Page 40 of Blood We Steal

Kane laughed, though there was no humor in the sound. “Mr. Marku, I don’t know if any of us are gonna survive this.”

EIGHTEEN

Rubin

After another long day of waiting to die, night came and the men headed toward the pods, ready to bed down. Before, a single cell had been a blessing. Now the men slept two and three to a cell, and none of them slept comfortably. The air conditioning had quit hours ago, naturally, perhaps, or due to interference from Merrick and his men. Either way, the air on the block had gone thick and stale, and without the constant hum, I could hear the creak of pipes, the unending sound of something above.

Something that would come down eventually.

Simone walked past me, a thin yellow foam mat rolled under her arm.

“Where are you going?”

She stopped and looked back at me like the question was stupid.

“To Aaron’s cell to sleep,” she said slowly like it was obvious.

“No,” I said.

She turned, her face questioning. “No?”

“You don’t sleep here,” I said.

She furrowed her brows. “Why not?”

She should have left it, but not Simone, who I’d given more leeway than anyone ever. Leeway she seemed intent on exploiting.

I grabbed her chin and tilted her head up.

“Because, Simone, you do what the fuck I say.”

Anger exploded behind her eyes, bright and true. Was extinguished just as quickly.

Regret lay heavy in my chest. I wanted the fight, wanted to pretend this was about discipline.

Simone didn’t give it to me.

She let out a breath and settled into herself, shoulders down, eyes lowered. A good imitation of fear and submission. As fake as that fucking chain her precious Aaron wore.

“Fine,” she said, low and soft. “Where do you want me.”

My cock was hard before she finished the sentence, and I had her by the wrist, her pulse slamming against my thumb, in the next instant.

Then I was walking her backward off the tier toward the warden’s office. The foam pad dropped somewhere behind us. I didn’t look back for it.

I pushed her inside and kicked the office door shut and turned her by the wrist and put her back against it.

She had handwashed her shirt and hung it dry, so it was stiff to the touch. I didn’t give a fuck as I shoved the cheap polyester-cotton blend off her shoulders and looked down.

There they were, tits I’d glimpsed exactly once, the memory of them taunting me all day.

They lay against her chest heavy and dark, her nipples beaded under the white satin of her bra, tight and straining toward me before I even touched her. I sucked one in my mouth, satin and all, and she gasped and arched off the door.

I pinned her flat with a forearm across her chest and then worked her. Tongue, then teeth, gentle swipes before I bit down until she hissed, then soothed the sting with more gentle swipes.

Hopefully it would confuse her as much as she confused me. I pulled back enough to pull off her bra. I filled my hands with her, her tits flowing and abundant and so fucking beautiful, I wanted to spend weeks learning every millimeter of them.

I squeezed, rolled, and pinched until her breath broke and nipped at her skin, leaving marks I would smile at tomorrow.