Psychic Prison

by Veronica Agnus

  His pace never wavered as his own release closed in, the two of us panting and moaning uncontrollably.

  "Cum for me, Alisha!" he ordered, the rough growl hitched with a groan as he pumped into me viciously. The name left my mouth before I knew it.

  "ATTICUS!"

  He sank his cock deep into me, triggering my climax. His hot shots of release filled me up, my pussy quaking around his massive cock while I shuddered from the sexual high.

  Our panting breaths were the only sounds in the room as we collapsed against the sheets.

  For the first time in a long time, I felt absolutely alive. Every breath I took felt like a gift.

  Even with my list of worries of all I'd gone through so far, this moment felt like freedom hidden in the world of captivity.

  When our breaths finally stabilized, all that remained was peaceful silence. I stared at the ceiling, my body still in a state of equilibrium.

  The sudden, soft touch that raked through my hair drew my attention from the peacefulness flooding my mind, and my head turned over to my right to see the man who'd ignited all of this. His arrival truly was a blessing in disguise, and I could only wonder what it would do now.

  Would our connection only involve passion?

  "You remembered my name when you came," he muttered quietly, pointing out a true fact. I still needed a second to rewind, and it seemed to click a bit of memory I'd forgotten.

  * * *

  "Atticus! Tell Phoenix to get his ass back here so Saphire can kick his ass!"

  The heated laughter that followed only ignited my anger.

  "He's not coming back anytime soon, so give up already."

  "He slapped my butt!"

  "With good reasoning." He winked. "You have a nice butt."

  "Not with googly eyes I don't!"

  "Now you know how it feels," he declared. "He's asleep."

  "Liar."

  "Maybe, but that means we have time for one another."

  "I don't want time with you."

  "Don't be cold like that, Alisha."

  "I'll get my revenge, just you wait," I vowed.

  "I know you will." His grin was priceless. "I'll be ready for whatever punishment you have for me, my sweet butterfly."

  * * *

  The stroke to my cheek brought me back from the flashback. I blinked a few times as my gaze honed in on worried red eyes.

  "I'm fine," I quickly defended, feeling a little embarrassed for suddenly falling into the flashback. "I remembered something, that's all."

  "Aside from my name."

  "Ya," I admitted. "So you're not Phoenix."

  "Nope." He didn't see the need to hide it. "Mr. Phoenix, sure, but Phoenix isn't me."

  "Atticus Phoenix." The name rolled off my tongue with ease. "Wait. That's your name."

  "Correct." He seemed pleased, his eyes softening as he moved a few strands of my hair away from my face. "Are you in the mood to talk?"

  "That depends on whether we'll be fucking again," I noted.

  "Dragons love to fuck."

  "I'm a dragon?" I blinked cluelessly, and he stared back at me.

  "No one's told you what you are?"

  "No," I truthfully answered.

  "How much do you know about yourself?"

  I took a moment to gather as much as I could from my memory of the last two weeks.

  "Alisha Butterfly. I'm twenty-two, have psychic abilities, and was charged for killing one thousand prisoners and brought here for a life sentence. I'm apparently some supernatural monarch of some sort, and I'll probably die if I don't get my nails done in this place."

  "Don’t forget the shiny rocks," Saphire proudly emphasized.

  "And if it doesn't deem me totally insane, I have a talking voice in my head that likes shiny rocks."

  "Sorry to say, but that makes you sound crazy."

  Yet it didn't get me into the mental ward. What irony.

  "Saphire," he said with confidence. "I'm aware of her shiny rock addiction."

  "You know her?" My astonished response made those red eyes flood with sorrow.

  "I know you. Every part of you. I always have since you were one year old."

  "That sounds rather stalkerish," I noted. "But also, romantic."

  He rolled his eyes but kept me close to his naked body. "Do you want to know everything about you now or after we deal with some company?"

  "Company?"

  "Your other masters."

