The Virgin Next Door (Stud Ranch)

“I don’t.” Mack’s voice was sharp.

But over the next weeks and into the second month, Ben didn’t let up. He’d take any opportunity to touch Mack he could. He stayed right on Mack’s heels whenever they left the cell. Tried to give him half his food every day.

“Everyone already thinks you’re husbanding me,” Ben said one night, sitting on the edge of Mack’s bunk.

“Well I’m fucking not,” Mack bit out, not much passion behind it. He was tired. So goddamned tired of all of it.

“I wish you was,” Ben’s voice sounded wistful and Mack glared at him.

“Plenty folks go wolf when they’re inside. Don’t mean you’re gay or nothin’. Just that you got needs.” His voice dropped even quieter. “Everybody got needs. Even you. I hear you at night taking yourself in hand when you don’t think anyone else’s awake.”

“Get the fuck off my bed,” Mack said, shooting to his feet.

It was already lights out but he could see by the dim glow from beyond the cell when Ben dropped to his knees in front of him.

Mack shoved him so hard he toppled backwards, head cracking on the concrete.

Shit. He hadn’t meant to hurt Ben.

He stopped himself right before he could apologize. Maybe Ben would finally get the fucking message.

Still, Mack listened anxiously and only breathed out in relief when he heard Ben shuffling across the floor to his own bed.

He thought it would be done then. He’d made his position more than clear.

So when he jolted awake in the middle of the night to a hot mouth sucking his cock, Mack assumed he was still dreaming.

He pumped his hips back and forth because fuck, it was one good dream. Brianna had come and begged for forgiveness. She’d even bribed the prison officials in order to get a conjugal visit to show him just how sorry she was.

Mack reached a hand down toward his cock. And his hand landed on a head that wasn’t fucking Brianna’s.

As soon as he realized that, shit, he was awake, and double shit, Ben was giving him a blow job, he jerked his hips back. He had to grit his teeth against the pleasure firing down his spine when there was an audible pop as he came out of Ben’s mouth.

“Get the fuck off me,” Mack growled. He was about to reach down and shove him off when Ben said six words that had Mack freezing.

“You was Bone’s before I was.”

“Shut up,” Mack hissed. He grabbed Ben’s shoulders and took him to the floor in a headlock. “Don’t you ever fucking say that again.”

“It’s true though, ain’t it?” Ben gasped, hands going to Mack’s arm at his throat. “You was his for two years. I hear you shoutin’ in your sleep. You’re still there back in his cell. In your head. I know ‘cause I am too.” Ben’s voice got high and thin, like he was just holding back tears. “He tried to break ya but he can’t. You’re too strong to ever break.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Mack gripped Ben’s throat even tighter. Anything to shut the fucker up.

“I do,” Ben wheezed. “And more than anything I wanna help you.” Ben stopped struggling underneath him. “Help… us… both.”

Mack dropped him and moved away, backing into the wall.

Ben didn’t say anything else. The sound of him gasping, trying to get his air back, echoed around the cell.

“Fuck,” Mack whispered, kicking the wall. Which hurt like a bitch. Everything fucking hurt. All the fucking time.

Because goddammit, Ben was right. No matter how long he was free of Bone. Some part of him would always be locked in that cell with the sadistic motherfucker.

Two and a half years. Every night. No matter how big Mack got. No matter how hard he fought. Every night.

Till one day he stopped fighting. He’d barricade himself inside his head and let Bone do what he was going to do.

Two weeks after that, he was transferred to cell block D where the Pres and most of the Devil’s lived. At first he thought it was because he’d finally proved himself. Things had been heating up between the Devils and the Mexican Mafia. Mack took every opportunity to back the Devils, trying to show how useful he could be.

Then he saw the young guy shrinking and following at Bone’s heels. Ben. Poor bastard hadn’t even turned twenty yet. The large black eye and way he walked with a limp told Mack everything he needed to know.

Mack hadn’t gotten moved to D block because he’d proved he was worth something to the Devils. Bone had just gotten tired of him and replaced him.

Not two weeks after he’d stopped fighting back.

Mack had barely made it to the trashcan to puke up the entire contents of his stomach. He hadn’t known which was worse—knowing he could have gotten out from under Bone months, maybe even years earlier if only he hadn’t fought him every night. Or how fucking happy Mack was that it wasn’t him locked in a cell with the monster anymore. Even though the only reason Mack was free was because some other poor fuck had taken his place.