Page 13 of Babalon

“Escort?”

“Don’t play stupid. I don’t have the patience for it, Patton.”

“I…”

“I’m here, inmate,” Nadia crooned, stepping out from behind Zurita.

“Found her,” I teased, incapable of hiding my smirk.

Zurita glared at me again. It’s like they are playing some sort of game amongst themselves and I just haven’t caught on;I-know-something-you-don’t-know, if you wanted to call that a game.

It still bewildered me that the prison hired someone of Nadia’s stature. By no means was she short, maybe five foot nine or ten, and she was a good 195 pounds dry—her gear likely put another ten on her. I used to be into those stick skinny girls with bones protruding out at their hips and ribs. Don’t ask why, we’re just going to blame society. Nadia though, she has some meat on her; not too little, not too much. I could eat her alive if she ever wanted to exit Robo Cop mode and wiggle out of her uniform.

Nothing makes an inmate feral like pussy walking through the halls. The longer I am in prison, the lower my standards drop. If Zurita didn’t watch out, I might start giving him bedroom eyes, too.

I’m joking.

“I can take it from here, Zurita,” Nadia assured while moving to the left of me and immediately grabbing hold of my wrists.

I knew this dance. Remain still, let her throw me against the wall… or floor… cuff me and drag me around. Just like a chained dog learning to walk on a leash.

Come here, baby girl, I’ll bark. Woof-woof.

Sighing, Zurita nodded and walked off, leaving me alone with the spawn of Satan.

“I think he’s jealous. Maybe you should give him some of your attention.”

Without a word, I was pushed to the wall and my feet were kicked apart while she finished cuffing my wrists together–a little tighter than she did earlier today. Unable to hold in mychuckle, I sighed and tilted my head forward until it pressed against the wall.

“Something funny inmate?” she asked, patting the outside of my thighs before her hands reached between them and got a little too close to my balls. Likely checking for a pencil or a pen I may have snagged from the lecture room.

“Nah, nothing’s funny. Just noticed you’re getting predictable. How else are you going to torture me unless you keep me on edge?”

“Wasn’t aware you were into that sort of thing, Patton,” she retorted.

“What kind of things?”

My brows furrowed momentarily, trying to decipher what in the hell she meant. She, could be unpredictable, so I never knew what to expect. I felt her crouch down to check my ankles, her hands steadily sliding down the insides of my legs. Those cold fingers pulling the orange fabric of my jumper up to expose them like a Victorian harlot; I feel like a slut.

Still confused, I go to speak but my breath was sucked from my lungs when I felt her hand slide under the fabric this time; way out of her normal routine. They then moved up the inside of my legs.

“Edging, inmate.”

“I… I…” Stupid words stammering.

What the hell is she doing?

“Oh, that got you to shut up? What, inmate, cat got your tongue?”

“No… I just… fuck,” I hissed when she gripped the front of my crotch, making me wince.

“Ease the fuck up, death grip. Jesus Christ!”

“You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

Heat seared up the sides of my neck, from both interest and anger, we’re going to call it a normal reaction. Who the hell didthis bitch think she is? I am aware that I have little to no rights here, and I may have fantasized about her a time or two, but come on.

“Hands to yourself, Nadia.”

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