Home > Caught by the Convicts(9)

Caught by the Convicts(9)
Author: Jessa Kane

Maybe I should be humiliated by my reaction. The way I shudder and choke on my breath, burying my face in her sweet neck to try and anchor myself. But there’s no room for embarrassment here. There’s only reaching the summit and they are very close, very close. Wendy’s breathy cries are gaining momentum and Klay is pumping harder than before, his eyes squeezed shut. And they’re being generous enough to bring me along on the trip up the mountain and down the other side. I’m not going to squander the opportunity.

Wendy’s eyes welcome me as I walk forward on my knees and push my dripping cock into her beautiful mouth, shouting a curse when her tongue wraps around me. Her hands are still pinned above her head and Jesus help me, it’s like she’s at my mercy. There’s no barrier to stop me from taking a fist full of her hair and turning it to the side, fucking my shaft deep into the warmth of her perfect mouth, watching her lips plump and strain in order to take me.

I’ve been denied sex all my life because of my size. Because I’m not pretty to look at.

Now this princess, this angel, is accepting me and I’m dizzy with gratitude. With unspent desire. With affection and lust for this girl as I position myself right in front of her face and fill her throat with my too-big cock.

She moans for it.


Sucks me eagerly as I pull out, crying out happily when I sink balls deep again.

“Does it taste as good as it looks, Wendy?” Klay asks hoarsely.

Her head nods up and down on the pillow, eyes smoky, tits shaking up and down.

“He’s been thinking of you all week, jacking and jacking when he thinks I’m asleep.” Klay wets his lips. “But you can’t beat off quietly with a cock that big, can you, Ruger?”

“No,” I pant, shame and gratification colliding inside of me. He called me big. He said it looks like it tastes good. And Wendy, she’s drawing on it eagerly, as if she agrees.

Jesus. Jesus. Am I dreaming?

“Look at that suckling little mouth of hers. If it’s half as sweet as this pussy, we’re both very lucky men.”

“Lucky,” I repeat raggedly, tunneling deep. So deep I almost feel ashamed of the liberties I’m taking. But I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I’m fucking her mouth now, sweating, animal noises coming from my mouth and come is beginning to rise, hot and sticky in my shaft. “Oh fuck. I…I’m going to come.”

Klay lets go of Wendy’s pinned wrists and grips her chin, tilting it up for me. “Do it. Look how bad she wants a taste. She’s gotten wetter since you’ve been in her mouth.”

That does it.

I sink home once final time and send my seed down her throat. It’s a pleasure I never could have believed. It rips through my muscles and chokes me. It blinds me, owns me. And it only grows more incredible when Klay massages Wendy’s throat and I feel that firm touch on my cock, all throughout my stomach and right in the center of my chest.

A roar leaves me, more moisture being enticed out of my balls.

When Wendy starts to moan around my shaft, I look down to find Klay playing with her clit, rubbing it in quick little circles until her hips become restless, lifting, twisting under the inundation of his thrusts—and then her eyes widen and she comes. Wanting to hear the scream of ecstasy, I pull my cock out of her mouth and witness her coming apart. She gasps, nails buried in Klay’s strong shoulders, eyes unseeing, thighs shaking.

Fucking glorious.

“Look at her. My God,” Klay breathes, his hips slapping deep—and he holds, a violent shudder carrying through his muscles, veins standing out on the side of his neck. “Fuck!”

I’ve seen Klay climax before. Often covertly. But out in the open like this, without hiding, it’s like watching a masterpiece being painted. All I can do is observe in awe as he falls forward onto Wendy and humps her ferociously, his teeth burying in the side of her neck, his hands yanking her knees high, up to her armpits and groaning long and loud until the final drop leaves him.

We all have our strings cut at the same time, dropping to the bed, boneless. But moments later, it seems like the most natural thing in the world for me and Klay to sandwich a drowsy Wendy between us, holding her as the three of us fall asleep. If either of us feel a ripple of tension building in Wendy throughout the night, we choose to ignore it.

For now.



Chapter 5






I’d managed to convince myself that afternoon at the prison never happened.

Avoidance is a powerful drug.

With Klay and Ruger out of sight, I could wake up every morning, go to my job, eat dinner, watch television. All normal things. They might have come to me late at night in my dreams, but during the day, I could deny how thoroughly they sapped my willpower in that prison cell. How their calloused hands on my skin felt like a prayer being answered. I’ve never been fulfilled. Not a single second in my life. Until them.

Until they converged on me and we absorbed each other. Became one.

So obviously I’m bananas.

I’ve lost it.

I can’t just allow two escaped—presumably dangerous—convicts into my home and allow them to slake their hunger with my body. But that’s exactly what I’ve done. No matter that the last half an hour has transcended time and space. I’m pretty sure I saw the face of God somewhere in the middle. Heard the angels singing.

And it has to be the last time. Allowing these men to sleep in my bed? That makes me an accomplice. I’ve given seriously new meaning to aiding and abetting.

I spent the first sixteen years of my life tiptoeing around my father’s danger, trying not to get burned. Or tip the scale of his temper. Since then, I’ve tried to outrun him. To move on with my life. But until he was imprisoned, he kept showing up, pulling me back into the quicksand. Terrifying me. Making me feel small and unworthy. Manipulating me.

These men are of the same ilk, aren’t they?


Men who are such a hazard to the public, they have to be locked in a cell to prevent them from committing any harm. I should have fought harder when Klay’s sensuality started to overwhelm me. I should be sneaking out of bed now and calling the police. Or running to my car and driving away as fast as I can. Yet here I remain. Soaking up the heat of these two men, feeling their heartbeats against my body and being lulled by the rhythm.

Ruger’s hand sits possessively on my hip, his chest hair tickling my spine.

Klay’s face is in sleepy repose on the pillow, mere inches from my face. When awake, he’s obscenely gorgeous. Asleep, he’s a wicked angel that has been booted out of heaven. Probably for excessive vanity.

A tug of affection for both men doesn’t even catch me off guard.

No, I felt something similar the day of the prison riot.

These men being in my life almost seems fated. There’s a sense of completion when they are touching me, talking to me, talking to each other about me. It’s like I’ve woken up in a new land with a unique language that somehow makes perfect sense to my ears. To my body.

In their roughness tonight, they cherished me.

And each other—though I sense they haven’t admitted it.

There’s a deep undercurrent between Ruger and Klay that excites me. That hesitant lust exhilarates and fulfills me almost as much as their hunger for me. It heightens every look, every touch and taste. When they take me, I become the glue holding everything together and there is nothing more satisfying for someone who craves the feeling of being anchored. Anchoring these men in return is even more vital than that.

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