Page 66 of Hers to Control

The woman is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. My cock in her mouth, she’s moving up and down my length while her hand has disappeared between her legs, making me crave the chance to touch her.

Not yet though. This is too damn good to mess with, and I’m a selfish asshole.

Her speed increases, and some of her saliva runs down to my balls, wetting them where they will soon slap against her ass as I fuck her. The mental image makes them draw up in anticipation, and my cock bobs in Mia’s mouth as if cheering her on.

She looks up at me, her eyes hazy. She’s as into this as I am and knowing she approves of what I did to Anton eases some of that lingering feeling I couldn’t quite shake after leaving the basement. Not something I ever experienced after a kill, and I sure as hell didn’t like it. But Mia fixed it.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Her lips twitch upward around my cock, which looks funny as hell. Then she pulls her right arm out from between her legs and grabs my balls. Now a new wetness mixes with the spit that ran down there, and fuck if I won’t have to picture Mikhail cutting out Anton’s eyes to keep me from blowing my load too early.

One last tug and Mia lets go of me, which is about the only thing that keeps me from splattering my cum into her face. Looking more than pleased with herself, she pushes herself up and straddles me. Raising herself up so her core is positioned perfectly, she grabs my cock and puts it at her entrance. Without waiting for her permission, I slam my hips upward, almost bucking her off me. Only her well-trained muscles and my hand on her hip keep her from tumbling off me, and we both grinas she takes over. She doesn’t grind herself against me or draw things out, no she moves up and down fast, slamming her wet pussy down onto my newly trimmed area.

I groan, the fucking pleasure the woman is wringing out from me is like nothing I ever experienced before. She may not have been training lately, and her belly is definitely rounding, but she’s most definitely a fucking athlete. And she’s an athlete who knows how to fuck.

I reach up and pinch her nipples, twisting both at the same time. Mia’s wail is so damn hot that the next time her pussy slams down on me, my dick twitches, and my balls shoot their cum right into her.

Hell, if she keeps going like that, I’ll put the next baby into her the first chance I get.

We’re both sweaty when she slides down next to me, and I lock my arm around her so she has no other choice but to put her head on my shoulder.

For a while, we just lay there, then I ask her the question that’s been on my mind.

“Do you want to go see your father? I can take you if you want to talk to him.”

Mia stiffens for a second, then relaxes and shakes her head.

“You sure about that?”

She turns her head on my shoulder to look up at me. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Her voice is steady. “I’m better off not poking that hornet’s nest. This was the last straw. I’m not sure what made me keep in contact with him when I only ever got trouble back in return. I don’t deserve that. As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead to me now.”

I respect her choice. In fact, I more than agree.

As Mia turns away, I reach for my phone, typing in the message to the burner phone one of our guys has hidden in his cell.

‘Go ahead.’

Chapter Twenty-Five

Samson

The heavy metal door clanks shut behind me. This place, with its towering walls and razor wire, is a world unto itself, but not separate enough from the outside for my liking. Maybe if it had been, I wouldn’t have fucked up quite as badly and would make it out of here at some point.

As I step onto the cracked pavement, I feel the watchful eyes of the guards on me. Their presence isn’t reassuring in the least. Still, I nod to the nearest guard, a stern-faced man whose gaze lingers on me for a moment before moving on to the next inmate. Pointless now, but before I sometimes managed to shift work duties if I convinced one of them that I wasn’t so bad of a guy.

“Morning, Samson,” he grunts, his voice gruff.

“Morning, Officer,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. It’s best not to draw unnecessary attention.

If the Russians catch wind of anything, my chances of an easy exit are gone. I cross my shaking fingers behind my back and walk further.

The yard stretches out before me, an expanse of concrete and chain-link fencing. Inmates mill about in small groups, their conversations a familiar hum.

I spot Charlie, an old-timer I’ve come to know during my time here. He sits alone on a bench, his weathered face etched with lines of resignation. I make my way over to him.

“Hey, Charlie,” I say as I approach, offering a nod of acknowledgment.

He looks up at me, his eyes weary but still sharp. “Morning. What brings you out here today?”

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