Page 1 of Insincerity

1

GRAHAM

The prison guard’sboots squeaked against the tile floor. I flipped a page in the outdated magazine I was looking at and listened for the jingling of his keys. This guy was one of the newer guards who I mentally referred to asCowboy. I could easily pick out his hurried gait among the seasoned trudgers with their don’t-give-a-shit attitudes. Cowboy still had something to prove.

My cellmate stirred in the bunk above me, grumbling in his sleep. I scanned an article about a Hollywood couple’s split that had supposedly devastated fans months ago. It was hard to get a recent magazine around here and I didn’t give two shits about celebrities, but it was something to look at while I waited for the guard to fetch me. A moment later, Cowboy stopped outside of my cell, keys in hand.

“Your lawyer’s here,” he said in a Texas drawl that’d earned him the nickname I’d privately given him.

Tossing the magazine aside, I rose from my seat on the bottom bunk bed. I’d been anticipating this meeting all day, my cock half-hard despite my best attempts to keep myself under control. The last thing I wanted was to give anyone the slightest hint as to what would be happening in the room where my lawyer was waiting for me.

Cowboy insisted on doing things by the book, fastening the handcuffs to my wrists through the cell bars before opening the door to let me out. He led me down the hall toward a private conference room, the same room where I met my lawyer every month to supposedly discuss my appeal. Most of the other inmates avoided my gaze as we made our way down the block. I couldn’t resist smirking.

At just shy of six feet, I wasn’t the biggest guy in here; far from it, really. My lean-and-mean physique resisted bulk despite daily workouts. I wasn’t what you’d call a shot caller—a high-ranking prisoner who practically ran things. I gladly left all that messy shit to the gang leaders and lifers. Making friends wasn’t a priority, and I had no intention of joining a group made up of the kind of lowlifes that I was stuck here with.

But friends equaled protection on this side of the barbed wire. I had to find other ways to craft a ruthless reputation for myself, one that would encourage others not to fuck with me. It wasn’t easy, but over the last four years, I’d managed to do it. I picked and won fights with the right people to leave an impression. Everyone knew that I wasn’t afraid to do time in solitary.

The conference room where inmates met privately with their lawyers was as plain as could be. White-painted brick walls and metal chairs that weren’t built for comfort. Even the harsh fluorescent lighting overhead was irritating, and I was willing to bet the guards kept it cold in here on purpose.

I didn’t care about any of that.

The lawyer who my brother had hired to represent me was waiting in a chair and looking bored as ever. We both knew there wasn’t going to be much of a meeting between us. As soon as Cowboy uncuffed me and left the room, my lawyer slid a smartphone out of his pocket, along with a pair of earbuds, and placed both on the table between us.

I grabbed the phone and sat down without saying a word. After lodging the earbuds into my ears, I unlocked the phone using a PIN that only my brother and I knew. The video files he put onto this phone were meant for my eyes only; not even my lawyer was allowed to see them, and my brother had certainly paid him enough not to mind the secrecy.

Leaning back in my chair, I opened the first video and watched as a beautiful young woman came into view. The footage had been filmed using a high-end security camera, expertly hidden at eye level somewhere in my brother’s modern kitchen. The young woman stood at the fridge in her pajamas, her dark-brown hair a tousled cloak around her shoulders. She pulled out eggs and butter, then cracked two eggs into a bowl and beat them with a fork. My gaze lingered on her breasts as they swayed with her movements, barely restrained by her cropped tank top. She was perfectly curvy, her body lush and yielding in all the places I was lean and hard. It had been years since I’d wrapped my arms around something soft. Everything in prison, from the beds to the people, was designed to withstand a beating. My focus dipped to her lower body as she made her way over to the stove, noting how deliciously her thighs filled out her pajama pants.

