Especially if she's taking so many. Again, I glance over to the obscene amount of meds.
“He was visiting me. I swear. I ran out of meds, I ran out and I was having... troubles, and he came rushing back home out of work and helped get me the meds. You have to believe me.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, examining this broken woman for a moment. “Do you know the name of the pharmacy he went to?”
“Yes, yes. He went to Spencer's. It's two miles away, wedged between Nando's and HMS on Mitchell street. They're the ones who get my special meds always ordered. Gotta go there every week. Hard to keep track of things at times...” she starts mumbling to herself, and I grimace. I suspect being separated from her son is not doing her any favors.
“Alright, that's wonderful. So, he went to help you... and went to Spencer's pharmacy.” My mind is whirring. If this is true, then it changes the shape of the timeframe, and gives Danny less time than previously suspected to commit the murders.
“He was interested in a girl, you know,” Isabel says. “She was visiting him at the restaurant. I'm sure they were going to date at a point. Now he ain't dating anyone anymore. Won't even be able to have a family...” She chokes up at this.
For some, irrational reason, I feel a surge of jealously at the mention of another girl. Someone else being with Danny.
Well, of course that would happen. He's a handsome man, I'd be surprised if people weren't dating him. He might have even been married, and yet I never let that fact occur to me. Why not? Of course people have families and things to look forward to. Just because they might not be leaving jail doesn't mean they can't dream of it. A max security prison is a relationship killer, though. We don't do conjugal here. People just... get left to wither and die, I suppose, even though we like to pretend we're supporting them.
Pretty much the way things are in these places. I clamp down on my jealously, enough to focus. No. Not the place.
I thank her for her time, and think – why didn't the evidence rap mention the pharmacy? If they remember Danny buying something from them within the time frame, then I think it will be time to call my lawyer friend. They know a lot more about these things than I ever could.
Then, embarrassed, I realize – I'm still thinking too much on him. I went and pestered his poor mother. And I'm way overstepping my boundaries. I can't be doing this. It's not right. And I need to stop thinking about him so much, it's not doing either of us any good.
I consider for a moment looking for this pharmacy. Then I give a grunt and decide to go back to my home. I've done enough. I've interfered far beyond what I should be doing. The fact that I got jealous over the idea of Danny having a girlfriend means I need to back off.
Yet, when I go to sleep that night, again I have dreams of him. Again I see his naked back, though I remove the bruises this time, so I can see the muscle that his job of being a chef has given him. I can see how fragile and almost innocent he is, right before I force him to his knees and get him to suck me off. I can brace him against the wall and look into delving through his ass, hearing him whimper and gasp.
Waking up, again I have my morning wood, and this time, I fondle it. It's been a while since I've dealt with it so efficiently, or allowed myself to feel so passionately over something. Part of me thinks that as long as I jerk off now, it will take the edge off what I'm thinking, and I'll stop dwelling on him so much. I'm not even gay. Or, at least, I'm sure I'm not, but for whatever reason, Danny is taking up so much space in my mind. My heart beats faster, and I pleasure myself to the point where I pop, and sigh from the orgasm.
Then I feel guilty and irritated for myself, because although I tried to avoid the image from my head, Danny cropped up in it anyway. He seemed to appear, just as I came close, his green eyes alluring me, his muscles flexing as he moved, his lips parted as if to say, I love you.
And now I have to wonder what the fuck is wrong with my brain.
Going to work, I choose not to interact with Danny today. However, it doesn't take long for me to feel guilty about that fact, and the next day, I make a small excuse to go to him. I'm troubled. I don't know what the right thing to do is anymore. It should be straightforward, with no doubts strewn. It isn't. And they plague me.
It's just emotions, I think. I'm looking more into this because I know I'm becoming attracted to him, for whatever reason my brain feels unwilling to divulge. And because of that attraction, I'm seeking reasons for him to be innocent.
I enter the cell room after warning him I'm coming in, giving him time to prepare, and when I do, I see he has all the five law books I procured for him lying on his bed, with one of them open.
“Hey,” I say, and he smiles and says the same thing.
“Listen. I want to tell you something, Danny. I think I did something wrong, and I just want to talk about it.”
Danny shies away when I step closer. It twists my heart to see him act like that. He must still be getting those beatings. They never occur on my watch. The staff know I'm vigilant over this, and they know I'm gunning for whoever is inflicting the injuries – yet they don't seem to care, and keep doing it.
“Look, Danny, I promise I won't hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. Okay?” I reach out. He's standing up straight and stiff, and for whatever insane impulse that shivers across me, I grasp him in a gentle hug, careful not to put pressure on his shoulders by looping my arms around his waist. Danny gasps, even as I feel a delicious, warm jolt course through my body, like lightning striking sand. “That's not what I'm here for. Okay?”
“Okay.” Danny wraps his arms around me. He must hug his mother a lot; he must be starved of affection. Again, that little twist of sorrow tangles up my heart. “I trust you. You've been good to me the whole time. You're not like the others.”
