Shadowman (Alabaster Penitentiary Book 5), page 25
“You wanted this,” I hiss, straddling him, pinning him to the floor. “You want me to hurt you, pretty boy? Huh? Is that what you like??”
“I think it’s what you like,” he croaks, violet eyes sparkling up at me. “Unleash on me, baby. Make me bleed for you, Byron Kang.”
“I’ll make you fucking bleed…” I snarl, launching a fist at his face. “You bleed for me, got it?! Your blood is mine.”
He grunts, taking it with a sadistic smile. A bolt of zeal fizzles inside me like electricity. It turns me the fuck on. I hit him again, and again, raging and loving it.
Trevel isn’t even trying to block me anymore. He’s just gripping my hips, fingers digging into me while I hit him and grab him by the throat. I might have blacked out… Except that I haven’t, because I can feel everything.
The fury is burning into an aggressively erotic desire. I haven’t felt this in so long. It’s consuming me. I’m alive with sensation.
And then I feel something…
Something hard between our grinding bodies.
“Mmf… Byron, baby, tell me you feel it,” he groans, eyes rolling back.
Wait…
My movements slow. Did he just… call me baby?
The way he’s greedily squeezing the flesh of what’s basically my ass… It’s the way someone holds you while you’re fucking them into the mattress.
The fog is lifting, and it gives him an opportunity to flip me over. In a blink, he’s on top of me, using the odd sexual carnality flowing between us to his advantage. I hit him with more blows, wherever I can, mostly at his body while attempting to wriggle out from under him.
He’s not bulky, but he has muscle and more strength than I’d assumed. Now that our bodies are sort of writhing together, I can feel his definition, rather than just seeing it, the strain in his plump slopes and firm ridges.
He’s also noticeably… Flexible.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he purrs, pinning my arms down. “You are so pretty when you’re mad.”
H-huh…?
This bubble we’re in is hazy and stifling, the fury turning sweeter with every breath and tangled motion. The fighting, our movements… They’ve blurred from violent to strangely sensual.
Goddamn… I can’t tell if I’m pissed off or… about to shove my dick in him.
Probably both.
“Shut up,” I seethe, then choke when he presses his hips into mine. “Wait… Don’t…”
“Don’t what?” His black hair is hanging in his eyes, pale skin all blushed pink.
I have to chomp down on my lip to stop from moaning, and it’s so confusing.
God, why does this feel so fucking good??
It’s then that I realize there are two things between us. Both hard as fucking rocks. Honestly, mine might be harder…
“Fuck you.” I squirm beneath him, using all my strength to buck him off. But instead, it just feels like we’re… humping. “I don’t… want this…”
“Mmm… But you need it,” Trevel drawls, dragging his stiff cock along mine.
My confusing erection pulses, and I whimper.
No no no…
Terror grips my chest, reality creeping back and reminding me that we’re not alone. We’re surrounded by people who can’t know how much I like this…
Erupting with all my might, I finally overpower him, flipping him onto his back once more.
I lean over him and whisper frantically, “Tap out.” I’m mortified, flaming shame rushing up my neck. I can’t do this in front of all these people… “Tap the fuck out, now, Trevel, please…”
Without any hesitation, he taps on the floor. I don’t wait for anyone to say a word. Jumping up, I stagger to my feet and storm away before anyone can look at me. I’m practically running.
Fortunately, the crowd is cheering, as if I just won the fight. But that’s not how it feels. I don’t feel like I won… I feel like I lost, big time.
Storming around the corner, I head straight for the locker room. I know Brenner and Linetti will come after me, but I just need a second to clear my head, away from everyone else. I need a second alone to think.
And to get my dick under control before someone realizes I’m tenting my jumpsuit pants.
Jesus, I’m mortified…
“What the hell was that??” I whisper-scold my dick. “Have you lost your mind?!”
Pacing, I palm my scalp, obsessing over what just happened. We were supposed to be fighting, not… whatever the hell that was.
