Finally, Ruger turns back around and I gasp at the large protrusion in his jumpsuit.
No, not large.
Enormous.
I stumble backward and Klay chuckles in my ear, his lap pressed tight to my bottom now, his thickness separating my cheeks. “Did I mention there’s a good reason he’s a virgin? There isn’t a woman brave enough to try him.” Shame dances across Ruger’s face and maybe I’m imagining things, but…Klay sounds regretful when he continues. “We can get it in if I make her wet for you first, mate.”
Ruger nods and moistens his lips, huffing an uneven breath when Klay’s fingers delve down the front of my panties, stopping just before the beginning of my folds. My nerve endings—every last one of them—clang like the bells of a church, shocking me. Am I…enjoying being touched by this inmate? This stranger? My nipples are stiff and I’m struggling not to circle my backside in his lap. Every time he breathes onto my neck, it’s like a wave of pleasure rolling down, down to my knees.
“Do it,” Ruger groans, stepping forward. He lifts a hand, hesitates, then drags a featherlight touch down the side of my face. “Soft.”
Klay’s middle finger parts the valley of my sex, dragging up and back slowly, his shuddering exhale bathing my neck. “If you think her face is soft, you should feel her cunt. Good God. It’s already wet and waxed for you, Ruger. Get your cock out.” Klay’s breath is coming in harsh pants now, his manhood straining against my bottom. “We don’t know how much time we’ll have before the guards break up this shit show outside. Don’t lose your chance.”
That statement causes a light to go on in my head.
Stall.
I need to stall.
There might be a way to walk out of here alive—and with my virginity.
If I can just drag this out until the guards get the prison back under control.
That’s definitely what I want to do. The fact that my sex is wet has to be an involuntary response to fear, right? I can’t possibly want these men to touch me. That would be…wrong. Unfortunately, there is something that feels so right about it. My trust issues have prevented me from dating or getting close to anyone in my twenty-one years. The fact that I don’t have to trust these men to experience the physical thrill of their touch…it’s a relief. It excites me.
But that’s crazy. I can’t just have sex in a prison cell.
Stall. Do it. Do the right thing.
Ruger seems to have a conscience. He must if he can feel shame.
I appeal to him with my eyes. “Please…I’m a virgin, too. You’ll hurt me.”
He takes his hand back from my face as if burned, his stormy eyes shooting to mine. “I’ll hurt you,” he repeats slowly. Then, “What were you thinking, coming into a place like this? If someone else had grabbed you first—”
“Let’s not think like that,” Klay says quickly, an edge of residual panic in his tone. Almost like…he cares about my safety. But doesn’t want me to know it.
Apparently I’ve found the two most complicated men housed in this penitentiary.
And oddly, perhaps dangerously, it makes me feel closer to them.
Makes me want to reveal secrets I’ve told no one.
No. No, I just want to personalize myself. That’s all.
Right?
“My father is a prisoner here. James O’Casey,” I whisper, drawing them both closer. They hold their breaths when I keep going. “He…he wasn’t good to me as a child.” To put it lightly. “When I finally got away at sixteen, he kept tracking me down, refusing to let me better myself. Stealing from me. Scaring off my friends. Once he even set my apartment on fire—while I was asleep.” I swallow hard. “He killed someone during an armed robbery and finally got sent away for good. I just needed to see him for myself. Behind bars. So I can stop being so scared.”
A beat passes.
Klay’s mouth skates slowly up the side of my neck. Ruger steps closer, slightly uncertain, before pressing his hard mouth to the center of my forehead. And it’s insane. It’s totally crazy, but I’ve never felt more safe or comforted or cherished in my life.
By two criminals. Strangers.
While a prison riot rages on the other side of the bars.
“You don’t have to be scared right now, Wendy,” Klay murmurs in my ear, his finger sawing wetly through the drenched folds of my sex. “You don’t have to be scared…of us.”
I tilt my head back to look Klay in the eye, finding his brow furrowed in that deeply thoughtful way. He looks as caught off-guard by this whole situation as I am. Shocked by how right the three of us feel, pressed tightly together, Klay at my back, Ruger at my front. The more fearsome of the two men breathes heavily into my hair, his lower body beginning to rock against my hip, his groans peppering the scant space between us.
“Her pussy is dripping for you, mate,” Klay pushes through his teeth.
Ruger makes a doubtful sound, but doesn’t stop pumping his hips against me. “No. It’s for you, Klay. Not me.”
“That’s not true,” I blurt, before I can stop myself. And there are my fingers, threading into his long, black hair, tugging him closer. As if my body is obeying some urges that my mind can’t comprehend. What is happening to me? “It’s for you, too,” I whisper against Ruger’s mouth when it reaches mine. “It’s for both of you.”
The air crackles with static, both men surging closer, sandwiching my tightly.
Making me whimper, clutch at Ruger’s collar.
“Fucking hell,” Klay grits out, tearing my panties off with a twist of his fist, tossing them aside. “She wants it.” He wraps his now-free hand around my throat. “That changes everything, Wendy. Now you get two cocks. Mine and Ruger’s.”
“Two? H-how?”
Klay sinks his teeth into the side of my neck and thrusts against my buttocks. Roughly. “Going to put it right here, deep and dirty. Going to bounce you around like a little rag doll.”
Ruger growls, shaking his head. “She’s too innocent, Klay. You can’t. Not the first time.”
I’m being lifted, Klay’s hands scooping beneath my knees, opening them for Ruger. Exposing my drenched sex in a shocking, unexpected way. I’m between two hard-bodied men now, my legs pried wide, Ruger’s hips inserting hungrily between them to grind his shaft against my juncture, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his hips humping in a jagged pattern.
I make a sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a moan. Both men seem fascinated by it, staring at my mouth. Licking their lips. Releasing harsh exclamations when I begin to meet Ruger’s pumps shamelessly.
“Fuck,” Klay rasps beside my ear. “Fuck, you’re right. I’ll wreck her. I don’t…I don’t want to.” He sounds almost shocked by his own revelation. “I don’t want to wreck her, Ruger. I want to…I need to…”
“You need to keep her,” Ruger says gruffly, meeting his cell mate’s eyes over my head. “Me too. It’s like there’s no choice. She’s…ours.”
An understanding seems to pass between them which I’m not privy to.
I don’t have a moment to analyze, though, because Ruger begins to peel down his jumpsuit, Klay breathing heavily against my ear, his fingers buried in the undersides of my knees, which he still holds wide open. For just a moment, he props my right knee on Ruger’s hip and reaches past me to help Ruger drag the orange jumpsuit down his thickly muscled shoulder and I feel it. I feel Klay’s erection swell even bigger where it pressed between the cheeks of my bottom, feel the added strength in his grip when it returns to my knee. And I hear Ruger’s breath stutter at the helpful action of his friend. Suddenly there is so much tension in the air, it’s like a spell has been cast.