Pussy whipped.
In love—well, damn near close to it—with one of the baddest bitches he’d ever seen in a state penitentiary. He’d been working in corrections for well over a decade already, and he’d seen his share of bitches come and go. And several of them had been dime-pieces. But none had ever been as fine as this one here.
Fuck.
He blamed working the third shift; he blamed her for being in lockup for all those months, then coming back; he blamed the muhfucka in the control center for playing with his dick watching porn on his cell, instead of monitoring the cameras. He blamed everything and everyone else—except himself—for his current dilemma.
Had he been on days, had she not been in the hole—again, had his boy been more by the book, he wouldn’t have been tempted. He wouldn’t have been lured into her web of seduction.
He’d tried to fight it. Yet, by just the sight of her, she’d managed to break his resolve. To seduce him mentally, long before he’d ever touched her physically.
The first time he’d caught her playing in her sweet, juicy snatch, he had to blink several times to make sure he hadn’t been seeing things. But when he’d looked again, his eyes caught hers, and she seemed to open her thighs wider, wanting him to see her.
All of her.
In all of her beautiful nakedness.
And, for a moment, when he’d shone his flashlight on her and their gazes locked, he’d thought he’d seen a soft, secret smile curve her lips as she worked her fingers in and out of her slit. Her pussy lips were glossed with her juices. And its mouth drooled around her fingers, sucking them into her body.
His gaze had been riveted to the scene before him so intently that he had to force himself to move from her door and continue his tour before he came on himself.
Yeah. She’d known what she’d been doing all those nights she’d lain naked on her bunk, legs spread, hand between them, slender fingers sliding over her clit, dipping inside her, then going up to her lips and inside that warm, silky mouth of hers.
He could still hear her strained moans of pleasure. Could still feel the way her gasps caressed his ears, driving him insane with heated desire.
“Mmmm . . . uhh . . .”
Yeah, she’d known what the fuck she was doing to him every time he did his fifteen-minute tours, every time he peeked in her cell, every time he’d shone the light on her, every time he’d opened the trap of her door and looked in—she’d been there playing with herself. Pulling open her sweet, puffy lips, revealing the deep pinkness, the wetness, of her slit, that winked come-hither with every movement of her hips and fingers.
She was brazenly inviting him in.
Licking her lips.
Taunting him.
Offering the snatch to him.
Shit. He was a man. And he loved pussy. So what had she expected him to do after months of viewing her? She had to know, eventually, he was going to tire of watching, of playing voyeur, before he made his way into her cell to get a closer look, then a quick feel, then a little taste . . . and finally fuck her.
Right?
That’s what she’d wanted. Some dick. His dick.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been spending all those nights giving him his very own private peep shows. Her ass would have been under her blanket, sleep. Not prancing around in her cell naked in the middle of the night, dirty dancing for him, not fucking herself in front of him, not on her bunk, legs spread for the taking.
She’d wanted him to pipe her out, to rock her to sleep with the dick.
And, eventually, he did. And she’d been so wet, so tight, so goddamn hot.
“Damn, baby,” he’d murmured in her ear that very first night as he fucked her up against the cement wall of her cell. “This pussy so fucking juicy . . . uhh . . . so . . . mmm . . . fucking good.”
She’d bitten into his shoulder, then nipped at his ear. “Mmm, yessss . . . fuck me. Oooh, yessss. Fuck my wet pussy . . .”
He’d slammed into her body, and she’d taking the pounding like a pro. Inch by inch, her warm cunt had hungrily, greedily, swallowed him in.
“Is this what you’ve bee
n waiting for, this hard dick?” he’d said, his voice low and full of heat.