“Fuck,” he grumbled.
I backed up until Sin’s body was pressed to mine.
And that was when I felt it.
His hard cock. Pressed against my backside.
• • •
“Another fight in the yard,” I heard someone grumble. “Want to guess who is responsible again?”
“Drummond,” the doctor said as he tied the last stitch into Sin’s hand and then stood up with a stretch. “Of fucking course.”
“You think you can handle this, Mackenzie?” the nurse and the doctor asked at once.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course, I can handle this. Go. Before that dumbass bleeds out in the yard.”
Both men left before the words had fully left my mouth.
“That was a mistake.”
I turned to see Sin now standing, his body tense.
The thin orange pants he was wearing did very, very little to hide the erection straining the seams.
I’d always, always, wanted to see past them. To see what lay underneath that ugly orange fabric.
At this point, I couldn’t see anything freakin’ orange without thinking about his cock.
And hell, it didn’t even have to be hard for it to get my attention.
Like today, for example.
He’d been running in the yard, and he was wearing prison-issued boxers underneath those ugly orange pants. And with each powerful stride he took, the fabric would bunch just well enough over his cock that I could see the outline of his penis head.
“Yeah?” I asked, feeling myself move closer.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Don’t come any closer to me.”
I moved closer.
I couldn’t stop myself.
“Or what?” I asked breathlessly.
It’d been a very long time since he’d gotten here. Not long as in years, but long as in, he’d been slowly killing me.
You know that song “Killing Me Softly” by Fugees? I didn’t exactly know if the song itself meant what I felt when I heard it and thought of what Sin did to me. But in my mind, that song represented everything that I couldn’t have.
It’d all begun when he was a drill instructor and I was a lowly recruit.
Then it’d morphed into something more after he’d done what he’d done to wind up in prison. All for me.
Stolen glances.
Rare touches.
Those things were what I lived for since he’d gotten inside.
And I knew that nobody understood my deep-seated need to stay with the man—stay close—but it made sense to me.
Because it led me to this moment in time.
Me so fucking close to the man that I could walk right up and touch him if I wanted to. If he’d let me.
“You know,” I said softly as I moved around the room. “Your name really is fitting.”
He grinned and looked away, his body so tense that his veins were pulsing along the surface of his skin.
I reached for the wrap that the nurse had been about to put around Sin’s hand before she left and walked up to him slowly.
He tensed, not in fear, but in anticipation.
How did I know it was anticipation?
Because his cock was still hard, pulsing now, and the closer I moved to him, the more the veins in his neck popped out, and the tighter his fist clenched.
“Sit down,” I urged. “I can’t reach you all the way over there.”
Sin tensed but moved until he was sitting once again.
His cock, yet again, was straining his pants, but neither one of us paid it any mind as he slowly got himself situated on the gurney in front of me.
“You’re gonna have to be careful with this hand for a while,” I found myself saying.
He grunted out a ‘yeah’ but didn’t say much more as he watched me come toward him.
The moment that my hand brushed his, a hiss left his throat, and our eyes met.
Keeping my eyes on his, I blindly wrapped the wrap around the palm of his hand.
Likely, it resembled a three-year-old’s attempt at doctoring her ‘baby.’
Whatever.
Sin’s eyes held me captive, and I couldn’t look away even if I tried.
The moment that the sticky fabric reached its end, I pressed down lightly and dropped my hands to my sides.
Only, when I did, the tips of two fingers brushed against the hard length of him.
We both froze.
Him because I’d just touched his cock, and me because, oh my God. I’d just touched his cock.
One second, he was staring into my eyes, and the next I found myself up against him, pulled in tight, with his mouth on mine.
Our kiss was… savage.
There was no other word for it.
There were years of pent-up feelings—rage, need, desire, desperation—in that kiss.
But one thing I knew for sure.
After this kiss, I would never be the same.
His mouth tasted like copper. Blood. Whether it was the fist to the face he’d taken—I hadn’t seen it happen, but I could see the evidence of the swelling and slight bruising around his mouth—or the fact that I’d cut him with my teeth in my exuberance, I didn’t know.
What I did know was that there was such a firestorm going on in my blood that I was finding it hard to breathe, let alone think.