Am I? I want to hurt him in a different way. One that's arguably worse. One that makes me trip up in guilt, yet I can't stop it. Now that our bodies are pressed together, with our heats mingling, it makes my mind start running haywire. My cheeks faintly flush from remembering the dream, and I'm actually surprised to feel heat radiating from his face as well. When I back, I see that his cheeks are practically in flames.
Oh, I think. I wasn't expecting that. I shouldn't have... but I wanted to, anyway. I clear my throat, trying to place on a kindly expression. “The other day, Danny, I went and talked with your mother.”
Danny's surprised, blush infused face turns sour at this revelation. Almost as if I can see the trust he's just given me breaking into tiny pieces. “Why did you go to my mother? She's had enough already.”
“I went to her,” I respond softly, tempted to rest a hand on his shoulder, but highly suspecting he'll now reject me, “because I'm honestly doubting if you're guilty or not. People who go on such horrendous murder sprees with that kind of callousness shown in the way those five died, generally do not have nightmares at night.”
Danny takes a step back, looking as if he wants to hyperventilate. “What are you talking about? Are you mocking me? I'm not a wuss or whatever you think I am.”
“Please, listen to me,” I say, echoing how I behaved with his mother. “I don't say this to mock you. I say it because I've seen a lot of murderers in this place. And your behaviour is unlike what I've seen. I have a hard time thinking that someone like you could be guilty.”
Now Danny gapes at me, some of the hostility fading. “Are you serious? You believe me?”
I shrug. “I have no reason not to. I keep telling myself that I'm just acting like I am because I feel sorry for you, even though I know prisoners have a tendency to trick their wardens – but there's a lot that doesn't add up. If you ask me, the police were looking for a quick fix. Their main evidence hinges on the witnesses seeing you cycle past four times during the murder time frame, like you're casing the place, and the fact you have an unreliable alibi for that timeframe. I think I can help dig up your case a bit, because something's not right.”
There. I said it. I've decided on whose si
de I want to be on.
Danny, of course, looks blankly at me, unable to comprehend that I actually want to help him.
“I know a good lawyer. She's out of state at the moment, but I can haul her back in. I'll present to her the information – she won't know about your trial, and I'll tell her my thoughts. She'll know if she can build something out of the evidence there, she's far better at this than me. But,” I say, pursing my lips, tapping one hand against my black leather belt, “I'll need your permission to have your documents that condemn you. I can't officially handle them otherwise. If you trust me, I can start arranging things.”
Danny is quiet for a long, long moment, before a lump appears in his throat, and he nods. His voice comes out choked. “Okay.” His smile spreads, like the sun is shining upon his beautiful face, and my heart almost stops.
Imagine my surprise then, when he reaches to hug me, and next thing I know, there's lips touching mine, and it's like my heart stills for one startled moment.
He just kissed me.
This is wrong. I'm a guard. He's a prisoner.
I shouldn't even be having these thoughts towards him in the first place.
I could be caught.
Instead, I shove all these doubts aside, and sink into the moment of the kiss. He's so soft. It makes all sorts of things flare up in my wretched heart. I want to kiss him. Bite him. Dominate him. I want to do everything that I can possibly think of to him. It's like some craving beast rises up inside me, overwhelming me with intense heat. I'm practically bowled over by the intensity, though I manage to break away long enough to gasp, “You shouldn't have done that...”
He blinks in confusion, the lustful haze in his eyes going to dark and worried. “Why?”
I grit my teeth, and squeeze my eyes shut. “I liked that far too much. I don't... I'm...”
He seems to understand. And of course, he answers it with another kiss. Soft, pink lips to mine, moving slowly, parting slightly. I part as well, and a shy tongue probes into my mouth.
Oh God.
It's as if thirty odd years of a lack of relationship are now destroying me inside. I tremble from the force of the desire, before I kiss him in deeper earnest, now lifting my hands to clasp his lightly bearded face. More. I want to keep staring into those astonishing green orbs, keep closing my eyes as well to indulge in the kiss, as I notice it's a little awkward to keep eyes open when kissing so close up.
Before my brain has time to question my decision, I now lift his shirt off, and notice how he winces when my hands brush over his bruises. Lust flares inside. I turn him around, so his back is to me, and I bark for him to be in position. His hands brace against the wall by the side of the bed, and I now examine the injuries, before kissing the back of his neck, letting teeth sink lightly into his soft flesh. He visibly shudders, and the shudder causes my erection to grow harder, straighter. I go from the neck, and now lightly rest my lips on each of the injuries on his back.
As if my kisses can heal them. He stiffens at first, then sighs as I continue the motion, leaving a trail of hot and wet across his beautiful back, making sure to stop at every bruise. My hands caress his sides. He's shivering still, and I'm worried that he's scared, until I discreetly notice how tight his pants are from the back, and the bulge at the front.
This flares my lust to unexpected levels. A growl forms in my throat, and my nostrils flare. I grope at him, now reaching for his pants, now tugging them down, so that nothing else is on. I stare at his pert, rounded ass, trying to decide if I like it or not. I'm unsure if this is what I want, but seeing that perfection there is enough to make my mouth water slightly. All of a sudden, I just want to fuck him until he gasps out, even if it's a little painful. Fucking someone in the ass is painful, right? Hell if I know about this. And it's not like I carry around a bottle of lube with me, anyway.
