by Dee Garcia
I haven’t felt that since… Well, you know.
Like yesterday morning, he must feel the burn of my stare because from one moment to the next, said stare locks with mine. Then it widens anxiously, more still when the corners of my mouth quirk in a small—yet still suggestive—smile.
Yeah, I saw you, Bala.
It hits me right about then that I don’t know his name. I mean, why would I? Inmates aren’t meant to know CO’s on a first-name basis. After Ángel, though, a detail that small is a pretty big deal for me.
Flicking my gaze to his tag, I take in the small first name on the bottom right.
Andrés. Andrés Bala.
Damn, even his name is sexy.
My lips curl, interests piqued all the more now that I have a name to match the fine face that kept me up all night. “Andrés, huh?”
♫ Suga Suga - Baby Bash & Frankie J
Her tongue caresses every single letter in my name.
Hearing it is one thing—but feeling it? Fuck. That sensuous, decadent purr goes straight to my dick, bursting like an atomic bomb through each limb from there.
Her voice is sexy as hell, a fact that only adds to the problem she already presents for me. It was bad enough yesterday, but now that I know what she sounds like, what she could sound like if I ever got her beneath me?
Jesus Christ, I’m so fucked.
There’s not a doubt in my mind I’m going to be hearing that voice in my head all day long—likely all night too. Yeah, tonight is going to suck balls. Mack assured me I’d be out by six at the latest, and the ride to my place is only about an hour and fifteen, so while I’ll be home at a decent time—which is nice—I won’t have a distraction to keep me from thinking about her like I did last night.
“See something you like, Andrés?” That fucking purr again.
I almost groan—that’s the level of sexiness we’re talking about here—but manage to clear my throat instead and keep my tone controlled. “It’s CO Bala, and you should really pay more attention up there and less about what’s happening back here.”
Benni chuckles quietly, shamelessly dragging her limited gaze down my body. “Kinda hard when I can feel what’s happening back here. Good to know my ass can still turn heads.”
Oh, no, she didn’t.
On the one hand, I’m both intrigued and impressed by her wit, but on the other? It boils my blood and spikes anxiety. If someone were to have heard her, we’d both be screwed.
My eyes narrow. “Turn around, Villanueva.”
“Damn, you know my name already?” She grins devilishly. “Let me guess, Mack told you all about me, huh?”
This girl...
“I said, turn around, Villanueva. Next time, it’s a shot.”
“Oooh, a shot? I see you’re stepping perfectly into the role already, wandering eyes and all. When should I expect to start hearing the crude remarks? Soon or…are you holding onto those a little longer?”
I’m not even gonna lie to you—I’m fucking scandalized. Takes everything in me to keep my jaw from tumbling to the floor, to keep from breaking all protocol and throwing this girl into the nearest wall. She’s got a mouth on her, and while completely unacceptable in a CO-inmate interaction, I like it. I can’t help but want to toss the figurative ball back at her.
Because that’s exactly what she’s doing—throwing the ball in my court—and I want to play.
“This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been doing this for almost five years,” I hiss, trailing my eyes along the line all the way to Walker and his balding head at the front. If anyone’s listening in, I can’t tell. “And I’m not like some of these dudes, so how about you not assume we’re all one and the same?”
“Says the dude who was just staring at my ass,” she counters, flashing me another one of those dick-twitching winks. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our little secret.”
Can’t say I blame her for throwing that jab. The CO stereotype is all too real and very much alive. In B Block alone, we’ve got Mack and Jordan as proof, and considering what went down not three minutes ago, I look just like them.
“Just turn around, Villanueva.” I’m all but gritting my teeth at this point, hands balled into fists as I mentally chastise myself for being, not only so indiscreet but for sidestepping professionalism and ogling her assets in the first place.
She’s not some chick on the street I can mack on freely. She’s the state’s property, an inmate in a maximum-security federal prison who has dues to pay and time to serve—aka I can’t have her.
Which brings me back to last night’s question: why is this suddenly such a concept for me?
Surprisingly enough, Benni finally turns around, yanking me back into the present. Not before snickering while she’s at it, of course, her shoulders bobbing up and down in amusement, but she finally listens, sparing me from digging myself a deeper hole. Just in time, too, because the laundry room is our first stop, and this is where she gets off. I only learned she’s on laundry duty when Walker called the girls into the line by work assignment back in the cell block.
We stop long enough for Benni and three other inmates to make their way inside, and then we’re off again, passing the CO—one I haven’t met yet—who’s already stationed outside the laundry room door. He tips his dark head and me, and vice versa, forcing me to keep my line of sight straight ahead. He’s literally the only reason I don’t risk one last peek at her, ‘cause my morale? Ha. I can’t even say that ship has sailed.
Apparently, there wasn’t a ship when it came to Benni, to begin with.
“See something you like, Andrés?”
Hell, yes, I did, and she knew it, too.
“Good to know my ass can still turn heads.”
Shiiit, it’ll do more than that. Forget her ass. Benni, as a whole, could bring any man to his knees. Sure as fuck feels like I am, and all we did was trade a few heated looks and a handful of words. It’s ridiculous. I’m dazed and confused, caught under a spell I can’t seem to reverse or escape.
