My ideas of him had changed since being here. What I used to think of as cruel behavior was the way he showed his love. He fed me, raised me, and made sure I received the best education. I had been lucky and so spoiled I didn’t even realize it. I would take his tough love in a heartbeat now and gobble it up like it was dessert.
I had no doubt if he knew I was alive, he would do anything in his power to get me out. He had never laid a finger on me and always talked about wanting better for the human civilization. Peace and fairness among species, improving things for everyone. They just couldn’t see it through their resentments and misery.
The fae and human tormenters weren’t what bothered me. Even the threats and physical violence against me were manageable.
Being ignored pissed me off the most.
Warwick kept his distance from me since the night in the shower, giving me a wide berth, hardly showing up for meals. When his gaze did find mine, it was brief and full of abhorrence so thick it clung to me the rest of the day like a death threat.
This morning his aura clung to me in a different way—one I despised more than his hatred.
Last night three beautiful women dressed in expensive clothes were escorted through the prison. Two blondes and one redhead, all tan, curvy, huge-breasted, groomed, and manicured. Clean and shiny, and they probably smelled of flowers. I had no doubt where they were going and who they were here for.
“Guess we know his type,” I muttered to myself.
The complete opposite of me. Not that I cared.
But I couldn’t stop myself from peering down at my baggy uniform and stringy hair. Stripping off my shirt to my sports bra, my hands roamed over the protruding bones and rough scars now carving my skin. He would be touching their flawless plump skin, his mouth exploring their full, healthy figures.
I had always been thin with no boobs, but now I was sickly and gaunt; even my muscles had dissolved. Sweaty and dirty, I wore a week-old uniform, which had butter, sweat, and bloodstains all over it.
The girl who wore party dresses, with shiny hair and a perfect manicure, eating lobster imported from Japan and Scotch from Scotland... The girl who was secretly kissed in dark corners by handsome leaders and princes... She no longer existed.
Even the memories of my old life felt as if someone else lived them.
Lying down on my blankets and closing my eyes, I couldn’t stop myself from imagining my body being touched. Kissed. Wanted. It had been so long. Happiness was so foreign here that you craved it like a painkiller. To ease the agony for a while. To feel good for a moment. Breathe easily another moment.
When the cries came, echoing through the prison, it was not grief from fellow inmates. It was uninhibited bliss. Wild, loud, and fierce, all three women screamed like they had no control, the pleasure too much for them to handle.
My body reacted, nipples hardening, my pussy wet and pulsing. Wanting. Desire formed like thick webs along my nerve endings, tugging and vibrating as though it caught its prey. My skin tingled, demanding to be touched. Slowly, my hand moved down my ribs, pushing under my pants, moving below my underwear, my fingers dragging through my wet folds. Oh, my gods. My back arched. The need was overwhelming. I was starving.
I attempted to ignore the voices coming from inside the prison, the name they were moaning with ferocity. I tried to imagine Caden, visualizing how things could have been up on the roof of HDF if he chose to kiss me instead. This time he’d forgo everything that had stopped him and choose me. For one moment, I let myself believe we had come together rather than farther apart. The city lights sparkled below our entangled bodies, the train we were going to rob rolling by as he made love to me instead.
My fingers went deeper inside me, and I bit down as electricity flamed through me. The scene I set evaporated like smoke, Caden’s image weak and distant, my mind struggling to hold on to it as another moved in.
“No.” I ground my teeth in a snarl. I wanted Caden. Wanted to believe this version of our story had happened.
But the women only shrieked louder, making grunts and bangs that rallied the convicts with hoots and hollers. Warwick controlled