I stroke his shaft, seeing as he trembles, and I feel a bubble of precum on the tip. Which gives me a bright idea. I stroke him more firmly, loving the way I have control over him for this, and loving how he's so receptive, just letting it happen. It's all fast, and I don't care. I long to be sated, so the roaring ocean inside me finally calms. Everything's tossing and turning in there, making it hard to think, to breathe, to do anything without a tremor of excitement shooting up my arm. I just want to feel the passion, to feel complete, and to make him explode in my hands, in my touch.
I gather some of his fluid and smear it over his ass. I test with one finger, and although I'm able to insert one in there, I notice the fluid dries fast. I check his reaction. I can tell he's excited, but unsure if he'll enjoy this or not. Hell, it's new for both of us. But he does let out a rather encouraging whimper, so I continue with lubricating him there as best as I can. After a few minutes, I think he's ready for me. I don't have the biggest dick around – and I suspect that's going to be a blessing here, not a curse. I'm gradual. A little bit at a time, always testing his reaction. I don't mind inflicting a little pain, but I don't want my partner to be in outright agony.
He lets out a gurgling moan as I finally push myself all the way inside. My heart beats so fast. I clutch his ass hard, and slowly start to grind inside him. Slowly, as my dick glides inside that impossible tightness. Fuck. I might come really fast, before he's had the appropriate stimulation. To my embarrassment, within twenty or so seconds of entering him, I come. My body shudders, my balls grow hot, my dick seems to vibrate and shudder, and then I've shot my load.
No. I pull out, and he whimpers in protest. I order him to turn around, and, locking eyes with him, I get down onto my knees. I still have my shirt on at this point, and my pants have only been pushed a certain way, allowing my dick to spring free. His eyes go wide as I flick out my tongue, touching the tip of his erection.
He lets out a groan and throws his head back as I wrap my mouth around him. It must feel so sweet. I don't really know what I'm doing. At first I just sort of go back and forth, but I realize that's not enough. He needs extra stimulation. I try sucking, I try flicking my tongue. I don't really master a technique, but he seems to enjoy it, judging by his shaking thighs, the red blush of his cheeks, and the heavy, sighing breaths that slip out of his lungs. One of his hands reach for my scalp, and I grin.
I can't go too far, so I end up working his balls with my hands, remembering that I always found self-masturbation to be more enjoyable when I didn't neglect them.
This seems to be the final trigger. He comes with a staccato breath, and hot liquid squirts into my mouth. Part of me doesn't want to swallow it, but I figure I don't want to embarrass him, and well, we've both gone beyond the point of no return now. I swallow it after taking my mouth away, though it has a slight bitter taste, and gently retract my hands away from him. Then, I get up and kiss him on the lips, so he can taste himself too.
He makes a motion like he wants to do the same to me down there, but I stop him. “No. It takes me a while to get ready again. I... I didn't really expect to come so fast.”
He lets out a nervous chuckle, his cheeks glowing from his orgasm. Instead, we hug each other, warm and tight. I stroke his hair. “I'm sorry,” I tell him. “I lost control there. It was like a fire inside me. I just... I just wanted to keep going. To feel you everywhere.”
“It's okay,” he whispers. “I enjoyed it. It felt... good.” He buries his face into my neck, and squeezes tighter. Like I'm his lifeline, his only hope.
In a way, that's the truth. I think I should feel guilty, but I don't.
It felt right. He felt right.
Just a fucking shame he had to be a prisoner.
I make sure he's okay, place the shirt back on him. I can tell I hurt him a bit from the sex, though he keeps denying it, wearing that elated smile.
And when I leave the cell, I have to bite my lip to keep myself from grinning like a loon.
Everything inside me has that floating feeling. And I can't get enough of it. It's wrong, really wrong what we just did, but part of me doesn't care. I've never felt like
that with someone before. I never gave myself the chance to feel like that before. It still sends a thrill inside to know that he was the one who first kissed me. After all that time being cautious, wary, his lips touched mine and I sank into them. I melted with that contact, and the whole world for me changed.
Maybe I lost myself a little, and I suppose I will almost certainly be fired if found out. Although my heart sings, although the feeling inside me is wonderful, I know for a fact I need to be careful about losing control like that again. I don't want him to feel like I'm taking advantage of him. I'm... growing attracted to him, but that's not an excuse to do what I did. I still have other responsibilities.
I do decide though, that I'm going to try and catch the people responsible for hitting him. He gave me a description, sounding suspiciously like Bob and Jason, but I need to catch them in the act. Either I stay in the security room, or I catch them in person. It's not enough to take a prisoner's word, no matter how much I like said prisoner. We have had cases before where prisoners have faked who caused their injuries – an inmate did it, but they accused a guard instead, leaving the ramifications of being fired to them. I am not so lovesick that I will refuse protocol like that.
To Love A Hitman Page 3
