Page 26 of Auctioned to the Prisoners

His rough palms skate over my thighs, then over the curve of my hips and waist, and higher beneath the shirt.

“You smell like Rock,” he says gruffly, but then his fingers graze my nipples, and we both groan.

In a fluid motion, he rolls to his back, taking me with him, and then he nestles us on our sides, with his face still buried in my neck. I want to look into his eyes to gauge how he’s feeling, but he seems uncomfortable with direct eye contact. He pushes up my shirt until it’s bunched over my torso, and then he’s shuffling lower on the bed to mouth my breasts. The first contact is so hot that my instinct is to grip the back of his neck, just in case I need to pull him away. Then his lips wrap around my nipple, and he groans, long, low and desperate, against me.

His big hand spreads across my back, holding me in place as he mouths my nipple into a tight peak, and then he sucks. Well, it’s more like he suckles in tight little pulls that send sensations skittering down my spine and between my thighs. His sole focus is on my breast, and when I gaze down at him, I findhis eyes closed, his lashes kissing his cheeks, and a look of deep contentment softening his features.

For most men, this kind of foreplay is just a precursor to touching below the waist, but Hyde’s hands don’t roam. Instead, it’s almost like she slips into some kind of trance. At first, I’m too scared to let my hands wander, but then I brave stroking my fingers across his scalp again, and he hums contentedly at the contact. Minutes pass, him tugging at my nipple with his cruel lips and me making grooves through his thick dark hair, and I wonder what Rock and Kinkaid are thinking. Are they waiting outside the door to check for my voice, or have they gone back to their man-film, uncaring?

Somehow, even though I’ve only been in their company for a matter of hours, I’m confident it’s the former.

Hyde is so concentrated on his actions for so long that I don’t think he’ll go further, so when his hand wanders and his fingers find the soft curls between my legs, I flinch. He hums again as though he’s trying to soothe me, then gently caresses just the curls as though he’s seeking comfort there rather than trying to arouse me.

I’m aroused anyway, imagining his thick fingers with their nails chewed to the quick like mine, delving deeper, seeking where I’m warm, wet, and waiting. I’ve had two orgasms today, but it hasn’t quelled my hunger. If anything, I’m like an addict seeking another hit.

Gazing down at Hyde, at the way his shoulder bunches, his inked forearm concentrated on its gentle movements, I swallow back tears. He’s not looking for a quick release or to pull an explosive orgasm from my body. It’s like he wants comfort. He’s like a kid with a blankie, a kid who isn’t loved enough, craving the simplest of human touches.

I give him time as he lulls me into a dazed half-sleep with the shallow tugs of his lips and his tentative touch at the apex of my thighs. I moan in my throat, and he does, too.

And when I forget he’s a big dangerous prisoner, and I’m a tiny woman who’s been bought for his pleasure, I let my hands wander over his neck and into the stretched collar of his white t-shirt, and my fingers find lumpy skin forming scared ridges. Before I draw back, he rears up over me and grabs both my hands in one of his. Pinned in place, I pant up at a furious Hyde whose eyes have become the color of coal and whose calm, contented face has twisted into something menacing. “Hyde,” I gasp as adrenaline blasts through my veins, setting my heart into a frantic rhythm. His name has never felt more appropriate than at this moment.

The door flies open and Kinkaid bursts in, followed so closely by Rock that he looks in danger of mowing him down. Hyde’s eyes blaze into mine as Kinkaid grabs him by the shoulder on one side, and Rock does the same on the other. His hands release my wrists, and I draw my arms around myself, covering my tender breasts. Around my hips, Hyde’s thighs clench as though he wants to hold on to me in whatever way possible.

“Did he hurt you?” Kinkaid asks as Hyde breathes hard. Between his legs, his cock stands out violently against his orange regulation pants.

“No,” I say. “No.”

Rock nods, relief softening his hardened features. The hand gripping Hyde’s shoulder flexes, but interestingly, Hyde doesn’t struggle out of their grip. It’s like he understands they’re only restraining him for his own good, and he’s grateful for the hold they have over him.

“Lory,” Kinkaid says, his voice low and gravelly. “Take his dick out.”

My eyes focus on Hyde’s straining erection and then the pained expression on his face. There’s a desperation to the tightness of his jaw combined with the wideness of his eyes. A desperation that breaks my heart. I can do this. I can make him feel better through a release that he’s been craving. But it isn’t right to touch him when he’s being held by two other men. It’s not acceptable to take away his right to control his body.

“No,” I say, resting my hand on his straining thigh. “I won’t touch him when you’re holding him. I won’t touch him until he’s ready for it, and he asks me.”

“You want it, don’t you,” Rock says, jostling Hyde’s shoulder.

“He wants it,” Kinkaid seconds.

“Do you want me to touch you?” I ask Hyde, maintaining eye contact with him despite the fierceness flaming in his expression. With his unruly dark hair falling over his right eye, he looks wild and dangerous, but his eyes plead.

“Like this, Hyde. Do you want me to touch you while they’re holding you like this?”

There’s a pause where he closes his eyes and breathes slowly and deeply. I wait, still naked beneath him, while Kinkaid and Rock continue to prevent their friend from hurting me. But, despite their concern, I don’t believe he will. He’s vibrating with his own efforts at restraint. Even when Hyde was looming over me, gripping my wrists, I felt his desperation to maintain his frayed control.

When his eyes open, they’ve lost some of their feral darkness, and a deep forest has replaced it.

He shakes his head.

“Let him go.” I sit up and wrap my arms around Hyde’s waist, pressing my body into his. He smells of warm laundry detergent and fresh sweat, which I suspect is from panic. “Let him go,” I repeat, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest overhis shirt. Rock and Kinkaid reluctantly release their grip on him. “It’s okay,” I say confidently, even though I’m still shaking from everything that’s happened. “I’ve got him. We’re okay.”

Hyde’s arms wrap around me slowly, and he rests his face on the top of my head, breathing hotly into my scalp. His tight body loses all its rigidity as he softens in my embrace. Rock and Kinkaid leave the room, glancing over their shoulders before they pass through the door and close it. I keep Hyde in my arms, waiting for him to let me go first. My heart aches for the pain that he wears in his tight expressions, jittery movements, and the tattoos he’s covered himself with. The scorpion on his face is the worst, as if he placed it there as a warning of what he believed he was capable of. I wish I could soothe away every hurt he’s ever experienced in his life so he could be someone who wasn’t clinging to the edge with just his fingertips.

“Lory.” His voice is ragged, his breathing is erratic, and his eyes are dark with turmoil. But he looks at me, really looks at me, like he’s searching for something, a lifeline, or a way out of the storm that’s raging inside him.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” Pulling back, he tips my face with his tattooed fingers.

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