Home > Caught by the Convicts(5)

Caught by the Convicts(5)
Author: Jessa Kane

Out on the prison floor, two men are holding down a third, threatening to slit his throat over him cheating at cards. How could they let that sweet girl into this hell hole? How dare they? I’d like to track down who is responsible and break their fucking jaw.

When I realize my hands are curled around the bars and I’m growling, with my teeth bared to the concourse, I swallow hard. Too much. She’s made me feel too much. I’m a tornado of emotions when I’ve always been calm as a lake.

Find her.

Put Wendy on her back and work through it.

“We have to get out of here,” I say without turning around.

I sense Ruger lifting his head. “You want to find her.”

“Yes,” I admit through my teeth, my fingers flexing around the bars. “I don’t know what she did to me, but it’s getting worse. Being trapped in this place was always miserable, but now it’s impossible to spend another day.” I turn from the bars, pretending not to notice when Ruger’s gaze slides down to my never ending hard-on, then away quickly. “I need to jack off again so I can concentrate and come up with a plan.”

His throat bobs. “You want me to turn around?”

I start to say yes. That’s our usual routine. When one of us needs to release the pressure, the other tries to give as much privacy as possible in a ten-by-ten cell. But after last week when we made eye contact over Wendy’s head while humping her like beasts, a barrier has fallen. We’ve seen each other in the fever pitch of arousal. Some of the mystery is gone and self-consciousness has been taken away along with it. “Would you…” I start to unfasten my jumpsuit, unable to look directly at Ruger while making my request. “Would you describe how it felt to fuck her while I…do it?”

Ruger’s chest heaves up and shudders down, his hands curling to fists on his thighs. “If I do that, if I start thinking about her, I might have to…beat my own.”

Staunchly, I ignore the confusing tug in my loins. The added heat that ripples through my abdomen, making me feel sweaty and agitated. “Very well,” I say briskly, peeling the god-awful orange jumpsuit down to my hips. Hesitating only briefly, I reach inside and wrap a hand around my dick, my back teeth grinding at the sensation of my balls tightening. I prop my left hand on the top bunk and begin stroking, not bothering to pull up the jumpsuit when it slips to my knees, exposing me. Exposing everything I’m doing. “Begin,” I say, hoarsely.

Ruger’s loud swallow is followed by the groan of mattress springs. I only look down long enough to see he has leaned back and reached into his own jumpsuit, the ridge of his hand moving up and down beneath the stiff orange material. “She was so pretty,” he rasps, his eyes drifting shut. “So soft. She had this…blonde peach fuzz on her belly. I wish I could have licked it. I’d never seen a pussy up close before, so I didn’t know they could be hairless. I didn’t know they could be so tight. She almost cut off my circulation squeezing me like that.”

I bury my mouth into the crook of my left elbow and moan, my cock hard as steel now. In my head, I’ve traded places with Ruger. I’m the one bouncing her up and down on my dick, feeling her cream drip off my balls. I’m the one looking into her beautiful eyes, watching her soar from one end of an orgasm to the other.

Ruger is there, too.

That’s what makes my hand pause mid-stroke.

He’s in the fantasy. Behind Wendy. Taking his own pleasure—and somehow that heightens everything. Makes my blood flow in the right direction. I’m satisfied that he is being satisfied and that is out of character for me. I’ve learned to look out for number one. That method has always served me well. Flying solo. Letting no one get inside my head, let alone pry my chest open and rearrange things.

So why am I looking down at Ruger now, watching his hand pump and down on his huge cock and thinking that…I could give him the ultimate release? Perhaps I’ve always sensed that truth and ignored it. Until Wendy. Until she dropped out of heaven and woke me from my state of apathy. I should want to punish her for this new awareness. Instead I find myself wanting to worship at her fucking feet for it. For reviving me.

“Keep going,” I command brokenly, pinning my eyes to the ceiling with determination.

Ruger’s leg moves, presses to mine. I pretend not to notice.

I pretend not to feel the moisture bead on my cockhead.

“Her tits barely fit into her bra,” he groans, the sound of wet flesh filling the cell. “I could see her nipples through the silk. They were hard. They were hard for us.”

Now I’m moaning, too, beating myself in a frenzy. And I can feel his eyes there. I tell myself I don’t care if he looks, that it makes no difference to me. I don’t acknowledge the fact that his attention is making my abs flex painfully, my skin burn. In shame? In confusion? I have no idea. I just keep my own eyes locked on the ceiling and let the climax draw closer. Closer.

“When we find her,” I say, my breath running short. “I’m going to spread her legs and ride that damp little fuck hole while you watch. I’ll be covered in her wetness and sweat and bite marks by the time it’s over. And you’re going to clean me up afterward.”

“Yes,” Ruger half exhales, half growls—and then I feel it. The pelting of his seed on my stomach. The sticky thickness of it. I look down, caught between disbelief and fascination as it slides down, down, into my pubic hair, leaving glistening trails on my belly.

I close my eyes against the fresh wave of need.

The sharp-toothed lust.

Wendy is there in my mind’s eye, but so is Ruger. With his come painting my body, it’s too much. I’m committing to something I don’t understand. Something I’m not sure I want to acknowledge. Frankly, it terrifies me how much I want to fire my seed onto his prone body, to cover him in it. Especially after pushing him over the edge by simply telling him he’d be in charge of cleaning me up. Does he…want that so badly?

Panic causes me to tear my hand away from my cock.

I stuff it back into my jumpsuit and cover myself quickly. “We’ll, um…” I order my pulse to slow down, my sensible brain to come back on line. “We’ll need to get to the infirmary. Both of us. If we have any hope of escaping.”

Ruger is silent, his complexion red. “I’m sorry for—”

“Nothing to apologize for, mate. Let’s just get our plan together, hey?”

“Klay…”

“Drop it,” I grind out.

Before I can say more, an inmate darkens the door of our cell. We don’t normally associate with anyone besides each other. Too many complications. Too many alliances in this place we want no part of. But this particular convict is the prison equivalent to town crier. He’s always got some scandalous news to impart.

Ruger pushes to his feet in a blur, inserting himself between me and the other man, as if to guard me from some kind of danger. I can only shake my head.

“What do you want?” I ask our visitor.

“Didn’t you hear?” he says, glancing back over his shoulder. “Three inmates escaped last week during the riot. Must be on the run because their cells are still empty.”

At first, this news only serves to irritate me. If three prisoners escaped recently, then security will be harder to circumvent during our own getaway. But then I start to wonder if Wendy lives close to the penitentiary. Close enough to be in danger from those escapees.

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