I knew I didn’t want to fight him. He just wouldn’t leave it alone!
Now I just made myself look gay and crazy in front of a room full of assholes.
“Oy! Byron…” His voice startles me, and I jump, spinning around, glare intact. I really didn’t expect him to follow me in here, though I guess it makes sense. He’s been following me around all night. “Are you alright?”
“No,” I hiss, then blink hard. “I mean, yes. I’m fine… Why wouldn’t I be??”
He stares at me, head slanted to the side. “You sure?”
His dark hair is all tousled about, cheeks still pink. And he’s bleeding…
“Stop asking me stupid fucking questions,” I teem, chest heaving in frustration.
He blinks, lapping at some blood trickling from his lip. The sight throbs my nuts. “Don’t be cross. You won.”
“I’m not cross,” I growl, and he smirks. “You just… threw me off, is all.”
“Did I?” He steps forward while I glower at him, backing up. “Why?” He continues to crowd me. “Because you liked it?”
“I don’t know what you’re… talking about,” I croak, startling myself when my back hits the concrete wall behind me.
Shit…
He has me trapped, again, easing his body into mine. Gazing down at me, violet eyes shining. “I think you do.”
“You must have a few screws loose,” I grunt, baffled and frustrated because the warmth is still fucking here.
It wasn’t the fighting… Why wasn’t it the fighting??
Fuck me, I think it was… him.
His scent actually has my mouth watering. He smells… dangerous. And sexy. God, so deliciously sexy…
“Maybe.” Hovering over me, Trevel taps his fingertip to his bloody bottom lip. “You want a taste?”
I’m fucking trembling. “Huh…?”
“It’s yours,” he croons. “You earned it, warrior.”
My head is fucking spinning off my body as my eyes covet that pouty fucking lip, all red and puffy and so close I can practically taste the copper already.
I gulp. “But I’m not… I mean, I don’t…”
“You don’t have to lie to me, gorgeous,” he whispers. “I can keep a secret.”
My lashes flutter. What is this…?
How is he doing this?
Do I need to get laid that bad??
Or is this… something else?
His hands ghost up my waist, gliding gently until those shapely fingers are wrapped around my ribcage. And I hum, because it feels good. Eyes tumbling over him, I watch his chest rise and fall, pale skin flushed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
He wants it, that much is fucking clear. Flirting my ass…
I think he’d let me in him in a heartbeat.
And now I’m considering it… The things I could do with this stranger that would get me all the way off.
Push him onto his knees and pump my cock down that pretty throat…
Bend him over and fuck him rough. Bust my nut in there, nice and deep…
It’s just sex, right? Like feeding your body when it’s hungry…
No strings. No attachments.
Nourishment… Much-needed.
Reaching up, my hand is shaking a little as I curl my fingers around his neck and bring him to me. “You wanna make me feel good…?” I rasp into his waiting mouth.
He nods fast. “Anything you want to feel, hot boy. I’ll make it happen.”
My mind is racing, immediately overflowing with wild images and torrid fantasies.
But before I can even think of acting on any of them, footsteps clomp from around the corner, that motherfucker’s voice slicing into the steamy hot tension, “62, your ass is fucking grass if you don’t get out here right the hell now!”
Goddamn Linetti. Fucking cockblock.
Shoving Trevel off me, I clear my throat and blink hard, reacquainting myself with reality. He hums out of frustration, and I peek at him.
“That’s a good look on you,” I mumble, eyes lingering on his bloody lip.
“That’s even better,” he purrs, nodding below my waist.
Peering down, I frown at my visible erection, adjusting to hide it in my waistband.
Trevel laughs, and I scowl away my own amusement.
“Shut up,” I mutter.
“Sure thing… Raph.”
“Trevel! Great to see you. Have a seat, my dear.”
Eyeing the man cautiously, I take a seat opposite him at his desk. Large, oak, and quite ornate. But what’s really caught my attention is the massive bay window behind him.
