by Mel Teshco
He stepped into the washroom as another con stepped out. The other man swiped the moisture off his face with a too-small towel, then smirked at Silo. “I heard you got lucky last night.”
Silo stilled, his hands fisting. Was nothing sacred on this ship? The dirty laughter and whistles from a handful of other cons further cheapened the magic he’d shared with Jasmine and Cloey.
The steam abated, giving a clear view of another prisoner as he dried himself off. “Actually, I heard he spent the night with two women.”
At the envious groans, Silo’s hands squeezed harder still. Either the guard had blabbed, or Tee, his fellow prisoner and the bass player from his band, hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut.
Either way, the damage was already done, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
A prisoner awaiting his turn in the showers stepped past Silo and thrust his hips forward, making a show of fondling his crotch. “I got the perfect weapon for those women if they think they can handle a real man.”
Greg jeered at the con. “Fuck off, Shrimp. Everyone knows you’re lucky to find your own dick, let alone classify it as a weapon.”
Laughter ensued as Silo stepped under the steam with a ragged sigh. He’d been ready to put a fist into somebody’s face. Which meant he was losing the fucking plot. The last thing he wanted or needed was time in the Box. He’d never had the “privilege”, but he’d heard enough to know it wasn’t for him.
Silo and enclosed spaces weren’t a good mix.
Anyway, he shouldn’t give two shits about what anyone else thought, let alone these fucktard prisoners who could only dream about women like Cloey and Jasmine.
He closed his eyes and smiled into the wash of steam. Even the married “whites” prisoner, Tristan, would consider him fortunate.
Not even five minutes later, Silo was fully dressed and following the tense guard back to his cell, along with Greg and Fisk. He smothered a sigh. No matter how long he spent in the oasis that was the greenhouse, returning to his cell was a big kick in the nuts. Every. Single. Time.
Freedom never looked so far away as when he was locked up like an animal in a cage.
The door slammed shut behind them. Greg turned to Silo and said, “Don’t look so bloody serious, you’re a celebrity! I don’t know anyone else around here who’s not only scored two women, but two elite women.”
Silo sat on the too-thin, lumpy mattress of his bed. What he’d give right then for his own room; privacy to quietly savor the time he’d spent with Jasmine and Cloey. Elite had only ever brought up feelings of disgust and loathing. He needed to examine these far more … tender emotions.
Greg exhaled noisily. “I’m getting hard just thinking about two sets of tits and a pair of hot, wet cunts.”
Silo’s jaw clenched, and he had to refrain from rearranging his cellmate’s teeth. Showing anyone his true feelings wouldn’t be smart.
He’d learned that the hard way, when the elite woman he’d slept with on Earth had decided emphatically that she wanted more than a one-night stand, Silo had bluntly told her he wasn’t interested.
There’d been no promises or expectations beyond sex, and certainly nothing long-term. It was a pity the woman hadn’t taken his rejection lightly. Her revenge had been to reveal that he was stealing from the elite greenhouses. She’d bought the information from the very people he’d been feeding.
He often wondered if those same people had enjoyed the twelve-month reward of food and water she’d promised. Those handouts would have run out by now, and they’d be starving once again, this time without someone like him to supplement the little food and water they could scrounge themselves.
Fisk nodded. “Least now we know why you weren’t interested in fucking. I might have thought twice, too, if I had me some pussy, ready, willing and waiting.”
Greg turned to Fisk. “Piss off. You’d still want me to suck you dry.”
Silo lay down, turned his back on his cellmates and tuned them out. He knew their dirty talk would soon drift into intimacy and he had no interest in hearing or seeing them make out.
His eyes closed and a smile lifted his lips. His head would no longer be filled with nightmares of betrayal and enclosed spaces. Instead, he’d be dreaming of two very beautiful women, who could have had any man on the ship.
Chapter 7
Cloey had fallen asleep more than a little heartsore, and she woke up feeling exactly the same way. Without the man who’d become much more than just a number in one amazing night, her world didn’t feel complete. She rubbed her eyes then turned to face Jasmine, something melting within as she gazed at her sleeping girlfriend’s unguarded beauty.
