes like he’s savoring some idea in his head of what working order might look like.
“What do you think she’ll be like?” I ask him, hoping to bring him back from the brink. If the poor girl gets here after he’s gone dark, me and Rock will have a whole lot of work on our hands keeping her safe.
“Dark hair,” he says. His fingers twitch like he’s imagining running them through silky strands.
“Yeah? You think she’ll be dark?” Rock sounds hopeful about that, too. Funny that I didn’t know them well enough on the outside to have a picture of their ideal woman. If they have a type, I’m only learning about it now.
“What else?” I ask.
“Pretty,” Hyde says. “With a nice juicy ass.”
“Yeah.” Rock’s tone has gone from hopeful to lustful.
The mention of a juicy ass thickens my cock enough that I adjust it beneath the orange pants I’m forced to wear. Fucking orange. My worst color.
“What else?”
Hyde rubs his jaw. The tattoo of a scorpion that curls from his cheek to his temple shifts. “Soft hair on her pussy.”
I expected him to go to her eyes next, so I snort with surprise. “You want her natural?”
“Fuck yeah,” he says. “Gonna press my face into all that softness.”
See, that’s what people don’t get about the men in here. They’re not just hard up for the release of sex. They’re missing all the little things between a man and a woman, the small differences, the parts most men take for granted, but given the chance, we’d savor like peach pie.
“Dark eyes,” Rock says. “The kind you could lose yourself in.”