Dmitri
Jail has a way of grinding you down if you let it. Seven years, and I could have gone hollow, lost to the gray walls and the endless echo of concrete. But I didn’t. I didn’t just survive—I ran the place. And I did it with precision, a firm hand and deliberate moves, making money for my family in here while everybody else handled outside business. Through it all, I never stopped thinking about her. Natasha. The girl I left behind seven years ago to keep my brother out of here. My sentence was ten years, but it seems as if my “good behavior” will get me out much sooner.
Georgi, my cell mate, calls herself my protector, my angel in prison. Pronouns her/she, but I knew she had a dick just like the rest of us in here. I don’t care what she calls herself—she keeps me alive in ways that matter. She cleans my cell like it’s a palace. And it is compared to other cells. Mine is the size of four of them put together, and Georgi gets the privilege of sharing it with me as long as she’s useful. She inspects every plate of foodlike it might be poisoned. She even has someone on the outside keeping tabs on Natasha. The thought that someone’s watching her, making sure she’s safe, makes me almost soft in a place where softness gets you killed. I didn’t know what my brother was up to on the outside, and I didn’t want Natasha hurt or involved in his foolishness. From what I understood, he wasn’t upholding my father’s legacy the way he should.
“Dmitri,” Georgi said, sweeping the floor like she always does, “the warden’s coming to see you. You know what she’s wearing today?”
I leaned back against the cot, eyes narrowing. “What?”
Her smirk was sharp. “You’ll see. I picked out a new wig. Long. Dark brown. Curled just like your little obsession.”
I let the word hang there, heavy as a promise. My hands itched to touch a woman whom I hadn't seen in seven years. I still burned for the memory of that last time I saw her. The one who laughed at my seriousness and kissed me, anyway. But this... this was practice. This was survival. This was my mind keeping sharp while my body was caged. I needed an outlet, and the warden was exactly that.
When the warden arrived, Georgi nodded toward her, whispering, “Do the honors.”
She stepped inside, carrying herself like she owned every inch of the gray cell block. She wore the wig. Dark brown, soft curls framing her face. She looked even more like Natasha. Not perfectly. No one ever could be. But enough to make my chest tighten, my heart betrayed me in ways I had long forbidden. Instantly, my dick got hard. She definitely passed as the next best thing. She was even dressed casually the way Natasha did. It was both comfortable and sexy. Unbothered about the rules of beauty and the way a woman should look. Pretty. No, this was more sensual because I knew what was underneath. Not because she showed me anything definitive.
“Dmitri,” she said, voice clipped, professional, but I caught the little curve of a smile. “Time’s almost up for you.”
I rose, slow, deliberate. “Almost?”
“Yes. You’re due out a week before him, I mean her.” Nodding toward Georgi.
I let the words sink, calculating. A week. That wouldn’t do. It left Georgi too vulnerable here. Without me, she’d become prey for some bigshot trying to show that they were hard enough to take my spot. She'd become a victim, and I couldn't have her hurt or even dead because of seven fucking days. No fucking way.
“I want you to change that.” I stepped closer, letting the intensity of my presence fill the small space. “I’m getting out the same day she is. I want you to promise me.”
The warden’s smile faltered under my gaze, but Georgi’s hand brushed against my arm. A silent cue, a reassurance. Georgi trusts me, and I trust her.
“You don’t have to do that.” Georgi said. “Our sparring every day has allowed me to take care of myself here. I can survive a week, Daddy.”
Daddy was a term of endearment that kept the other fuckers around here off her ass. She was mine, and that meant she wouldn’t be touched. Though we’d never done anything sexually, the ruse kept her protected. She saved my ass one night when I first got here by whistling, a bold inmate and his crew decided to try to kill me.
Plus, she watched out for Natasha on the outside, which meant she was loyal in a way that I couldn’t pay people to be. I could stay in this hellhole another week to make sure she didn’t end up becoming somebody’s bitch, or worse–dead. It was tough enough being a straight man in here. But Georgi was gay and more feminine than most women I knew. I mean it was to be expected when you went by “she”. She was asking for troublein this piece of shit place. No, she could go before me but not fucking after.
“I’ll see what I can do,” the warden said, though I could see the hesitation.
“I’ll see you do it,” I corrected, voice low, hard. “And Georgi,” I added, catching her eye, “you did a good job on the wig. It looks just the way it should be worn. You never let me down.”
She grinned, eyes sparkling. “Oh, I won’t. You’ll have your treat just the way you like it, Daddy. Every curl, every scent, every little thing.” Georgi primped Maria before turning toward me for approval.
I allowed myself a small, dark smile. Georgi knows that’s all I need. That reminder. That tiny, perfect piece made me risk everything seven years ago and made me promise myself I’d claim Natasha when I got out. I needed to remember that hurting somebody in here would prolong my sentence–break my promise to a girl who would become my wife. My fiancée. The woman I’d marry when I was back home. Because I will. I’ve waited long enough. It was my reward for spending part of my life in a fucking box.
Maria was simply a vessel I used to get off because Natasha wasn't an option. She fulfilled my dirty ass fantasies, and all I had to do was break her off something good. Dick her down so good that it made her cry each time she left because she couldn't get enough. I’d been honest with her, so she knew what was up. My woman and soon to be wife was waiting for me. So after I was out, this shit was over.
Georgi leaned toward Maria. “Don’t mess this up,” she whispered, then was gone.
Maria moved closer, eyes locked on mine with that confident, predatory smile, but I didn’t return the same enthusiasm that she had. My gaze stayed low, trained deliberately anywhere but her face. I wanted to see Natasha and only Natasha when I wasdeep inside her. Her body was a damn good distraction. If I focused on that, I wouldn’t lose my hard on for the woman that I actually wanted.
“Look at me, please,” Maria whispered, trying to coax me.
I shook my head. “Not… now.”
I knew her smile faltered because she was desperate for me to see her for who she was. No, thank you. That’s not what we were here for. Then, almost reluctantly, she turned her back to me. I could see the curve of her body, the sway of her hips, but her face was obscured… erased. I let my hands roam, let my body respond, but every movement, every thrust, every groan would be fueled by the image of Natasha, not her.
I imagined Natasha standing exactly like this. Her hair cascading down her back. Her body moving with the curves I knew. Her soft skin under my hands. Every inch of her is memorized in my mind. Maria’s form was just a placeholder, a mirror I forced into service for my obsession.
I didn’t let her see any acknowledgment, any pleasure, any eye contact. She became a tool. A vessel. A reminder. My mind roamed back to Natasha, over the kiss, the ring I’d given her, the laugh, the stubborn fire brewing in her chocolate eyes. That fire that I would claim soon.