“Wow… That’s quite the view,” I breathe out, admiring the ocean’s waves rippling below us. “I didn’t know this building had windows.”
“Oh, it really doesn’t,” Manuel Blanco says with a smirk. Then he stands, wandering over to what looks like a lavish little minibar. “Would you care for something to drink? Pellegrino? Coconut water?”
“I don’t suppose you have any bourbon in there?” I lift a brow, and he cocks his head admonishingly.
“Now, Trevel… You’ve been given an opportunity to start fresh here, no substances. Don’t squander it.”
I swear, he sounds like a father. It’s interesting, being that I never had parents who, well… gave a rat’s tiny bollocks. So as much as I feel like a petulant teenager right now, I’m unable to disregard the warm and fuzzies in the pit of my stomach from him actually caring. Or at least pretending to.
Still more than I got from the wankers who made me.
I sigh. “Pellegrino is perfect, thank you.”
The Ivory is wearing a pleased expression as he pulls out two cans, cracking them both open and sliding one over to me. He sits back down in his fancy desk chair, sipping from his drink, eyeing me as he does.
Swallowing a fizzy gulp myself, I rumble, “Also, let me just say, thank you so much for that… basket. It really was quite the gift.”
He beams. “I can’t imagine you’ve already finished it?”
“No, no,” I huff. “It’s enough food to last a month. But those chocolate-covered cherries… Dear God.”
He laughs softly. “I hoped you’d enjoy those.”
My smile is only partially forced. It’s not that I’m ungrateful, because surely, he doesn’t need to give me anything. Still, I’m finding it difficult not to gawk at him like a dog walking on its hind legs.
I mean, he’s the Warden of Alabaster Penitentiary. I barely know anything about him, and he scares the panties off me. I can only imagine the things he’s done… The stuff of nightmares, I’m sure.
And yet, here he is… Smiling at me. Offering me drinks and discussing sweet treats, as if we’re old friends getting together for a long overdue lunch in between our busy schedules.
It’s bizarre, to say the least. I just can’t get a proper read on what it is he wants; why he’s plying me with gifts and inviting me up to his office to chat.
I’m an inmate here, not his pal.
What is your agenda, Mr. Ivory?
“So, how are you settling in?” he asks, leaning back in his seat. “I trust that Kent’s been accommodating when he can?”
Kent, of course, being the bloke he’s tasked with babysitting me.
He seems like a nice enough fellow. And he has a Daddy Dom vibe about him that’s rather titillating. I wonder what his official position is…
Top or bottom.
Jesting, of course. I mean his job.
I know he works directly for The Ivory… What is he, a butler? Personal security and gift basket delivery?
This place seems tragically understaffed.
“Kent is a stand-up lad,” I reply. “Of course, it’s prison… There’s a certain level of discomfort to be expected.”
He stares at me until I begin to cower.
“But I do greatly appreciate your hospitality, sir.”
The Warden’s lips curve, his eyes still lingering on my face. “What happened?”
I balk, instantly stiff. “Beg your pardon?”
“To your mouth, Trevel.” He speaks more insistently. “You have a cut on your lip. Where is that from? Have any inmates been hassling you? If so, simply give me their names and I’ll see to it that they’re dealt with.”
My mind instantly drifts to the other night, in the basement. Though if we’re being honest, the memories haven’t gone far since it happened…
The hottest fight ever with the sexiest, broodiest, most delicious fighter I can’t seem to stop thinking about.
Byron Kang.
Fucking hell… Even just hearing his name in my head has me squirming and trying to hide it.
That boy is something else… I would let him kick my ass a hundred more times if it meant feeling that mixture of wanton rage and restless desire he keeps tucked away inside his perfectly mouthwatering body.
Remembering myself, I clear my throat. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. I… slipped in the shower. I can be a right clumsy thing sometimes.”
