Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Then I uncovered a secret cache of videos and a staggering truth: my uncle had been filming me in our home for years. I should’ve felt violated. I should’ve run. Instead, I begged him to join me in front of the cameras.
Now we’re each other’s secret. But the secrets don’t end with us.
Another man has been watching my every move.
A man who misses me very much.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
GRAHAM
The prison guard’s boots squeaked against the tile floor. I flipped a page in the outdated magazine I was looking at and listened for the jingling of his keys. This guy was one of the newer guards who I mentally referred to as Cowboy. I could easily pick out his hurried gait among the seasoned trudgers with their don’t-give-a-shit attitudes. Cowboy still had something to prove.
My cellmate stirred in the bunk above me, grumbling in his sleep. I scanned an article about a Hollywood couple’s split that had supposedly devastated fans months ago. It was hard to get a recent magazine around here and I didn’t give two shits about celebrities, but it was something to look at while I waited for the guard to fetch me. A moment later, Cowboy stopped outside of my cell, keys in hand.
“Your lawyer’s here,” he said in a Texas drawl that’d earned him the nickname I’d privately given him.
Tossing the magazine aside, I rose from my seat on the bottom bunk bed. I’d been anticipating this meeting all day, my cock half-hard despite my best attempts to keep myself under control. The last thing I wanted was to give anyone the slightest hint as to what would be happening in the room where my lawyer was waiting for me.
Cowboy insisted on doing things by the book, fastening the handcuffs to my wrists through the cell bars before opening the door to let me out. He led me down the hall toward a private conference room, the same room where I met my lawyer every month to supposedly discuss my appeal. Most of the other inmates avoided my gaze as we made our way down the block. I couldn’t resist smirking.
At just shy of six feet, I wasn’t the biggest guy in here; far from it, really. My lean-and-mean physique resisted bulk despite daily workouts. I wasn’t what you’d call a shot caller—a high-ranking prisoner who practically ran things. I gladly left all that messy shit to the gang leaders and lifers. Making friends wasn’t a priority, and I had no intention of joining a group made up of the kind of lowlifes that I was stuck here with.
But friends equaled protection on this side of the barbed wire. I had to find other ways to craft a ruthless reputation for myself, one that would encourage others not to fuck with me. It wasn’t easy, but over the last four years, I’d managed to do it. I picked and won fights with the right people to leave an impression. Everyone knew that I wasn’t afraid to do time in solitary.
The conference room where inmates met privately with their lawyers was as plain as could be. White-painted brick walls and metal chairs that weren’t built for comfort. Even the harsh fluorescent lighting overhead was irritating, and I was willing to bet the guards kept it cold in here on purpose.
I didn’t care about any of that.
The lawyer who my brother had hired to represent me was waiting in a chair and looking bored as ever. We both knew there wasn’t going to be much of a meeting between us. As soon as Cowboy uncuffed me and left the room, my lawyer slid a smartphone out of his pocket, along with a pair of earbuds, and placed both on the table between us.
I grabbed the phone and sat down without saying a word. After lodging the earbuds into my ears, I unlocked the phone using a PIN that only my brother and I knew. The video files he put onto this phone were meant for my eyes only; not even my lawyer was allowed to see them, and my brother had certainly paid him enough not to mind the secrecy.
Leaning back in my chair, I opened the first video and watched as a beautiful young woman came into view. The footage had been filmed using a high-end security camera, expertly hidden at eye level somewhere in my brother’s modern kitchen. The young woman stood at the fridge in her pajamas, her dark-brown hair a tousled cloak around her shoulders. She pulled out eggs and butter, then cracked two eggs into a bowl and beat them with a fork. My gaze lingered on her breasts as they swayed with her movements, barely restrained by her cropped tank top. She was perfectly curvy, her body lush and yielding in all the places I was lean and hard. It had been years since I’d wrapped my arms around something soft. Everything in prison, from the beds to the people, was designed to withstand a beating. My focus dipped to her lower body as she made her way over to the stove, noting how deliciously her thighs filled out her pajama pants.
The video ended and I queued up another, my pulse jumping at the sight of the same young woman seated at a desk in her bedroom, undoubtedly doing her homework. The bedspread and décor were awash in bright, girly shades and patterns, from the purple comforter on her bed to the crisp, white dresser, and the lavender curtains that matched the rug beneath her desk. She’d always loved pastel colors, and it comforted me to know that some things hadn’t changed, even though she was nineteen years old now. I studied her gorgeous face, her full lips pressed tightly together in concentration. She had her hair pulled back, exposing the vulnerable skin of her neck. I sighed as she bit her bottom lip in response to whatever she was reading, wishing I could nibble on it myself, as well as other parts of her supple body.