Jasmine was naturally gorgeous, with her Latino-gold skin, sensual mouth and heart-shaped face framed by lush, long black hair. Even the faint snores her girlfriend emitted didn’t detract from her appeal.
Cloey sighed. No one could ever change how deeply she felt for Jasmine, but she couldn’t help but wonder if her clamoring instincts about the prisoner weren’t onto something. Maybe there really was room in her life for both Jasmine and Silo. He’d entered their private little world and had left again much too soon.
But how did Cloey broach her change of heart with Jasmine? She’d all but begged Jasmine not to share more than one night with a man.
What a fool she’d been.
Being with Silo felt all kinds of right. More than that, he made her feel desirable … beautiful. And she sensed both she and Jasmine affected him on some deep level, too.
Jasmine stirred, her lashes fluttering before her soft gaze landed on Cloey. She yawned, then murmured, “What’s up?”
Cloey’s breath hissed between her teeth. Sometimes her girlfriend knew her too well.
Jasmine smiled. “It’s Silo, isn’t it?”
Cloey nodded. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Jasmine curled an arm around Cloey’s shoulders and tugged her close, before her lips pressed over her girlfriend’s, soft and reassuring. Jasmine pulled back a little, her eyes no longer sleepy. “I can’t either.” She sighed. “He might be a con, but he’s one of us.”
The knot in Cloey’s belly loosened. She never thought she’d be glad to hear her lover admit to being interested in someone else. “So what do we do about it?” They could hardly conduct a normal relationship with a convicted felon.
Jasmine smiled, and rubbed a thumb over Cloey’s just-kissed bottom lip. “I say we throw some credits at the right people.”
“You mean we bribe his guards again?”
Jasmine nodded, and Cloey exhaled in a rush as her lover’s hand skimmed across her nipples. Jasmine’s eyes glowed, and her hand moved unhurriedly along Cloey’s flat belly, slipping down between her thighs. “We do whatever it takes so that we can explore our attraction with him further.”
Cloey’s breathlessness wasn’t just due to her girlfriend’s skilled foreplay. Nothing could have made her happier than those words. She’d always gone along with Jasmine’s sometimes perverse suggestions. But if her girlfriend hadn’t accepted Cloey’s feelings about Silo, she would have ensured that this time her own suggestions were heeded.
Oxygen rushed back into Cloey’s lungs when Jasmine flicked the swollen bud of her clit back and forth. When her girlfriend’s hand fell away and she crawled down Cloey’s body, trailing moist, warm kisses over her skin, Cloey didn’t need any further encouragement. She spread her legs wide.
Jasmine stilled at the mound of Cloey’s pussy, eyes lifting and meeting hers. “Just think … I could be fucking you with my mouth while Silo fucks me from behind.”
Cloey gasped at the imagery, and was all but coming even before Jasmine drew her clit into her mouth and lashed it with her wicked tongue.
*
Not even half an hour later, Cloey and Jasmine stepped out of the humidifier shower and dressed leisurely for the day ahead.
Cloey pulled on a pair of faded blue jeans and a pink singlet top with a big embr
oidered flower. Jasmine donned cut-off denim shorts and a blood-red blouse that she knew Cloey loved, as it suited her dark coloring.
Jasmine turned to Cloey. “Ready for breakfast?”
Cloey smiled and patted her growling stomach. “I am now.” She clasped Jasmine’s upper arm as they left their cabin. “But you should have let me take care of you first.”
Jasmine had licked and sucked Cloey into a blissful orgasm, but had declined the same offer in return.
Her girlfriend gave her a Cheshire-wide grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll be getting off soon enough, just you wait and see.” Jasmine winked. “Need I remind you that the best reward comes with patience?”
Cloey’s smile echoed her girlfriend’s as she followed Jasmine to the civvies mess hall. Evidently her lover intended to save herself for Silo. No jealousy pulled at her insides. Instead, her womb clenched with eager anticipation.
