I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(16)

With one hand closing in on my cock, Missy used her other hand to take the straw out of her drink. She licked it suggestively. “The night’s not over yet, Chase,” she purred, tapping the straw against her lower lip.

Drugs were out, but Missy was clearly offering something I could indulge in. It had been a long time since I’d been with a woman. The guards would occasionally sneak prostitutes in, and for the right price you could spend twenty minutes in a locked visitation room with one. The public has no idea of the intricate bartering system that exists in every correctional facility across the land. There’s always a black market where you can obtain almost anything you desire, and the prison I was in was no exception. Almost anything can be bought or sold, and everyone has a price. During the time I served I tried to limit my interactions with the women of the night, but a man has needs. So I occasionally paid the going rate for a condom and a blow job. And sometimes, when head just wasn’t enough, I bought a condom and a f*ck.

The lure of the coke in Missy’s bag had left me edgy; I needed some kind of a release. And she was obviously more than willing.

Missy’s glass was empty, so I tipped back my beer, drank down the rest. “You want to get out of here?” I asked, setting the empty bottle back on the bar.

She nodded and her smile widened. I threw a few bills on the bar, then steered Missy through the crowd to the employee exit in the back.

“Should we stop in there?” she asked, jerking her chin in the direction of the restrooms.

I didn’t have any protection on me—and apparently neither did she—but I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to stick my dick in Missy Metzger anyway. Those glitter-coated lips promised to be more than enough for me, so I shook my head and continued to the door.

But then, when we stepped out into the alley, I almost called the whole thing off. Nasty-smelling drain water dripped by the door, and the alley itself was a noxious mixture of piss and vomit.

Why am I doing this? I wondered.

But then Missy put her hand on my crotch and started rubbing my dick through my jeans. Seedy surroundings were all but forgotten.

Snaking a hand up under my T-shirt, Missy scraped her nails across my abs. “Damn, Chase,” she squealed, bouncing up and down on her heels. “You feel so good. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Believe it, sweetheart. I rolled her top up until the material bunched over her hot pink bra. I skimmed my hands back down her chest, grazing nipples through sheer. Light, so light, I touched her softly, but then I reminded myself Missy wasn’t a fragile kind of girl, like Hot Chick seemed to be. So I changed it up—grasping and pinching her flesh, and handling her roughly as I whispered filthy things in her ear.

Missy trembled against me, like she was enjoying what I was doing and loving the things I was saying.

“Yes, Chase, yeah,” she moaned, dragging my hand down to panties that were already soaked through. “Please…”

My hand hovered. “Please what, Missy?”

She moaned and quickly shoved the damp material aside. “Touch me,” she begged.

But I had other ideas. I told her to touch herself instead and let me watch. She did as I asked, and I eventually joined her. Missy got f*cked with four fingers—two of hers and two of mine—until she came.

She collapsed against me after her release, breathing heavily. Once she recovered, she tried to kiss me. I had no desire to comply, but I begrudgingly allowed her lips to pass over mine so I didn’t come off as a total prick.

But when I tried to turn my head covertly she caught my lower lip with her teeth and bit down lightly. “Don’t move,” she whispered, giggling.

I figured the best way to keep her from kissing me was to get her off again. Since my fingers were still in her *, I started jacking her off. She’d removed her own fingers so I added more of my own. Missy’s breathing quickened as she groaned and grunted, soaking my whole hand. Within minutes, I felt her spasm once more.

I removed my hand from Missy’s crotch. Her face was still near mine and she tried to kiss me again. This time, I allowed her, which was probably a mistake, since I immediately tasted something bitter.

Fuck.

I knew right away what that chemical taste was—residue from the cocaine she’d snorted earlier. And sick as it was that bitterness made me crave the coke I knew she had in her bag. I suddenly wanted white powder more than I wanted any part of Missy’s body.

A long-dormant voice in my head piped up, she’s already offered to share. I’m sure the offer still stands, especially since you just got her off…twice. Ask her, ask her, go ahead and ask her now.

But no, just no, I needed to get the f*ck away from temptation.

I buried my face in Missy’s neck to escape her lips, her coke-tainted mouth. But still, all I could think about was that white powder, and how it used to make me feel—invincible, uncaring, an attitude of f*ck the world.

What would one little bump hurt?

Maybe a little more would even be okay. Maybe it’d be enough to stop caring about the past four years and the things I’ve done. Hell, maybe it’d be enough to stop caring about judgmental people staring back at you; maybe it’d be enough to forget about a brother who hates you so much that he can’t remember he used to love you more than life itself.

So, yeah, I opened my mouth, intent on asking for something that could take away the pain. Or at least mute it.