by Cairo
Her visual tour landed her eyes on Officer Rawlings who was looking over at her. She shifted in her seat, and pretended not to see him. Mmm. So they have him working visits today; his fine ass.
Her eyes landed back on Kareema. “So did you receive any of my letters?”
“Yeah, I got them,” Kareema stated nonchalantly. “I’ve just been on the move; you know how it is.”
Heaven twisted her lips. “Uh-huh. Yeah, I know how it is.” She gave her a hard stare. “But I bet if I had a big hard dick, you would have been quick to press one, then be all in my ear about how much you miss me fucking you. Girl, bye.”
Kareema sucked her teeth. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”
Heaven stared stonily at her. “Hon, don’t think you’re here doing me some favor. I—”
“Wait a minute, ho,” she huffed. “I ain’t put your ass here. So I’m not obligated to jail with ya ass. We girls ‘n’ all, but you ain’t my man.” She didn’t want to come see this bitch, any-fucking-way. But she’d been sent, so here she sat. I can’t wait for this shit to be over with, she thought, glancing at her watch.
“Bitch, and even if you had a dick and were the last bitch on earth,” Heaven snapped. “You could never be my man. Now be clear on that. And since we’re talking so candid, know this: the only reason you stay halfway relevant any-damn-way is because of your mouth game. All you’re good for is a backseat dick suck and some alleyway ass. So don’t even come up here and try to shine on me.”
Kareema’s eyes widened. “What the—”
“Bitch, don’t say shit else, except for why the hell you really came here.”
“Well, since you wanna be all fuckin’ rude ‘n’ shit. I really came up here to pass on a message.”
Heaven blinked. “And what message might that be?”
There was silence a long moment before Kareema finally broke it.
“Freedom wants you to call him . . .”
FOURTEEN
It Takes A Fool . . .
By the time Heaven returned to her tier, she was literally drained. She needed a drink. A bottle of Moscato and a chilled wineglass would do her fine. Thank you very much. Better yet—a hard, deep fucking would do her even better.
She spoke to a few inmates as she moved through the day space, but had no interest in hanging around socializing, participating in of their tea parties (where they sat around gossiping) or watching them gamble on a card or board game. She needed a moment. Yeah, she was in the mood to brood and mull.
“Freedom wants you to call him . . .”
The fucking nerve of him!
Freedom.
How apropos. She’d lost her freedom by fucking with Freedom. And while he was free to still do his own thing—fucking whomever he wanted, she was locked up. The fucking nerve of it all! She’d allowed that motherfucker to take everything from her—her dignity, her heart, and now her liberty.
Caged in, like some damn wild animal.
She cursed Freedom, herself and this entire fucked-up situation. She should have left him alone a long time ago. Hell, she had no one to blame, but herself. She’d done this to herself. Not Freedom. Not the prosecutor. Not the judge. Only her.
And the sad thing was—if she really, really was honest with herself—that after everything she’d allowed him to put her through, she sadly still loved him.
But, physically, she was done with him. Emotionally? Well, not so much. The hurt was still fresh. She still felt the sting of his betrayal. Nevertheless, her heart was still burned raw from the pain, from all the love she still had for him. Still, she’d never take him back. Ever. And he’d be a damn fool to ever want her to.
Because the next time . . .
She’d kill him.
Heaven walked over to her cell window and looked out. The sky had darkened over the yard, and lightning struck. Then came the echoing boom of thunder. How fitting. The weather suddenly matched her mood. Shitty.
“Freedom wants you to call him . . .”
She grimaced as her pussy pulsed. Fuck him. She wasn’t calling him. Period. She never wanted to hear from him, or see him again.
She knew she was lying to herself. Still, she repeated the lie over and over in her head, in hopes that if she said it enough times to herself, that it would eventually become fact. But, for now, her truth was this: as bad as she wanted to hate him, to wish him harm, her heart wouldn’t allow it.