There’d been something so right in seeing her girlfriend being pleasured by Silo. Not to mention how right it’d felt being underneath him herself.
Tonight couldn’t come soon enough.
The breakfast crowd was already thick inside the mess hall, and most of the tables full. With the meals shrinking a little every day, people had started taking their sweet time enjoying whatever was on the menu.
Cloey gratefully received her plate of scrambled eggs—thank god for the laying hens and ducks onboard—with a half slice of toast and the ever-present spoonful of soyroom glop. Eggs were only on the menu once a week, and though they were supplemented with a powdered version, no one complained.
Not when they were only three weeks away from Solitaire.
She walked with Jasmine toward a table where a couple of other civvies sat.
“Hi,” said Jasmine to a middle-aged woman as they sat down. “Eve, isn’t it?”
The woman in question sighed dramatically at the interruption, then looked up from her near-empty plate with a frown. “Yes, that’s me.”
Cloey stifled annoyance at Eve’s attitude. But Jasmine nodded, completely unfazed. “We met in Ag class.”
“Of course. Jasmine and Cloey, right?” Before they could answer, Eve added, “How could I forget? The lecturer was quite … distracted from the moment you two walked in.”
A frisson of alarm shot through Cloey on seeing a crafty glint in Eve’s stare. Though she couldn’t put a finger on it, something about this woman was off.
Jasmine shrugged. “Yeah, well, we fucked him the night before, so I guess he had reason to be distracted.”
The man opposite Eve almost choked on his food. Eve arched a brow, seemingly unperturbed by Jasmine’s bluntness, though Cloey suspected the older woman frowned upon crudeness in any form.
“Is that so?” Eve’s smile turned predatory. “You know, I’d bet a man like that would follow you two to the corners of the Earth if you asked him.”
Cloey frowned. She didn’t trust this woman, or her male companion. He looked … mean. Like a wolf masquerading as a domesticated pooch. Though she’d bet he was as faithful as any dog. She could almost imagine Eve putting a leash around his scrawny neck.
Eve seemed to suddenly notice the direction of Cloey’s stare. “Oh, how rude of me! Ladies, this is my good friend, Randal.”
Jasmine forked up some of her scrambled egg, a thoughtful look crossing her face as she chewed. She waved her fork in the air as she spoke. “I vaguely remember a Randal, but he looked nothing like you.”
The man, Randal, shrugged indifferently. “I heard there’s another Randal onboard, ain’t had the pleasure of meeting ’im.”
Eve used her triangle of toast to mop up the remaining soyroom and egg juices from her plate. Eating it with obvious relish, she said, “Well, as wonderful as it was meeting you both, I’ve got … things to do.”
Randal quickly polished off the last of his breakfast. “Can’t waste a drop.” He winked and grinned, revealing crooked teeth. “I heard the cons don’t get nuttin’ more than soyroom stew these days.”
Cloey couldn’t imagine a big man like Silo surviving on such scant fare. Little wonder he’d enjoyed their stale bread and black coffee.
Suddenly the food on her plate wasn’t half as palatable. It seemed so unfair that she and Jasmine, along with the rest of the civvie population onboard, had so much more on their plates.
As the stout woman and her friend left the table, Jasmine’s contemplative stare rested on Cloey. “No sense wasting your breakfast. I’m guessing any waste—if there was any at all—would go straight to the goats, chickens and ducks, or maybe even the guinea pigs.”
Cloey nodded, then said drily, “Yeah, guess they wouldn’t waste it on any of the cons.”
Jasmine swallowed the last of her toast and arched a wry brow. “I’m guessing you’re right.” She took a sip from her glass of recycled water, scrunched her face a little, then added, “I’m also guessing there’s no harm in talking to the head chef about transferring some extra credits into his account.”
Much of Cloey’s tension smoothed away. They’d already paid the same head chef to provide them with little treats from his kitchen via his prisoner laundry worker girlfriend. They’d need more than a few treats if Silo became a regular visitor to their cabin. “I love the way your mind works.”
Jasmine shrugged. “And I love that you love the way my mind works. Guess we’re perfect for each other.”
