If we’d been caught, it would have been the end.
But no one ever found out.
My screams went unheard.
The delighted pants and muffled gasps rang loudly, and yet no one came.
And then afterwards, there was the talk. Sure, maybe we were in a cramped, dark space, my body still impaled on his, sweet spot leaking our combined juices. But he invariably finds a way to ask me about my week, and how I’ve been.
It’s amazing.
He cares about me.
How I feel. What my take is on different subjects.
And breathlessly, we catch up. We share our secrets. How he ended up in jail. How I became a journalist.
My heart is merging with his, our souls becoming one.
Is that possible? I didn’t think so until I met Mr. Evercore.
But I feel out. Our roots are growing deep, twining around one another until we’re inextricably locked together.
I’m dying for him. Yearning for him. Begging to be with him.
My body soft, my heart melting.
And it’s crazy because as I rode the bus to the prison on our appointed day, all I could think about was what we’d talk about. Sharing our experiences from the past week. Confiding in one another. He’s my best friend now. My one and only, and I couldn’t wait.
My heart pounded, face flushed and excited as the bus rolled into the San Nemo complex. Only a few more minutes and I’d be in Mason Evercore’s arms, those powerful muscles pulling me close to rest against his hard chest.
Technically, we were supposed to be working on our article, but that was for later. If I had to guess, we would start off with some flirting and by the fifteen-minute mark, he would have me moaning his name.
It never failed.
I couldn’t wait, everything going hot and excited at once.
Finally, the vehicle came to a halt and I scrabbled to gather my things, stepping off the bus breathlessly. My heart pounded, eager to see Mason again.
But a couple of my colleagues were hanging out by the door, smoking and chatting before our session started.
One of them was Mark, wiry and thin, a sneer on his unshaven face.
Oh no. Just my luck.
I tried to slip past them sight unseen, but it was impossible. One, because there was nowhere to hide. Two, when you’ve got generous curves and a bright red dress, it’s doubly difficult to go incognito.
“Laney!” Mark called out, waving his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Going inside…?” I tilted my head in confusion.
“You’re early. Why would you want to go in that place any sooner than you need to?”
The other journalists agreed.
“Jail smells like piss.”
“The inmates stink even worse.”
“My mentee is a goddamn idiot,” swore one guy Ralph. “That nincompoop doesn’t even know the alphabet which is pretty fucking pathetic if you ask me.”
Everyone laughed at the expense of the prisoners, which only made my blood boil. I ground my teeth, holding my tongue, trying to stop myself from saying something I’d regret – or worse, something that would get me kicked out of the volunteer group.
Because journalism is a cutthroat business. If your colleagues didn’t like you, then you’re shit out of luck. And as a newbie, it’d do no good to make enemies. It was too early in my career to go about shooting myself in the foot.
“Laney’s just lucky. She got the hot one,” Penelope, the office flirt, whined.
“What?” I asked playfully, trying to act like there was nothing wrong. “No, you’re dreaming,” was my careless laugh.
But I didn’t want to be around the group anymore. Sometimes, law-abiding citizens are more toxic than the ones in jail with the way they spoke of other people. So with a quick smile, I strode into the cell complex like nothing was wrong.
“See you inside,” was my merry chirp.
But my mind simmered because my co-workers were all fakes. People who professed to read the Bible, but didn’t live a godly life. In reality, none of them cared one whit about the inmates. They were volunteering because it got them out of work for a few hours every week.
My blood boiled hotter as I walked into the library. They didn’t know Mason. How intelligent and perceptive he was. They didn’t know his story, how he’d been framed for insider trading. My blasted co-workers assumed the worst, snidely talking about their mentees when they should have been lifting them up, bringing their best selves to San Nemo.
I guess it’s just human.
And sometimes I hate being human.
My blood boiled some more, angry tears coming to my eyes. But the moment I set foot in the library, things got better.
Because Mason was already sitting in the big wingback chair, bright blue eyes catching mine. His serious expression softened when he saw me.
In an instant, that big body was up, crossing the room to meet me. As soon as his hands rested on my arms, I wanted to rest my head on his chest, melt into his embrace and let the fears of the world drift away.