Oh well.
That Snake chick got what she got. And that ghetto bitch over on 4 East had gotten what she deserved as well. So she wasn’t about to worry herself over it. However, since the day of that bloody incident, she had changed. Solitary confinement—lockup—the second time had changed her. Hardened her. Made her more conscious of her needs. Of her wants, her desires, her sexuality . . . of what she needed to do in order to survive behind these walls.
In the beginning, she thought she might lose her mind. But she hadn’t. Instead, she read books, lots and lots of books. Filthy books. Erotic books. Books that made her pussy quiver, and wet. Had it not been for her books, her time in the “hole” would have broken her. With nothing but time on her hands, she’d learned to turn her situation into her own personal playground filled with naughty seduction.
Reading passages of her books out loud, enacting scenes.
Openly masturbating.
Prancing around her cell naked.
Dirty dancing to the music in her head.
It all became a dirty little game to her, knowing someone would have to come by her cell like clockwork to check in on her. Knowing she’d be watched, or at the very least quickly eyed, had made her pussy tremble with excitement. The sultry acts heightened her awareness. Allowed her to hone her seduction skills. And it hadn’t taken long—three, maybe four, weeks—before she’d finally reeled in her first mark.
Officer Rawlings.
Horny bastard.
Sure, he’d fought the urge best he could. But he was a man—for fuck’s sake! Of course her womanly wiles—and nightly sex shows—would sooner than later play on his curiosity, and weaken his resolve.
And it had.
What man could possibly stand his ground against her wicked seduction?
The moment she’d heard the sound of his Folger Adams key opening the trap of her door, and his gaze locked on hers as she purposefully, methodically, brought herself to orgasm; the moment he was bold enough to open her cell door and sneak inside, the first time he’d slid his thick dick inside her and whispered her name over and over, and she’d melted around his every thrust, she knew then that she’d had him. That she’d, eventually, have him eating—not only her twat and ass crack, but out of the palm of her once paraffin-smooth hand.
And Austin Rawlings was fine as hell. And his lean, chiseled body was everything. But he wasn’t shit for fucking her. An inmate. She could never respect him—or any man, for that matter—who thought with his dick.
Yes, the dick was good. Real good. But he was only a means to an end. And as long as she was locked up, she would do her prison bid comfortably, using any man’s—or woman’s—weaknesses for her own personal gain. No, she wasn’t a lesbian, but she’d had a lot of time to think it over while in solitary confinement. And she’d c
ome to the conclusion that crooked COs had needs too. So why not cater to them. Indulge their desires. Let them fuck her and lick her cunt clean.
Quid pro quo.
They’d have to give something in order to get something in return. And they’d need to make it worth her while. So as long as Officer Rawlings smuggled in the things she desired, he could keep on sniffing her panties, and fucking her. The tracker phone, her expensive Chanel cosmetics, and the lacy bra-and-panty sets he’d managed, thus far, to get into the prison for her were a start. But she desired so much more.
And, if she had her way, she’d have it all.
She deserved it.
She smiled slyly as she thought back to her closet rendezvous with CO Thurman. Two hundred dollars for a twenty-minute fuck was so worth it. It’d been one of her best fucks. Ugly or not, he could fuck.
She swallowed back the heated memory.
This wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about needing affection. It was simply about survival. Using what she had to get what she wanted. By any means necessary.
She almost laughed.
Pussy was the root of all things evil. Its grip, its pulsing heat, could damn near entice a man to consider giving up a testicle as long as he was granted unlimited access to its silky, wet heat. Well, maybe not to that extreme, but damn sure close enough. Pussy made a man willing to cheat on his woman. Made him willing to risk everything for the sake of getting lost inside of it.
And pussy—good pussy, that was, didn’t always come free.
Heaven stepped up to the railing, and looked out over the tier. A wicked grin slid over her Chanel-glossed lips. She was so much better than that cheap shit they sold on canteen. The tangerine-orange color complemented her smooth complexion, and matched her uniform perfectly. Her crisp orange jumper was cinched at the waist, courtesy of her cellmate Sabina’s tailoring skills.
Her twenty-seven-year-old cellmate was serving a fifteen-year sentence for drug trafficking. A sentence that should have been handed down to her boyfriend at the time, but love and loyalty had her unwilling to turn State’s evidence against him. She’d rather take a bullet to the head, or rot in a prison cell, before she betrayed him.
Bottom line, she wasn’t a snitch.