  "I'm confused," I admitted. "I was told I'd have one master and I'm going to assume it's you, unless you just wanted to fuck, which I honestly have no regrets about."

  He arched an eyebrow at me in pure judgment.

  "You wouldn't throw yourself at any man."

  "Certainly not, seeing as you're the only one who made my hormones flip like crazy and my brain cells frizzle till they stopped responding." My casual honesty must have been due to the amazing sex.

  He rolled us over, my back pressed against the sheets while he hovered above me. I questioned if he was upset with my response, but my body wasn't tensed by the reposition.

  I was actually getting excited again.

  "We're not fucking so soon," he began before he whispered, "I'm glad that I still make your hormones crazy."

  "You sound beyond proud," I huffed.

  "You're switching personalities on me again."

  "Do I do that a lot?"

  "All the time," he quietly answered. "Annoying."

  "I feel insulted."

  "And fun," he finished. "I think we should put some clothes on for this talk or all I'll want to do is fuck you again."

  "Do you see me objecting to that second option?"

  "No, and that's why we need clothes. You won't think straight otherwise."

  He got up before I could argue, and there was the view of his muscled back, legs, and plump butt.

  I got to fuck this heavenly beast of muscle. Yup. Prison ain't bad at all.

  "You haven't even endured a bit of what's supposed to happen in prison."

  Not my fault.

  Reluctantly getting out of bed, I moved closer to him, my eyes specifically on his ass. I unexpectedly poked his butt like it was a common habit.

  "Why do I want to put googly eyes on here?"

  He groaned. "Please forget about that."

  "It's too late now." I grinned. "I want googly eyes. Do they have those in prison? Probably not, but I mean if we can have views of Ireland, we can get those delivered or something."

  He looked over his shoulder to glare at me.

  "What? I want googly eyes."

  "No." His immediate denial only made me grow quiet while I held his angered gaze with my blank stare.

  "..."

  "..."

  "......"

  "Are you just going to give him the silent treatment for a year?" I could tell Saphire was enjoying this from the tone of her voice.

  Probably.

  He caved after a solid minute. "Fine."

  "You're my new favorite master," I sang happily. "Wait. What are we actually? Master and servant? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Friends with benefits?"

  He slipped on his boxers, which made me frown in sadness.

  "Bye bye, sexy ass," I accidentally said out loud.

  "You love jumping topics," he noted. "And stop checking out my ass."

  "You’re my master so aren't I allowed?"

  "No."

  "Says who?"

  "Says me," he huffed. "Put some clothes on."

  "If you're expecting me to wear that extravagant dress for a talk, it's not happening," I pointed out as I crossed my arms under my breasts. All he did was look at my twins, and his conflicting emotions of hunger and seriousness were rather intriguing to witness.

  He finally grew serious and returned his gaze up to my face.

  "There's comfy attire in the drawer."

  "You never answered my question," I reminded. "What are we?"

  "We're married."

  I had b
egun the list of intriguing questions I would have asked him, but his response threw me completely off and left me staring at him with wide eyes.

  He slipped on his t-shirt, leaving his pants somewhere in the room as he headed for the door.

  "Wear some clothes and meet me down the hall. Then we'll talk and after that, you're meeting your three other masters."

  That's all he said as he waltzed out the door, leaving my stunned, naked ass to scurry for clothes and race out the door to ask what he'd just said.

  Holy fuck shit I'm married to a sexy dragon supernatural?! Now this is getting good.

  Taking Control Of What Is Mine

  I focused on the rising steam from the mug in my grasp. The scent of fresh coffee with caramel sweetener made my heart happy.

  Glancing at Atticus as he finished up his cup of coffee, I pondered how crazy my predicament was only hours ago. Here I was, sitting in a comforting little room with the sight of Paris lights from the single magical window that sat next to my left.

  We were still beneath the prison walls. The calm peacefulness in this room matched with the soft warmth of the fireplace behind where Atticus would sit. He offered to make coffee while I quickly used the restroom.

