I reach down and gently move her panties so that none of my cum is lost. She’s still coated in me and I want it to stay that way. Once her panties are in place, I gently pat her there, as if to say “good job”. I step back and put my still rock-hard cock back in my jeans. Immediately, she spins around and glares at me, but before she can speak I softly grab her by the jaw and look directly into her eyes.
“We’re going inside to say goodbye to your friend. You’re going to get your shit, and then we’re out of here.”
I know I’m being harsh but I’ve been away from her for too long and I need to be alone with her as quickly as possible. I’m trying to rein myself in, but the hard edge of prison can’t be blunted so easily.
“But,” she starts to say but I interrupt. “Now.”
I reach down and pull her dress back in place. I think about making her wear my leather jacket because I hate the idea of her walking around in that dress. It looks like it was made just to fucking piss me off, but I know if I take my jacket off, my gun will be visible.
I lean down and give her a quick kiss on the nose, and she looks at me with a mix of anger and shock. I turn her towards the door and lay a loud smack on her ass. She lets out a loud yelp and glares over her shoulder at me.
“Move it, Cherry.”
LAYLA
Carter’s here. Not only that, I just begged him to fuck me.
In my fantasies I always beg him. In fact, the more I grew to hate him over the years because of his rejection, the rougher my fantasies became. It was like my mind, body and heart were always at war. To reconcile myself with these thoughts, I would just think about him taking what he wanted. I could fight him and act like I didn’t want him, but I did. I think it’s part of what I’ve always wanted, why I was drawn to him to begin with. He has this dark edge that I seem to crave. I want him to take it out on my body, because only I can soothe it. I want to take away his darkness and give him some of my light.
What the hell is wrong with me? It took my intoxicated mind a beat to realize it was him. At first I thought I was seeing things, but there was no way what just happened wasn’t real. I can still feel his warm cum sliding down my thighs. I thought he was big the last time I saw him, now he looks like a freaking mountain. A terrifying, treacherous mountain.
My mind is racing with a thousand questions, but my body is dying for another release. God, as shameful as it is to think it, I just wish he would have taken me out there—turned me around, put his hand over my mouth and just drove in. I came for him with just a little touch, even though I was fighting it. Now he knows what I really like and that terrifies me. He might just take what he wants from me, and as much as it scares me, a voice in the back of my head wants it too.
I have to remind myself that the last time I saw Carter he wanted nothing to do with me so maybe this is part of his game. I still can’t remember what happened that night eight years ago, but one thing I know for sure is that Carter went away for manslaughter. He had killed one of my dad’s lackeys. Maybe he blames me and he’s here for revenge. Men like Carter don’t leave anything unfinished. If they think they’re owed their pound of flesh, they’re going to collect. Over the years Carter worked for my father, I could see this dark edge and the fear he instilled in people. He wasn’t a man to be messed with. I often wondered if my father kept him around because of how good he was at his job or because he feared getting on the wrong side of him.
Carter never looked at me before like he did tonight. His eyes would always go soft when he looked at me, but I haven’t gotten those eyes in a long time.
Pulling my dress down farther and hoping I’m covering up as much of my cum-soaked thighs as possible, I look for a way out. I need to get away for a minute and process what’s happening. Why is Carter here and what does he want from me? Did my father send him? Whenever I think of my father, a jolt of fear shoots through me and I’m not even sure why.
At that thought, I stumble.
Grabbing my waist, Carter pulls me to his chest to straighten me before I fall. “You and those fucking shoes, Cherry,” he murmurs in my ear.
I spin around and poke him in the chest. Damn, he’s huge. Even in my heels I only come up to his pecs. So much for never having to look up to a man again. “What’s wrong with my shoes?” I snap. Seriously? I’m fighting with him about my shoes? “And stop calling me Cherry!” I finish. Oh my God, I’m losing my mind. I need to focus. I need to get the hell out of here.
Carter gives me a half smile, like my yelling at him is adorable or something. Glaring at him, I lift my “fucking shoe” and stomp it into his foot. Leaning his head back, he lets out a laugh that reminds me of when I was younger and I would try to get his attention. For a moment I’m lost in the Carter that I fell in love with when I was sixteen. I didn’t care that he was ten years older than me. I used to love trying to find ways to make him laugh. I never saw him give that laugh to others, but I could get it. I thought that one day I would make him fall in love with me. That dream died when I went to the prison to see him, and he acted like I was nothing.