put to use. I was in quite the dry spell before this.
“Hey, can one of the perks of fucking a guard be after-sex showers?” I ask casually as he checks himself over to make sure he has everything that he’s supposed to.
He closes the distance between us in two strides and pecks me on the lips before turning toward the door. “I’ll make sure you get cleaned...tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I bark out, irritated.
“Yeah, I like the idea of my cum dripping down your thighs, and your body covered in my marks and scent,” the arrogant asshole says with a possessive smirk. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you all kinds of cleaned up tomorrow.”
His tone indicates that getting all cleaned up really means a whole lot of dirty shit. A chill of eager anticipation breezes over me so that I can’t even continue to be irritated about him making me wait.
“See you tomorrow, Sunrise.” With that, the door to my cell creaks open, and he walks out, shutting it solidly behind him.
I watch the empty space where he just was for a beat, and then something he said registers.
Wait. Marks?
Did that fucker mark me?
I quickly replay everything we just did in my head. Did he bite me or something and I didn’t notice because the orgasms were that good? I walk over to pick up the broken iron pipe that I’ve been digging with. All of the scraping I’ve done to it has created a shiny spot. I hold it in front of me like it’s a mirror and try to see through the really bad, convoluted metallic reflection, hoping to discover just what in the hell Rook meant by marks.
I run it all over my neck and face, and then I spot it. I wipe the pipe and then the base of my neck to make sure it’s not dirt or something, but nope, this motherfucker has given me a fucking necklace of hickeys.
I’m going to kill him.
After I fuck him one more time though, because why not take advantage of all of those skills?
But after that, he’s definitely going down...on me...and then for sure he’s a dead man.
9
The asshole cockatrice has been gone for days.
I know this, because he left his damn watch behind. It’s been three goddamn days that I’ve been sitting in this fucking solitary cell, with only a rusted water fountain to try to clean up with. That thing barely trickles out, and the water is browner than a cockatrice’s shit stain.
I’ve been steeping in my own spite, every irritant like an abrasive gash against my temper.
I’m crusty. I still reek of sex. I’ve nearly run out of all my snacks. I’m still stuck in solitary confinement. And Rook. Hasn’t. Come. Back.
He visited me every day, staying hours upon hours at a time. He made me feel like we were friends. Like he cared. Like we had a connection. Then we fucked, and it was the hottest sex I’ve ever had in my entire life. And then he just...bailed.
Was that walkie-talkie thing totally contrived?
I just imagine all his prison guard buddies with a system in place, where they give a false alarm to each other so that they can leave after sex. Is that what he did? Hit it and quit it?
Every hour that I’m left to stew alone with some of his cum still crusted on my skin that I can’t get off without an adequate shower, I feel angrier and angrier. I’m also hurt, and that pisses me off even more.
I don’t want to have hurt feelings over that asshole. He left me after fucking me, so what? He tricked me with his tender kisses and soft caresses and attentive words, but why should I care? I’m not going to, I tell myself. I order myself not to. I refuse to go all heartbroken girl over him. I’m tougher than that.
The moment I get out of this cell, I will let him have it, and then I’ll find a different guard to fuck, just to prove to myself and him that Rook doesn’t mean anything to me either.
“Wow. It reeks like sex in there. Is that how you’re passing the time?”
I jump at the voice on the other side of my cell door and bolt to my feet. I stare at the unfamiliar female through the now open slot on the door, and I’m immediately drawn to her. I find my feet moving closer before I even note that I’ve walked