God, she wished she had shot him in his heart instead. Killed him. Put his cheating ass out of his misery, her misery. Then watched him bleed out.
Freedom.
Freedom.
Freedom.
Why the hell did he want her to call him? What could he possibly have to say to her? What, offer her an apology for being a grimy motherfucker? Tell her how much he still loved her? Promise to hold her down during her bid?
No. She didn’t want his apology. She didn’t want his bullshit-ass promises. What she wanted was, him gone from the crevices of her thoughts. She wanted him erased from her memory. She didn’t hate him. She was deeply hurt by him. And, though, a part of her missed things about him, she wished he’d bled out when she’d shot him. She was feeling like she’d never be free of him as long as he was still breathing.
Heaven pursed her lips, sighed.
He was lucky she hadn’t been a snitch. She could have easily brought down his narcotics operation in exchange for her freedom. Sent him away for life. But no matter how many times he’d betrayed her trust in him, she could never bring herself to turn his ass in.
Ever.
Freedom. Freedom. Freedom. His name kept running through her mind like a chant. She knew the real reason she wouldn’t call him. She wasn’t calling him because she knew the sound of his deep, sexy voice would weaken her defenses. She knew herself too well to pretend otherwise. A broken resolve would mean damp panties and, eventually, he’d—figuratively speaking—have her flat on her back with her legs up over his shoulders—right in the same compromising position he’d had his sidepiece in.
Dick dumb wasn’t her middle, or last name.
No ma’am. No thank you.
So she wasn’t going to ever play herself again with him. She’d always been good at reading caution and warning signs, and when she’d first met Freedom, he’d flashed a bright red warning that flashed: Beware. Proceed with Caution.
And she had.
Well, she’d tried to. Hard.
But, Freedom had been persistent. His representative had showed up and showed out on his behalf, wining and dining her until he’d eventually won her over. He’d treated her like a queen. He’d been attentive. Thoughtful. Witty. Very giving of his time and money. He’d been a true gentleman, not once pressuring her for sex—she’d been steadfast on not fucking him for at least ninety days.
And he behaved like a saint.
But on the ninety-first day, she’d given him some pussy, and he’d fucked her like a sinner. Fucked her so deep she saw stars. Fucked her long and hard until she tapped out.
At the time, he didn’t eat her pussy, but his dick strokes and kissing had more than made up for his lack of oral enthusiasm. However, she’d refused to give him mouth service. If a man wanted to see what her mouth could do, then he had better want to clock in and put that work in too. She hadn’t been the type of chick to suck a dick just to please a man. No, she sucked dick for her own pleasure. It made her mouth wet. Made her pussy wetter. Sure she’d licked over and around the head of his dick a few times, streaking it wetly with her tongue, but she’d refused to take him in her mouth until he willingly licked her cunt out.
Period.
It took almost six months into their relationship before he’d finally come around and put his mouth on it, and his tongue in it.
Anyway, Freedom had swag. Street swag. He was rugged. Confident. Articulate. Rough around the edges, but he also knew when to be refined. And those combinations, along with his deep, husky voice had made Heaven’s pussy clench and her walls quiv
er every time she was with him. Whether in a well-tailored designer suit or Timbs and a hoodie, he exuded strength; he oozed raw sensual energy. The shopping sprees, the exotic trips, and good dick were all added bonuses.
“Freedom wants you to call him . . .”
The last time she’d spoken to him was the morning of that fatal shooting. Eight hours earlier. They’d been lying in bed, spooning; her ass pressed into his groin, the shaft of his dick wedged neatly between her cheeks. It was their morning ritual. To fuck like wild, hungry animals, then cuddle. Freedom didn’t like to cuddle, but he’d done it with her every day since the first time she’d fucked him. She’d demanded it. And he’d obliged her, no questions asked. He’d rarely deny her anything.
So they’d lain there, her back against his chest, his hand slowly tracing over the curve of her hip. She’d shuddered against him, his cock swollen and rigid, straining in between the seam of her ass.
