I can’t hold back anymore. My orgasm crashes through me, hips jerking, cock pulsing as I empty inside her, filling her deep, every nerve ending on fire.
We collapse together, sweaty and tangled, her breath warm on my chest, my heart pounding so loud it’s all I hear for a moment.
She kisses me, slow and sweet this time, her body soft and heavy on mine. I brush her hair back, fingers gentle now.
“Worth a tetanus shot,” I murmur, and she laughs, shaky and breathless.
We’re still tangled up, bodies sticky with sweat, her hips flush against mine. She’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling under my palm, but my mind’s already racing. The question tumbles out before I can stop it.
“What happened with Levi? In the library?” My voice is rough, not as casual as I want it to sound.
She blinks, surprised, then laughs—a breathless, almost disbelieving sound. “Are you serious? Right now?”
I hesitate, regret already burning in my gut. “I just…I need to know what’s going on here, Carrie. With you, with him. With all of us.”
She pulls back, her expression sharp now, some of the tenderness gone. “You’re in prison, Nico. You really think this—me, you, Levi, Jace—should be the top thing on your mind?”
I try to grab her waist, but she slides off me, frustration simmering. The loss of her heat is immediate, and I curse myself for ruining the moment.
She grabs her panties, dragging them up, her hands shaking a little. “You want to know what’s going on? You all want to claim me, but nobody’s figured out I’m not some fucking prize to be passed around. You should worry about getting out of here, Nico. Not who I’ve been with.”
Her words sting, but she’s right. I sit up, wiping a hand over my face, trying to collect my thoughts.
“Carrie, that’s not what I meant?—”
She shakes her head, already fixing her clothes, jaw tight. “It’s exactly what you meant. Maybe next time you should think before you open your mouth.”
She grabs her cardigan and heads for the door, her back stiff, shoulders squared.
I watch her go, a hundred apologies tangled in my throat, none of them enough. The warmth between us fades into cold as the door clicks shut, and all I’m left with is the ache of missing her and the bitter taste of my own jealousy.
17
CARRIE
Idon’t make it far before my legs start to shake. Guilt and confusion stick to my skin, crawling all the way down to my bones. My pulse hammers behind my eyes. What the hell am I doing? With Levi in the library, with Nico now, one after the other. What kind of person does that? Was it even real, or just another desperate grasp for comfort in a place where comfort doesn’t exist?
I wrap my arms tight around myself as I rush down the hallway, not caring that my shoes squeak on the linoleum. The air is stale, thick with that chemical lemon-cleaner smell that never covers up the underlying sweat, fear, and institutional rot. The overhead lights are too bright, buzzing in a way that makes my skin crawl. Every door is heavy and metal, painted a beige that’s supposed to be calming, but all it does is remind me of old bones and things that don’t heal. My reflection flashes by in the small glass window of each office, my face pale, eyes too big.
I don’t see the nurse until it’s too late—she’s coming down the hallway, keys jangling, white shoes planted. She frowns, looking me up and down, suspicion sharpening every line of her face.
“Carrie? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, not meeting her gaze.
She looks behind me. “What were you doing in the infirmary?” she asks, her voice flat, unreadable.
For a heartbeat, my mind goes blank. I scramble to remember the layout, the rules, every possible excuse that doesn’t sound like a lie. “I—I had a headache,” I manage. “Just needed something for it. I thought maybe I could get some Tylenol.”
She raises her brows. “That’s interesting. I locked the door. Had a high-security prisoner inside. No one’s supposed to be in there without clearance.”
For a second, all I hear is the blood rushing in my ears. My mouth is dry, but I force myself to nod, to hold her gaze. “I know. The door was locked, so I left. I didn’t get in.”
Her stare lingers too long, like she’s weighing the truth in my words. I try to seem small, unthreatening, just another frazzled staffer in too-tight shoes.
Finally, she nods once, brisk and businesslike, and turns away to unlock the door and disappear inside. I wait until she’s gone before I let my shoulders sag. My hands are trembling. My breath comes out in little shudders. I want to curl up on the ugly tiled floor and let it all wash over me, but there’s nowhere safe in here. Not for me, not for the men, not for anyone.
I press a hand to my stomach. Guilt, longing, and self-disgust twist inside me, sharp as glass. What am I even doing? I’m supposed to be helping them, not falling apart, not losing myself in touches that don’t fix anything.
