“The fuck are you doing?”
By way of answering me, he removes it swiftly, creating a powerfulcrackthat echoes through the room. I take an uneven breath, ignoring the precum sliding down my hard cock.
Silently he picks up the metal chair and sets it behind me. I turn to mouth off some more, but he leans close, his lips nearly brushing my earlobe.
“Sit. Down.”
He pairs this with a press of his thumb right behind my knee, causing my leg to buckle. My ass lands in the perfectly placed chair, and before I can mount a defense, he’s lashed his belt over my thighs, strapping me to the seat. His eyes pause on the tent in my prison-issue jumpsuit, but he stands without comment.
“You can’t do this.”
He smooths down his shirt and adjusts his jacket, rounding the table to sit across from me once more.
“You can’t do this,” I repeat helplessly as my cock throbs.
“Mr. Rivera, I believe in you. We can utilize the rest of your sentence to prepare you for the outside world. My instruction is purely for your betterment. Surely, compliance is not that heavy a burden.”
I snap my mouth shut, unsure how to process the leather across my thighs and the words:I believe in you.
“Mm. Better,” he says, examining me. His brow wrinkles as he leans over the table and taps under my chin. “Sit up. Straighten your shoulders.”
I comply without a thought, then curse. He raises a brow, and I suck in my lips. While my chest rises and falls rapidly with my efforts, he sits across from me, breathing easy. The only evidence of a struggle is the single bead of sweat tracking down his temple.
My cock brushes against the table apron, sending a shiver across my hips. Holding his eyes, I carefully shift my hips, letting my cockhead drag back and forth across the narrow bit of underhang.
Tapping his lips, he rises like some sort of mythical creature, sending adrenaline racing through my veins. Circling behind me again, he grips the chair on either side of my hips, pulling me back just far enough that I can no longer rub off against the table. This puts a slight stretch on my cuffed arms, and he corrects my posture by placing his hand at the very top of my chest, almost at the base of my throat.
“Mm. Perfect,” he says in his rumbling, commanding voice.
I inhale sharply and focus on the warm leather across my thighs as he retakes his seat.
“Eyes up.”
Mine snap to his and, unless I’m mistaken, there’s a pleased twinkle in his eyes. Motherfucker is enjoying this.
God help me, so am I.
“Now, talk to me about what you want to do when you get out and what plans you have to accomplish those goals.”
Unable to stop myself, I tell him everything.
2
BRAM
Why did I go out to the truck? Nacho didn’t need my warning. Hell, he’s been avoiding me for months now, ever since we ran into each other at the grand opening.
You know why you went out there.
Yes, I do. I had to put eyes on him, make sure he’s taking care of himself.
“Brother, what’s going on?” Levy asks, nudging me. “Dude, you dropped, like, half a shell in the eggs.”
My heart is still racing from the feel of his thick, black hair between my fingers and how quickly he sank back into his role, breathless as he said my name. My proper name.
Dr. Barlowe.
Nacho is very much his own man, but when we slip into this dynamic…Ignaciois all mine.