Her pussy had been still wet from their forty-five-minute fuck-fest. And had he’d slipped his hand up under her thigh and hoisted her leg up, and thrust back into her, she would had exploded all over him in seconds.
But he hadn’t. Thrust his dick back inside her. He’d leisurely grinded his hips into her, and strummed two fingers over the rigid peak of her nipple, while they talked.
Pillow-talked.
“You know I love you, right?” he’d whispered. “You’re my everything, baby.”
He pinched her nipple for effect, and she let out a wail of both pleasure and increased hunger. Her pussy grew wetter.
“I know,” she murmured, her eyes glittering from the heat roiling through her body. She wanted him back inside her. She rammed back against his pelvis, urging him, the slit of her cunt opening, trying to grasp the column of his thick shaft.
He pressed his lips to her head, breathed in her hair, then held her tighter.
“I love the fuck outta you, woman.”
“Then fuck me,” she said huskily.
And, then, in one stroke, he plunged inside.
Heaven closed her eyes against the sudden wash of emotion. She felt a headache slowly pounding its way to the center of her forehead. Gently, she massaged the area with two fingers. She’d played the fool once, but never twice; not where he was concerned.
Bottom line, she should have been whore enough for him. But, no matter how much pussy she’d given him, no matter how many times she’d sucked his dick and swallowed his warm loads, she hadn’t been. Ever. So fuck you very much. She refused to get reeled back into his web of lies.
So like the lady she was, she was going to take several seats and stay as far the hell away from the likes of Freedom Lamont Banks.
FIFTEEN
Alone Together . . .
“Why you like fucking with me, Lewis?” Sergeant Braddock asked, eyeing her curiously. He’d called her down to the sergeants’ office to confront her two days later after her visit with Kareema. She’d been on his mind. And he wanted to know why she liked taunting him. Well, that and the fact that she piqued his curiosity. He knew what she was incarcerated for, but he didn’t know her deal. And he wanted to know what made this beautiful woman tick.
“You’ve been here for months, and you’ve shamelessly flirted with me every opportunity you get. Why?”
She tilted her head and coyly twirled a strand of hair around her finger. Then went that sexy bottom lip; pulled into her lush-looking mouth. The shit was fucking with him.
“Do you want the truth?”
He nodded.
“Is my truth going to somehow get me charges or land me back in lockup?”
“Absolutely not. I’m asking you because I wanna know your end game? What exactly are you after?”
She shrugged. “There is no end game with me. Well, there is. I’m a woman with needs, a woman who misses the comfort of a man. I’m not saying I’m looking for that from you. Male testosterone is good for the soul, especially when a woman like me is surrounded all day, every day, by a bunch of other women.”
Something deep in his chest warmed. He sat back in his chair, a small smile curving his lips as he took in every part of her. She was fucking hypnotic. And he looked at her like he had no idea what to do with her.
Well, shit, he did. But that would require her being bent over his desk, and most likely costing him his career. Still, a man could fantasize.
“So, I don’t mean to flirt with you,” she stated, batting her lashes flirtatiously. “It happens because you are a man—lots of man, I might add. And in all of your fineness, you bring out that side of me.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “And there’s my truth in a nutshell.”
He swallowed, shifting in his chair. “Oh, is that so?” he asked in his rich, deep voice. He felt his dick becoming erect, and he cursed under his breath. He wouldn’t dare fuck with her (on the job, anyway). But he appreciated the looks of a beautiful woman, even if said beauty was an inmate. Shit. He was still a man, after all.
“And how exactly am I doing that?” he prodded, curiosity grabbing him by the head of his dick and tugging at it.
“Maybe,” she drawled seductively, “it’s because you’re so damn sexy. Maybe because I have a weakness for fine, sexy men in uniforms.”
He suddenly felt hot.
He had better get her the hell out of his office before, before . . .
Heaven licked her lips.