The video ended and I queued up another, my pulse jumping at the sight of the same young woman seated at a desk in her bedroom, undoubtedly doing her homework. The bedspread and décor were awash in bright, girly shades and patterns, from the purple comforter on her bed to the crisp, white dresser, and the lavender curtains that matched the rug beneath her desk. She’d always loved pastel colors, and it comforted me to know that some things hadn’t changed, even though she was nineteen years old now. I studied her gorgeous face, her full lips pressed tightly together in concentration. She had her hair pulled back, exposing the vulnerable skin of her neck. I sighed as she bit her bottom lip in response to whatever she was reading, wishing I could nibble on it myself, as well as other parts of her supple body.

The next clip showed her lying in bed on her stomach, texting on her phone. Jealousy swirled in my gut as I wondered who was making her smile like that, knowing for a fact that it wasn’t me. She adjusted the fit of her shorts, relaxed and oblivious to the hidden camera capturing her every move.

As always, watching her in secret like this filled me with a mixture of conflicting emotions—sorrow being chief among them. Getting to hold her in my hands without ever touching her killed me every time. But the pain was worth it, especially when the alternative meant missing out on her life.

My excitement grew as I made my way through the clips, my body acutely aware of what was coming. Finally, a high-definition view of her in the shower filled the small screen. I devoured the sight of her smooth, wet skin, the water running down her chest and dripping off her tan nipples. My cock throbbed, already tenting the front of my pants.

I cleared my throat, the agreed-upon signal for my lawyer to make himself scarce for at least five minutes. He rose from the table without so much as glancing in my direction, knocked on the door, and exchanged a few words with the guard before leaving the room.

The second the door shut behind him, I reached into my pants, grasping my cock with a low groan. I stroked myself as the young woman spread suds over her body with a pink loofah before switching to a shower wand to rinse off the suds. My balls tightened as she angled the spray between her thighs and held it there, her lips parting in a moan. She leaned back against the tile, letting the jets pound softly against her clit.

God, I wanted to be there, to lick the droplets from her breasts, to pin her against the wet tile as I touched her, tasted her. More than anything, I wanted to be the one making her come.

But that could never happen, not just because I was behind bars. It couldn’t happen because it was wrong to want to fuck your own daughter. That’s what she was, my Hailee, my only child.My blood.

Just acknowledging our family connection triggered a surge of pleasure that spread out from my cock to every inch of my traitorous body. There was no excuse for my desires, let alone my actions. If Hailee knew that her own father was watching her like this, she’d be horrified.

Why was that such a turn-on?

I jerked myself faster as I watched her bring herself to orgasm, imagining how good it would feel to sink my cock inside her as she came, how tightly her muscles would grip and quiver around me. Her small cries of pleasure echoed between my ears as I shot off into my fist, panting and groaning.

“Fuck…” I whispered on a sigh. My heartbeat continued to race as I quickly wiped away the evidence of my transgression with rough, commissary tissues that I’d stuffed into my pocket this morning.

My lawyer returned to the conference room just as I finished tucking the tissues back into my pants. I’d have given anything for a few more minutes with Hailee’s videos, but the guards would no doubt start to get antsy if my lawyer was gone for too long. The last thing I needed was for them to start asking questions or insist on coming into the room while my attorney took a leisurely shit.

I locked the phone and placed it back onto the table with the earbuds. Now that the high of finally seeing my girl had begun to wear off, I couldn’t help feeling somewhat guilty about what I’d done. There was no way around it: I was a sick bastard, not just for wanting to fuck my own daughter, but for my part in invading her privacy so deliberately.

Somehow that guilt never stopped me from showing up here every month and watching the clips my brother had curated for me. Selfishly, I knew I’d go crazy in this place without some connection to Hailee and the life I’d left behind. Part of me would’ve preferred to get a letter or a call from Hailee herself, but after four years, she was still too angry to speak to me, and I couldn’t blame her.

A sense of awkwardness permeated the conference room like the stench of sweat and come as my lawyer pocketed the phone and earbuds. He didn’t know what I was watching, but I was willing to bet he suspected the videos were sexual in nature. Thankfully, the guy was smart enough not to ask.

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