As predicted, the entire exchange has been stuck on a loop. I can’t get her out of my head. It’s like knowing I can’t have her makes me want her more. I don’t know what to do with this, how to handle it. I’ve never had this problem before, in either prison I worked at. I’ve tried thinking about Kass—how she moans, the way her pussy feels wrapped around my cock when she rides me reverse.
Nothing.
Yeah, she’s hot, and we have a really good time together, but my mind easily bypasses her and circles back to this girl.
Benni.
Inmate Villanueva.
You can look. Just don’t touch. That’s the devil on my shoulder, obviously. Looking is what got me here in the first place. Then again, how do you just not look at someone? Watching these girls is my job. I was gonna have to keep an eye on her regardless.
Guess that old saying isn’t a pile of shit after all.
Ask any female inmate who's been involved with a correctional officer. They’ll tell you this right here is exactly how the majority of those relationships start—that all it takes is a single look.
Then, a look becomes a wink, and a wink becomes stolen whispers and kites—aka prison notes—passed in the hallways.
Fuck, this is bad. This is really bad.
I’ve not been here two full days, and my job is already in jeopardy. If it weren’t for Walker ambling beside me down the hallway, I’d be tugging my hair like a madman. We just got off lunch, heading back to B Block now from the break room. Knowing Benni will be getting in from work soon has my heart pumping in double time. I want to see her, but I don’t at the same time. I’m not ready ‘cause I know it’s gonna happen again—mark my words. Those luscious brown eyes of hers are gonna slide over my form, and they’re gonna sear me inside out.
“I’ve gotta say, man, thank you for not pairing me with Jordan for the day,” I tell Walker, trying and obviously miserably failing to keep myself distracted.
It’s not a lie, though. I’m genuinely thankful I didn’t have to try staying focused all day while dealing with that tool too.
“Even if it were possible, I wouldn’t do that to you.” John chuckles, his more than obvious beer gut bouncing through his amusement.
Even if it were possible?
“What do you mean?” I can’t hide the intrigue in my voice if I tried.
Walker shrugs as we cut a right from the east hall, following the white and light blue checkered floors to the block’s entry gate. “Where Mack goes, Jordan goes. That’s his buddy, his sidekick.” His voice drops a little lower as he adds, “Wouldn’t surprise me if they took turns playing top and bottom outside of the workplace if you get what I mean.”
Top and… My eyes widen in realization. “Wait, they’re—”
“Not out in the open, no,” he clarifies. “But Mack refuses anyone else as his partner. He’s adamant about it. That’s literally his one and only requirement for me when I’m doing the schedule. As long as he’s got Jordan, he doesn’t give a fuck who I put when or where.”
Somehow, I’m not surprised. I should’ve figured that based on yesterday morning alone. Jordan screamed ass kisser from the second I saw him in action during that sweep. It’s clear he’s Mack’s little bitch...and he likes it. “Guess I should thank Mack for playing favorites then, huh?”
Walker snickers and pulls—literally pulls—his ID to the card reader, a whirring zip from the attached black cord nearly choking me on a repressed laugh. He’s got that thing on a damn leash. It’s the funniest shit I’ve seen all day.
The green light blinks, prompting the buzzer to sound off, and with a friendly smile on his round face, he motions for me to go in first. Aside from the fact he doesn’t have a beard, and he’s got a huge bald spot on the back of his head, he reminds me of what the kid version of me envisioned as Santa. “You’ll likely see yourself with either me or Rodriguez, maybe even Birks and Delfino. Birks is the gentleman we passed this morning after dropping some of the girls off at laundry,” he supplies from behind me.
All he had to say was laundry, and there she is, popping back to the forefront of my mind like she’d never been gone at all.
“See something you like, Andrés?”
Goddammit.
Gritting my jaw, I nod by way of response and keep on toward the box. I know she’s not here yet, but I don’t dare cast my gaze around the room. I just have to make it another hour and a half—if that—and I can get the hell out of here. Granted, going home will only be a temporary reprieve from this maddening push and pull between right and wrong, but it’s better than nothing, and it’ll give me a few hours to sort myself out before coming back and doing this shit all over again tomorrow.
Mack and Jordan are howling in laughter when Walker and I step inside the room. They’re so consumed, eyes clamped shut with their heads thrown back that they don’t hear us fall into the empty seats before the glass. It’s not until they’re wiping the tears away that they realize they have an audience. Watching them startle is pretty funny to be honest, especially after what Walker just shared with me out in the hall.
“When the hell did you two get here?” Mack asks, scooping up the disarray of papers on his desk and tapping them into a neat pile.
You know, the classic “I’m-so-busy” move.
“About twenty seconds ago,” I reply, slouching in my seat.
Jordan chooses that very moment to clear his throat and rise from the other desk with several manilla folders in hand. His stride to the tan filing cabinet might seem nonchalant to the average bystander, but he screams sus to me. They both do.
Beside me, Walker’s chuckling away quietly, his brown eyes flicking out the window into the cell block as he shakes his head knowingly.