The sensual act caused him to groan inwardly. And in that moment, he saw himself getting up from his desk, scooping her up, knocking shit off his desk to lay her on it. Or maybe sitting her on his face, grasping the globes of her ass while he opened her up to him like a bowl of sweet cream and devoured her pussy with his mouth and tongue.
He’d continue to tongue her long after she’d soaked his face in her juices, lapping up every drop of her essence.
He swallowed again.
“And since you’re allowing me to be perfectly honest with you, Sir,” she continued, fighting the urge to lean over his desk and rub her tits in his face. “You have no idea how badly I would love to taste you. I’m horny. And if I thought for one moment I could get away with crawling under your desk and sucking—what I believe to be—your long, fat dick, I’d do it. Then swallow you whole.”
Motherfuck. The sergeant bit back a hiss as he pressed his long legs together, then ground the palm of his hand down into his lap, desperately trying to tame the wild fire spreading in his groin.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “You really know how to paint a descriptive picture.”
Heaven smiled to herself, imagining his dick bulging tightly in his pants. In her mind’s eye, she saw him with his pants draped around his booted feet, the length of him hanging out from the slit of his dick, her gaze locked on his as her tongue hovered slightly over its slit. Heat hummed through her body and her pussy hissed with an unfettered need for release.
For a slight second, nothing was said between them, and she knew he was giving thought to the idea of what it would be like having her cunt gloved around the whole length of him.
The fact that he’d allowed her to speak freely simply made her respect and desire him more. “Thanks for allowing me to talk openly with you,” she stated, sliding both of her hands down the sides of her waist, then resting them on her curved hips. “I can tell you’re one of the good ones.”
He smiled. Damn, she was one sexy-ass woman. Too goddamn bad she was here.
She licked her lips again. “Maybe—another time, another place—we’ll meet again and revisit this conversation.”
She winked.
And then the phone on his desk rang out, snapping him back to reality, reminding him that he’d already crossed the line with her.
“I better get this,” he said hoarsely.
She smiled at him. “Yes. Maybe you should. Thanks again.”
He nodded. Then finally let out a breath as he watched her walk out the office, answering the phone. He knew for certain she would soon have her way with a few of these horny mofos at Cr
oydon Hill. But he damn sure wouldn’t let it be himself.
“Sergeants’ office,” he breathed into the phone.
“You want third shift tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ll take it,” he stated. Then he hung up and groaned. There was no way he could finish out his shift with a raging hard-on.
He stood to his feet and headed for the bathroom, with one thing—and one thing only—on his mind.
Heaven.
SIXTEEN
The Thrill . . .
“Yo, what the fuck is you doing, you fucking porch monkey. I said take the motherfucking wall . . . you dumb-ass bitches only good for sucking dick and getting fucked. And you probably can’t even do that right.”
Heaven blinked.
“Who is that?” she asked her cellie as she rubbed her eyes, then sat up on her elbows. She reached under her bed for her watch and glanced at the time.
One a.m.
Was this motherfucker serious?
Sabina sucked her teeth. “Sergeant Struthers.”
“Mmph,” she grunted. She wasn’t familiar with him. “What’s his deal, calling females bitches and porch monkeys? And making all that fucking noise?”
“Psst. Please. Those are his pet names. Piss him off and see what he calls you then.”
Heaven felt herself reacting negatively to his so-called pet names. There wasn’t a damn thing endearing about his choice of names for those women—or any woman, for that matter.
“Why is he going off?”
“That pussy on the rag again . . .”
Oh.
“Flush that motherfucking toilet,” Heaven heard him yell, “and I’ma drag your ugly-ass, along with this baldhead ho, to the hole.”
Heaven grimaced. Not at the idea of someone going to lockup, but at the way he spoke to the two inmates. Regardless of what they’d done to get themselves locked up, they were still human beings. Calling them degrading names wasn’t cool. She didn’t like it. And she decided she didn’t like him, either. Not one damn bit.
