Fuck me.
“Tell me you don’t think about it. Howintense it would be.” My lips graze her ear, and she whimpers. “Years and years of buildup released in a few short hours.”
“Hours . . .” she whispers.
“Yeah, princess. You think I’d have you once, and you’d be done? No way. It wouldn’t be enough. I’d fuck you raw. I’d fuck you until you’re begging me to stop. I’d fuck you all night long if you wanted me to. I’d make you beg me, and then when I decide that you’ve begged enough, I’ll make you come over and over until you can’t take anymore.”
I palm her tit over her top. Christ, I want to rip it open so the buttons go flying. I want to suck on her nipples until they’re hard and pointed.
“You want that, princess?” I whisper, grazing my teeth along the shell of her ear.
She breathes in deeply, her shoulders pushing back. She grabs the handle of the front door and opens it, twisting her head to look over her shoulder.
“Thanks for the good night's sleep, Jonesy. But you can’t give me what I need.”
She steps out into the cold night, and the door slams shut.
Chapter Twelve
Katie
The bastard was right.
I can’t sleep. It’s 2 a.m., and I’m lying staring at my half-painted ceiling, wondering why I hadn’t taken him up on his offer because even if I couldn’t sleep after, a solid pounding would go down a treat right now. Even if I can’t tell him what I really want. Something would be better than nothing, right? And yet, I can’t even muster up the energy to get myself off tonight, even with the memory of his monster dick pressed up against my ass. Jesus, the way he spoke to me. The things he wants to do. I thought he might rip my clothes right there in Lottie’s hallway. The scene of his dark eyes boring into mine, whilst his voice seemed to lower an octave, has been playing on repeat for the last four nights. Starting the second I got home from dinner club.
It’s Wednesday, technically Thursday now, and I’ve only seen Jonesy in passing since Saturday night. The police have been processingmore evidence whilst we’ve been sidelined until we have another meeting with Connor Maddox. This time, at the high-security prison, Hodgkins River. It sounds like a summer camp, but there are some seriously scary people behind those walls. Including Thomas Vale. I interviewed him a lot at Hodgkins.
Maybe this is why I can’t sleep. The thought of seeing him again, although unlikely, frightens me. He’s still writing me letters, and now there’s the appeal, in which I have been called as a witness. I can prepare for that. But I can’t prepare to see him randomly whilst I’m supposed to be interviewing for another case.
I roll over, pushing the thought of Thomas Vale out of my mind by substituting him with Jonesy. I picture him here with me, his breath against my neck. I liked how his body could engulf mine. I felt so protected around him, like no one could hurt me. I want to say that’s why I sleep better when he’s around, but I don’t think that’s it. I think I just relax enough because I’m myself around him. Even if that’s my worst self.
I close my eyes as I curl my knees into my chest, imagining him tucked up against me. Finally, the shadows take me, and I’m running again.
???
I march through the metal detector, handing over my phone and purse to the prison officer named Smith. He gives me a stern nod of acknowledgment, letting me through to the waiting room whilst Jonesy gets patted down. The prison is typical of most prisons in America. The peeling gray walls scream monotony and federal budget cuts as the buzz of doors unlocking preludes the clanging of metal on metal.
Jonesy has his professional face on. Stern, unyielding, and alert. As if a prisoner may jump out of their cell and take us hostage if he drops his guard for a second. Prison, ironically, is probably safer than us being out on the street, where something is far more likely to interrupt our day. You have to be aware of your surroundings during these visits, but unlike the movies suggest, prison is mostly monotonous and dull.
We’re escorted to the interview room where prisoners meet with their lawyers. The space is open and allows prisoners to sit unchained as if they were conducting a business meeting. We’re not allowed to touch, and if they so much as stand from their seats for any reason, a guard will come in, and they will be punished in accordance with their transgression. In a place like Hodgkin's River, acting even remotely aggressively will land you in solitary confinement for an indefinite period of time. Even though Maddox only moved here a few days ago, I’m hopinghe’s learned the rules by now.
“Has he had any visitors?” I ask the guard on duty as we take our seats in the interview room. His uniform is pressed perfectly, almost rivaling the creases Jonesy has in his. Light catches on his name tag,Traynor,as he checks his watch. He lifts his head, and I note that the dark gray of his skin matches the walls of the prison. The sun doesn’t shine down on the inmates or, apparently, the guards of Hodgkins.
“Two. A woman about his age, she cried a lot.”
“Who was the other?” I ask, pulling out my notepad and pen.
“Not sure, you’d have to have your detective buddy check the log. He was a soldier, though.”
“Do you know how old he was?”
He thinks for a moment, his lips flattening into a straight line. “Late thirties, I’d guess. Dark blond hair, had dog tags around his neck; otherwise, I wouldn’t have known he was military. He was different.”
“Different how?”
Before he can answer, we’re interrupted.
“Inmate incoming!” another guard’s voice rings out, and Traynor opens the door to let him in.
