Page 15 of Auctioned to the Prisoners

Not with their tongue. Not without knowing me for at least a few weeks and with my firm direction and the assistance of my own fingers. It’s like he could sense what nudged my arousal little by little, rolling the snowball of pleasure until I got bigger and bigger, tipping down the hill to finally break.

My god.

He releases my bindings and strides through the door, shutting it decisively as I open my mouth to ask him what’s going on. I grab the shirt he gave me before he poured suns and moons and angel-song into me, tugging it over my head.

It’s long on me, reaching mid-thigh. Not long enough that I’m comfortable walking around without panties. Mine are on the floor in a scrunched heap, and not for the first time, I regret not picking a nice pair of simple white cotton underwear that would have been more practical to wash and wear for thirty days.

The warden’s words pop into my head about not needing many clothes. If the other men are anything like Kinkaid, he will probably be right.

Shoving my legs into my tangled thong is easier said than done, and I’m embarrassed about how cold and wet it is against my flesh. When Kinkaid leaned back against the door, watchingme with his liquid blue eyes, my body primed in an intense new way. I mean, I’ve always liked men with tattoos and mean mouths. I’ve always loved men who crackle with dangerous static. My terrible choices are why I’m in this mess without a life partner to help me with its challenges. Some of my school friends are married to stable blue-collar husbands who’d likely drive across five states to collect their destitute sisters, but me? I end up on my back on a prison bed, getting given the most magnificent oral by a man who looks like he wants to make me his next dinner.

Kinkaid has the look of a Navy Seal or a Marine, not a criminal, although what he just did to me felt like plundering.

He could be a murderer, but I push the thought away, fearful that fixating on what put these men in jail will paralyze me.

Leaning forward, I peek around the door, watching Kinkaid speak in a low tone to Warden Grady. He has some things in his hands that he passes across, then steps into the room to look around.

“She’s getting changed,” Kinkaid says. Grady must be looking for me.

Stepping into the main room, four sets of eyes find me immediately. Hyde blinks fast, licking his lips as he rubs the tattoo that climbs up his neck. Rock shifts forward, his gaze dropping to take in my bare legs, still elongated by my ridiculous shoes. Kinkaid studies me like he’s checking for my emotional state. The man is wound tight enough to snap.

And Warden Grady nods slowly like my appearance has reassured him of my safety and confirmed I’m meeting my obligations.

“Did you bring my phone?” I ask.

He slides his hand into his jacket’s inner pocket, pulling out the device. I turn it on, and my heart picks up speed as itgradually comes to life. Around me, four men wait for me to search for my messages.

There’s one from Kennedy.Are you okay?Even though she’s in dire straits, she’s still worrying about me.

I’m okay,I reply.Are you?

I wait, hoping to get confirmation she’s read my message and a reply to let me know she’s holding in there.

After thirty seconds, the warden clears his throat, and I power off the phone, handing it back.

“I’ll leave you to it.” He claps his big hand on Kinkaid’s shoulder, more like a father reassuring a son than a warden with his incarcerated prisoner. Whatever these men have done for the warden is making him ooze gratitude.

When Grady retreats, and the door clanks back into place, Hyde jumps up.

“You done?” he asks Kinkaid. “Is she ready?”

His childish hopefulness is as unnerving as it is sweet. I’m filled with the mixed-up urge to back away and embrace him, all at the same time. Something about him reminds me of my childhood friend, Devon; his smile, maybe, and restless energy.

“No, Hyde. I’m not done, and she’s not ready.” Kinkaid places the warden’s offerings on the table: board games, some folded clothes, and a few packets of chips and chocolate bars. He’s treating us like kids at a birthday sleepover.

Glancing up, Kinkaid holds my gaze as he stalks towards me, heated intention blazing in the fierceness of his expression. When he’s close enough to touch me, he wraps his arm around my waist and leans in close. “You ready for part two?”

“It depends on what part two involves.”

He seems to like my answer, nuzzling against my ear with a chuckle. “We could go back to part one if you want me to lick you again.”

Mmmm. I clamp my legs together, liking that idea a little too much and feeling weird about it. This man is a stranger. A stranger who looks like the cousin of Charlie Hunnam with the same Sons of Anarchy grittiness to him. A stranger who’s been more selfless and giving when it comes to pleasure than any of the previous men who’ve seen me naked. “You’d do that without me doing something for you?”

“Oh, baby,” he whispers. “That’s all for me.”

I flush all over at the huskiness of his voice. “I mean something to get you off.”

He stops mouthing my jaw with hot kisses to look me dead in the eye with all the ferociousness of a famished predator. Fearing I’ve said something wrong, I jerk back, but he holds me steady. “If the warden hadn’t interrupted, I could have shot my load with just my tongue in your sweet little hole.”

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