  I loved sex, but I knew for sure I wasn't going to deal with a UTI in prison.

  The idea had made me pause in my frantic race to have all my questions answered and now I was about to enjoy this coffee that was practically made for me.

  Rediscovering myself was something I'd worried about, and meeting someone who knew me better than myself was both a relief and a little worrisome.

  He knows my likes and dislikes, my strengths and weaknesses. This is a man who can bend me to his will and use my flawed state of forgetfulness against me.

  That thought worried me dearly, but at the same time, if he'd wished that fate for me, it would have already happened. He’d had multiple chances to make my life a living hell, especially with him being my "master" in this Level Three sanctuary, but so far, everything had gone a way I'd never expected it to.

  This prison was by far the most confusing part of it all. A prison that was separated into four solid levels. With a glimpse of the first level and now seeing the dramatic difference in the third level, I wondered how dangerous - or extravagant - the final level beneath us was.

  If I was considered powerful, I couldn't imagine the prisoners in the very depths of this massive place.

  Atticus walked over to our little sitting area, setting down a plate of various sweets. He had a silver cylinder in his other hand, and he met my curious gaze as I debated whether to stuff my mouth with cookies or be an elegant lady and sip my coffee.

  "You like your coffee with steamed almond milk," he revealed.

  "I do?" I questioned. "Actually, that sounds delightful."

  He smirked as I offered my cup so he could pour the frothy white liquid. I licked my lips out of habit, staring at the delightful drink as if the slight addition had suddenly changed the entire potency of the drink.

  It had, but now it was much more tempting to drink my coffee instead of eat the cookies on the table.

  "Thank you." My words of gratitude were well received as he nodded and gave me a calm smile. It was the first time I was seeing this side of him, and it really melted my heart.

  I was getting this rare opportunity to see various sides of this man who was my apparent husband. The thought was intriguing and motivated me to remain patient as he revealed the truth regarding my past.

  He returned the steamer to the mini kitchen area in the room. I observed his cleanliness, how he didn't hesitate to clean up after himself before putting everything back in its proper place.

  I wasn't sure how men usually behaved, but in the back of my mind, I felt many of them would wait for a woman to do the cleaning, based on the beliefs of previous generations.

  The knowledge that he was my master told me that I was a slave, which told me that it should have been my role now that he "owned" me. If I could even call it that.

  He came over to sit while I lifted my legs to cross them within the soft, vintage armchair I was sitting in. We both began to drink the energizing liquid, our eyes staring at the Paris views. To be sitting in prison and viewing a completely different country was mind-blowing, but even more so, the familiarity of the buildings had me pondering about my past travels.

  "I proposed to you in Paris," Atticus revealed.

  My eyes found his as he stared quietly back at me, waiting to see my response to his words. When I remained quiet, he took another sip of his coffee.

  "We weren't supposed to go to Paris, but due to an investigation of a hidden supernatural drug deal, we were sent over there to act like a crazy-in-love couple. We played the part perfectly." His eyes softened at the memory. "To the point where I twirled you around in your gorgeous short red dress that lifted up and gave the best glimpse of your ass."

  "Doesn't that mean everyone got a glimpse of it?"

  "Yup," he answered. "But I wasn't too annoyed since I dropped down on my knee and proposed to you."

  My eyes looked back at the night scenery of the French country. The way the lights twinkled while my imagination tried to envision the miraculous moment.

  I could see myself in a short red dress that hugged my breasts and fluttered out at the waist. The dress must have been really short, or at least one of those types where a mere twirl would make it spin gracefully.

  I could imagine wearing red heels and leaving my hair down. The thought of my hair styled in tight curls came to my mind, and even with us being on some sort of mission, I was positive I would have kept my black-rooted, purple hair.

  Down to the single set of blue strands.

