Page 109 of Caged In

Except . . . What has Sin done to his side? And why isn’t Sin letting him see?

He doesn’t like it. Something is off. He’s not in this a hundred percent. His mind is racing too much, he can’t concentrate. “Red. I’m done. Let go. Please, Sin.”

Izz calls the safe word. He needs to step back. To give himself time to figure everything out. He’s come too close to a panic attack and he is still feeling off.

Sin pulls his hand free, releasing Izz’s hard cock. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

Izz’s body is rolled over, and the bindings cut off. However, when he moves to get up, Sin keeps him pinned with a hand on his back. Preventing him from sitting up. From checking why his side is paining him.

“Sin—” Izz’s plea is quickly cut off, Sin speaking over him.

“Relax. I’m letting you up. I need you to stay calm. It’s not deep. It hasn’t gone through all the layers of skin. You trust me, yes.”

All the layers of skin?

“What do you mean? I don’t understand.” Izz stops trying to sit up. Allowing Sin to keep him down. He’s not so sure he wants to see anymore.

“You remember our conversation, to do with different forms of play.”

“Yes,” Izz nods along with his answer. Sin’s hand leaves him, now that he has ceased trying to get up.

He still trusts Sin. It may have hurt and been overwhelming, but Sin stopped when he asked him to. Sin respects his boundaries.

“The one mentioning knife-play.”

Knife-play . . .

Izz slowly rolls his torso, to see what was done . . . Eyes wide as his side is revealed—

And now he feels like a baby. Sure, he has a slice in his skin, just under his ribs. But it’s a nick. Barelylonger than half his pinkie, and thin, paper-cut thin. He purses his lips. Probing at the slice, the tiny trickle of blood.

“That’s it. It felt like . . .” Izz punches Sin in the chest. “You’re an asshole. You freaked me out more than this would have,” he gestures to the injury, as though they aren’t both clear on what he’s talking about.

“Mind’s a powerful thing, isn’t it.” Sin laughs. Actually laughs.

Izz’s completely caught off guard by the sound, his anger evaporating. He’s never heard Sin laugh before. Not like this. Like an average amused person would do. A loud, spontaneous laugh.

He can’t help but smile at Sin. The male’s amusement rubbing off on him. He enjoys seeing this part of Sin. The playful side, the more . . . human side—with emotions. As opposed to the dangerous cold air Sin normally carries around—a shroudof death.

The frequently recurring prison bell rings out. The calling card for the next meal. Lunch is starting. Inmates noisily making their way to the cafeteria. He’s hungry too.

“I wanna shower first.” Izz swings his legs off the bunk, gathering his clothes which are scattered around the Satanic cell. “You joining?”

“Not much else to do.”

“Wow. Don’t get too excited to spend time with me.” Izz smirks, wiggling his legs into his grey pants. Is it sad that he’s already used to the scratchy material?

“You’re developing an attitude,” Sin informs Izz, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the smaller inmatedress.

“Nah, I’m becoming comfortable with you. Enough to open up as who I’ve always been . . . Well, who I was on the outside—”

Except now I’ve killed someone.

I’m a murderer.

He’s dealing with it. Slowly coming to terms with the fact that he isn’t a bad person, he’s just been dealt a bad hand. Sin’s collection of Satanic pages on the walls has actually helped him. Who knew the Satanic culture is so easy to understand. Helpful too, it’s allowing him to process what transpired with the guard. How much it hadn’t been his fault.

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