“Right, well…” Mack clears his throat, too. “Rodriguez should be here any minute now with the workers. Take this clipboard and wait for him by the gate. We don’t need a count. Just check their names off in the ‘post-work’ column.” He’s staring at me as he says this, which leaves me pointing at myself in confusion.
“Me?”
His lips purse dubiously. “Yes, you, Bala. Who else would I be talking to?”
“I mean, there are two other people in the room.” I motion around us. “Not to mention, this is only my second full day here. I don’t have all the names to faces memorized yet.”
“You don’t need to have them memorized. They have IDs, remember?”
It’s not until after he’s said it that I realize how stupid I look right now. Of course, they have IDs. These girls will lie about anything and everything.
“Right, sorry. It’s been a long day.” Long and trying as fuck, to be exact.
“You can say that again,” he agrees, blowing out a breath. “Once you’ve got them all cleared, go ahead and clock out. There’s not much left to get done before third shift comes in.”
Whether it’s true or not, you won’t catch me complaining. Not today, anyway. Never mind the daily toll of the job and the fact that I’m still adjusting to a new setting. I’m drained from the chaotic roller coaster my emotions have cycled through the last twenty-four hours.
The kicker?
I still want one last look before I go home.
“Noted,” I answer him. Rising from my seat, I grab the clipboard off his desk and head out of the box just as the telltale buzzer erupts. In comes Rodriguez, who halts the line just inside the block when he sees me approaching with the clipboard.
“Post-work check?”
“Yup.” I pop the P in time with the echoing slam of the heavy gate.
“Got it?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, man, I got it. Go take five. They’re just in there bullshitting.”
Rodriguez tips his head and claps me on the shoulder before taking off. Without him as a buffer, I can feel her. It’s instant, rushing through my veins like wildfire, my heart rate kicking back into overdrive. Turning back to the line of inmates before me—with the coolest and collected expression I can manage—I have to force my eyes from not scanning through each face.
“Ladies, if you’re still unfamiliar with me, I’m CO Bala, aka the new guy. That’s not to be confused for newbie. I’ve been doing this a long time. Not sure how the other CO’s handle check-ins, but I’m going to make it as quick and painless as possible, so we can all get on about our afternoons. To do that, I need your full cooperation. Make sure your IDs are visible and move promptly with the line. Sound easy enough?”
Several rounds of “Yes, sir” ring out along with some flirty smiles and overly-appreciative stares.
None of them affect me like hers does. They never have.
Heart thrashing like a stampede, I start going through the process of checking IDs and checking off the matching name on the clipboard. I’m hoping she’ll be somewhere in the middle, rendering her unable to do much of anything, but the list is alphabetical, and I’m checking every single name in perfect succession.
Shit.
The line starts getting smaller and smaller, the number of names left reducing rapidly...until there’s only her. My stare’s stuck on the clipboard, but her frame slides into my line of sight.
“CO Bala,” she coos, stiffening my spine.
My throat bobs, too, and I have to inhale a deep breath as I steel myself to make eye contact.
A breath I lose right after.
She hits me with that subtle smile, peeking up at me beneath her lashes. Hits me harder than I was expecting, the shock of this electric-like current prickling my skin.
“Villanueva,” I return, checking off the box beside her name.
Two seconds later, there’s a tiny balled up paper rolling down the clipboard. The only reason it doesn’t roll right to the floor is because I quickly dig the edge of the clipboard into my stomach. The alarms in my head blare at the sight of it.
A look becomes a wink, and a wink becomes stolen whispers and kites passed in the hallways.
Fuck.
Lips thinning, I drag my gaze back up, am about to ask her what this is, but she’s already gone, striding into the block toward her cell with that natural sway of her hips. I’m not even on edge at this point, I’ve gone right over it, blood roaring through my ears in time with my erratic pulse.
No one is watching me, yet I feel like she’s left me with a giant neon sign hanging over my head. I have to move, though. I can’t just stand here staring after her. As discreetly as possible, I take the note into my possession and maneuver it into my pocket as I stalk back to the box to return the list to Mack.
The damn thing is burning against my thigh, curiosity spinning my mind out of control. But it’s not until I’ve gone through all the motions of clocking out and I make it into the privacy of my car that I pull it free and unball it.
I meant what I said.
If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’m not a snitch.
Plus, you’re not like the rest of them.
You owe me tho…
I think I read it three times, maybe even more. She’s got such pretty handwriting—this elegant wispy sort of script that just flows. Matches her perfectly. Blowing out a breath, I throw my head back into the seat and stare up at the dark cloth roof.
Yeah... I’m. So. Fucked.
♫ Yikes - Nicki Minaj
It’s been almost a week since I gave Andrés that kite, and I haven’t gotten a reply. Was I expecting one? Yes, a part of me was. The others can’t believe I was stupid enough to give him a note in the first place. I mean, really, what was I thinking? So, while sulking in the disappointment of his silence—hell, he’s barely even looked at me since—I’ve also been tearing myself apart about slipping up. I could get into a shit-ton of trouble if he were to rat me out. I don’t actually think he would, but then again, what do I really know about him? Just because we exchanged a few words on top of several heated looks doesn’t mean he wouldn’t protect himself and his position before anything else.
