Page 48 of Convict's Game
“Do you remember much about the fire?”
“Next to nothing. And hardly anything about myself from before that. Other people, I’m better with.”
I drew my eyebrows together. “You said earlier that you weren’t sure where you lived.”
“The hospital had one address for me. My payslip has another. I don’t have any keys, so I’m not sure how I can test out which is right.”
“What about your possessions? Your clothes and furniture?”
“No idea if I have any, though I don’t need much. All I know for certain is that I was in hospital for weeks before my crew found me, then two days after coming out, I met you.”
My heart hurt for him.
But the sadness didn’t stay long in his expression, as Convict grinned. “At least I know my dick works. The final part of me finally woke from that coma and came out swinging.”
He pressed our bodies together, hard again. I took a breath that was part fear and a bigger part turned on. Out of his chains, he could do anything to me.
I almost wanted him to.
But he jumped up, then searched for his shorts and pulled them on. “We smell like sin. Come shower with me and wash away the evidence.”
We snuck from his room with the bundles of clothes he’d brought up with the food, and trotted down the hall to a shower block. Convict locked the door and set the water going in the stall so steam rose. A shelf held fluffy towels, and I picked one up and held it to my chest.
“You can go first.”
“Together, little gangster. That’s our life now.”
I darted an anxious glance at him. “I haven’t agreed yet.”
He watched me for a moment then stripped his shorts and padded over, confidently naked and half hard. Taking my lapels,he undid the first button of my shirt. His voice came out low. “Then until you do, I won’t fuck you. No matter how hard you beg.”
His fingers kept going down the line of buttons until the shirt hung open. Then he backed away to the water and stepped under the spray.
I remained glued to the spot, nothing like the little gangster he’d nicknamed me. The shower soaked Convict’s hair to an even darker black, flattening it to his head. Rivulets ran down his chest and drew lines down his long legs. His dick bobbed for attention, but he ignored it to beckon to me.
Joining him meant getting naked. I hadn’t even done that in the game as, though the tattered dress had hung from me, Convict had covered me with his shirt before stripping the last of it over my head.
He closed his eyes. “I won’t peek. I just want you here.”
I really did need a shower. Slipping off the shirt, I scurried to get under the water. Convict’s arms encircled me, and he hugged me, his cheek to the top of my head while warm water sluiced over us both. I liked him tender. I liked a lot about him, new discoveries happening by the minute.
“Good girl. Now kiss me while I wash you.”
Too many sensations battled inside me. I gave a jerky laugh. “Prostitutes don’t kiss on the mouth.”
He caught my chin and laid his lips on mine.
The room disappeared. Time stopped.
He’d kissed me briefly days ago, and that touch had never left my mind. There were kisses, and then there were deep connections. His were in that category. His lips moved on mine like he was coaxing me back to life. Slow at first, then when I responded, he turned up the heat with a groan.
Deep presses, his head angled to better connect to mine, devastatingly perfect pressure.
Convict kissed me senseless. His tongue in my mouth. His fingers in my wet hair.
I clung to him, letting him lead. He glided one hand down to my lower back, caging my body against his and trapping his dick between us. But it was only as if he needed me closer. He kept to his word.
He kissed me for long minutes, only breaking to feel for the shower gel on a shelf. He cleaned my body and his, kissed me again, then told me to handle between my legs, because if he did it, he might break.