Cloey nodded. “Guess you’re right. We make a great team.”
Jasmine finished her breakfast, then got to her feet. Her voice dropped, her expression serious. “You’re certain you want to add one more to our team?”
Cloey swallowed, and closed her eyes for a second. She and Jasmine had left Earth behind with no regrets, and they wanted to face the future the same way. Not exploring a relationship with Silo might be their biggest regret ever.
She opened her eyes to Jasmine’s perceptive, almost smug look. Her girlfriend was too clever for her own good sometimes. She sighed. “Yes, I’m certain.”
She didn’t need to ask if Jasmine was certain. Her girlfriend happily jumped in feet first, no matter the situation. Besides, Jasmine was hot for Silo too.
“Then I’ve got some organizing and, ah, bribing, to do.” Jasmine shot her a quizzical look. “And you’ve got your ‘cobbler basics’ class to attend, yes?”
Cloey took a swallow of her water, then stood. “Yes.” She gnawed at her bottom lip. “But are you okay with doing the organizing on your own?”
“Baby, are you kidding me? Hewitt blood runs through my veins. I was born to bribe.”
*
Silo walked out of the men’s communal washroom in his fresh prison yellows. The too-short allocated time under the steam meant none of the prisoners ever felt like they were fully clean, but at least the powers-that-be hadn’t cut their shower time like they had their rations.
Probably because dirty bodies meant dirty bedding, and even more work for the overworked laundry women, not to mention the steam that’d be needed to wash the bedding.
“322, you’re to come with me.”
Silo frowned, shaken out of his musings. Fuck. Being singled out by a guard was never good. Surely he hadn’t done anything to deserve a stint in the Box?
His cellmate, Greg, threw him a sympathetic look, as though he too assumed the worst. It was enough for Silo to break out into a cold sweat, but he followed his armed escort in silence. He refused to show fear, refused to reveal his loathing of enclosed spaces.
Yet another reason he’d hated the elite. They’d locked him up like an animal, shoved him into an empty storeroom no bigger than a shoebox, and left him there for two days with no concern about whether he’d live or die.
Guess they hadn’t cared one way or the other. When the authorities had dragged him off to be sentenced, he’d been too weak and exhausted to even defend himself or his actions. Not that the judge would have listened or cared.
His crime had been untenable to the elite and all those in power—t
hey relied on those same greenhouses to sustain them. Silo’s lip curled. It hadn’t mattered to them that the poor—men, women and children—were toppling over from starvation.
In the end he’d been sentenced to ten years on the faraway rock that was to be his new home. He was grateful for that sentence now. If he’d stayed on Earth he would probably have died young, and he’d never have had the privilege of meeting Jasmine and Cloey.
He expelled a slow and steady breath. He was seriously in danger of falling for the elite women, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Oh, they stirred something deep within him, not least of which was a protective instinct and a need to be with them again. But he wasn’t interested in anything more. Was he?
At least thinking about them had eased his fear of the Box—a fear that disappeared completely the moment they left the prison zone and tramped upstairs and then along the corridor to the civvies A zone.
Was it possible the elite women wanted to see him again too?
A short time later the guard stopped at Jasmine and Cloey’s door. Silo’s mouth dried and his pulse picked up speed. Dare he hope his wishes were coming true? Not only was he not spending time in the dreaded Box, it seemed he was about to repeat the most amazing night of his life.
The guard rapped on the door. Within seconds it opened.
His heart jumped in his chest and his traitorous cock stirred at the sight of Cloey and Jasmine. Damn they were gorgeous. Both were flushed with excitement. Their eyes shone.
The guard cleared his throat, even as he eyeballed the women. “Prisoner 322, as requested.”
Jasmine nodded. “Thank you, Robert.”
He inclined his head respectfully. “Not a problem ma’am. But any more nights together and paperwork will need to be filled out.”
“Could you please have someone organize that for us?” asked Cloey. Her eyes met Silo’s, and he wondered if his shock shone through. “That is … if it’s okay with … 322?”