  To be twirled by the man of my dreams, only to lay my eyes on his kneeling form as he presented a dazzling ring, his hopeful red eyes glimmering with love, desire, and dreams of commitment.

  The gasps of those around us, the snaps of pictures, the gleeful squeals, all while my heart thrashed against my chest in pure happiness.

  "Will you marry me, Alisha Butterfly?”

  The single sentence that drifted through my head made me smile while droplets rolled down my cheeks. My little meditative moment of imagination brought happiness and sorrow. It felt so real, and yet I wished to recall every second of it. To envision the fine details of what occurred after, aside from my automatic assumption that I'd said yes.

  Whoever put me here took these memories away from me. Stole a piece of me that I feared would never return safely to my subconscious.

  That pained me dearly, and it was that acknowledgment regarding those slim chances that made my tears fall. I closed them and lowered my head, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.

  It upset me to show a glimpse of weakness, especially when I was about to learn more about this man - my husband Atticus Phoenix - but he must have experienced many ups and downs with me in the past.

  All those experiences I'd never get to remember.

  "Alisha."

  I didn't lift my head at Atticus's call, my darkened mind far too deep in the whirlwind of the sorrows of my predicament. All I felt like doing now was crying and burying myself in a hole of darkness.

  Was this just another consequence of losing your identity? Was this what my enemy wanted me to endure and suffer? To forever be left incomplete and to just accept this new reality?

  My head lifted up; Atticus's hand was now under my chin and his vibrant red eyes were swarming with boldness. "Your memories aren't lost."

  "You don't know that," I whispered, wishing to just wallow in my sadness.

  "I do," he confirmed. "Lyla checked. There's a block on your mind, a very powerful one, but your memories aren't lost due to trauma. That means you can get them back. We merely have to figure out a way to unblock them."

  There's hope?

  He removed his hand and unexpectedly leaned over to press his lips against my forehead. The soft, comforting kiss made me blush for the first time, the swa
rming heat rushing to my cheeks while my sadness began to wither away.

  Warmth fluttered through me, and I suddenly didn't feel like my world was crumbling down. There really was a silver lining in this situation, and all I had to do was be patient and look at all sides of the spectrum before assuming the worse.

  "It's easy to fall prey to the darkness within us," he disclosed. "Especially when we're put in situations that leave us in a mess of vulnerability and self-hate. All of this, everything that has led you to this point in time, wasn't your doing. It's obvious that you were set up, and whoever put you here either has a purpose for us to fulfill or wants you specifically to fall into hopelessness."

  "Purpose for us..." I trailed off at the comment as Atticus nodded.

  "Us," he said with confidence. "When I married you, I vowed we'd be a team no matter the distance or circumstances. You may not recall and I'm sure you felt isolated the last two weeks going through the bullshit these people put you through while you tried to recover from your injuries, but from this point forward, I need you to always remember that we're in this together."

  "Even though we have these new roles of master and servant?"

  "Those roles don't apply, Alisha," he declared. "Between us, you are my friend, wife, and destined mate. I care not about these silly prison rules, but if I have to play along to keep you safe, I'll do just that. I'll never push you past your limits, and you can always voice your concerns to me. It may be difficult with how things are now but give it time and I'll earn your trust and loyalty."

  His words helped with my overflowing worries, and having the reassurance that he'd stand by my side from now on was something that already proved his loyalty. Trust wasn't a questionable gamble here. I did trust him. My soul knew before my mind and body caught up that the mask he wore was only out of protection, and the man before me with softened eyes and a loving heart was who he truly was around those who'd gained his utmost respect, loyalty, and undying love.

  All I could do was be grateful to have met him first before I ended up meeting these other masters.

  "I trust you." My voice didn't waver. "You've proven your loyalty to me, and knowing my memories aren't completely lost forever really eases my worries. I want to know more. About us, our past, and what triggered my sudden captivity, but I have a feeling we don't have a lot of time…and you did mention other masters."