It’s clear from the look on his face that The Ivory doesn’t believe me. Fortunately for me, he lets it go, sipping from his drink again. “As long as you’re not having any trouble. I want you to be comfortable here, Trevel. You’re very important to me.”
A few seconds pass, wherein I stare at him and contemplate what, if anything, I should say to that remark. On the one hand, I want to stay in his good graces, because at least here, I get treats and access to his personal security. On the other, I’m not always the best at holding my tongue, especially when I feel I’m being toyed with.
“You know what would make me even more comfortable?” I sit back in my seat, mirroring his body language. “A room in your mansion with my own en suite.”
The Ivory chuckles, shaking his head. But the laughter stops abruptly, and he lifts a light eyebrow. “Don’t push it, Trevel.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble.
It was worth a shot.
“Look, I understand that this isn’t fun for you.” He swivels back and forth in his chair. “The prison is no picnic. I get that. But this is where you must stay, Trevel. Make your peace with it and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. There are plenty of inmates, I’d say damn near every last one, who would kill to have their own private cell stocked with food, and the opportunity to wander about at their leisure—within reason, of course.”
Yes, yes… within reason.
“But, sir, the thing is, I’m feeling a tad… isolated.” My fingers twist in my lap. “I do relish my privacy, but I’m already going mad with boredom. I don’t know how the inmates who have been here for years do it.”
Once again, my thoughts go to Byron. He said he’s been here several…
No wonder he seems desperate for someone to open up to. Bottling up his frustrations for years with no one to properly… pop the top, so to speak.
Bollocks. If I keep thinking about him, I may need to cross my legs.
The Ivory unleashes a rather cunning smirk, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m so happy to hear you say that, Trevel. Because, in fact, I do have a plan to get you socializing more.”
I’m not sure what prompts this, but a frisson of thrill runs through me at the idea that he might give me a cellmate. Maybe even a certain fuckhot Asian bloke with a sinful mouth and muscles I want to lick like candy…
I cannot even fathom how thirsty I am for this lad. It’s becoming worrying.
“Color me intrigued.” I scoot up to the edge of my seat.
“I’ve been thinking,” the Warden says. “How would you feel about restarting your sessions with Dr. Love?”
My heart leaps into my throat.
Alright, then. I suppose we’re talking about the other man I found myself painfully attracted to…
The nodding of my head becomes gradually more enthusiastic the longer that suggestion swims through my brain. “I think that’s a fine idea. I could really use some… good old-fashioned therapy.”
I grin, mentally sifting through all of the possibilities.
Oh, how I would love to start seeing the good doctor again…
“Wonderful,” Manuel chirps. “I was hoping you’d feel that way.”
Opening his laptop, he presses a few buttons. Then he spins it so that I can see the screen. It’s playing what looks like… a video feed. “What you’re seeing here is video from the East Wing.”
An odd sensation settles in my gut at what I’m seeing.
Bloody hell… I’m back in Riverwoods.
“The east side of the prison was developed first,” he goes on, giving me a history lesson while I’m floundering inside. “Initially, this building was slated to be an institution, called Alabaster Asylum. But ultimately, it was requested that it be made into a penitentiary instead.”
“Requested…?” I murmur absentmindedly. “By whom?”
The Ivory gives me a look that says, I can’t tell you that.
Hm… Ominous.
He taps another button, and the camera angle and location change, displaying various areas of this East Wing. It’s very different from general population. There are rows of padded cells, occupied by inmates laced up in straitjackets, and rows of other cells, which look like a doctor’s exam room from the forties—a big chair in the middle bolted to the floor, with shackles hanging off of it.
All of which can be seen at all times by Manuel Blanco, apparently.
I must admit, this is triggering me just a tad. The conditions at Riverwoods were nowhere near as bad as these, but it was still a place I detested. They would never use straitjackets… But they had no problem strapping your arms and legs down if they felt you might harm yourself or one of the staff. I know this because I spent many an evening strapped to a gurney and screaming until they stuck a needle in my neck.
