Throne of Truth (Truth and Lies Duet #2)(61)

My hands no longer obeyed my brain; they tracked over her, my thumbs rubbing the beads of her nipples, barely hidden beneath whatever clothes she wore.

I was so drunk on her, I couldn’t look away to see if she wore a convenient skirt to hoist up and delete the remaining space between us.

Larry cleared his throat.

It didn’t register or stop me in the slightest.

But it did stop Elle.

She withdrew from the kiss, pushing my chest a little to give her some space.

I blinked, coming back to earth with a smash.

Fuck, what was I thinking? Touching wasn’t permitted. I didn’t want to layer yet more crimes to my long tally.

I’ll never fucking get out of here.

And that was suddenly so important now I’d had a tiny taste of what I was missing.

Holding up my hands, I backed away from Elle, looking at the ceiling where a camera had recorded every passionate indiscretion.

“Shit.” My cock throbbed, heavy and noticeable in my prison scrubs.

Elle rubbed her mouth. Her lips puffy and red from my overgrown stubble. Had it really been over a month since I’d kissed her? Fucked her in my limo? It felt like decades.

She smiled. “That was quite the hello.”

I smirked. “You started it. You launched at me, not the other way around.” And Christ that made me happy. To know she’d moved past the issues I’d caused, the lies I’d told. That she was willing to accept me as me, not as Penn or that phantom she called Nameless. Me. With no more bullshit between us.

I opened my arms, encompassing the room and jail behind. “You’re here.”

“I am.” Her gaze skated to Larry then back to me. Her fingers pulled the hem of her black blazer; smoothing it over the hip-hugging skirt that kissed her knees.

Black suit, white shirt, and silver heels. Her hair was twisted up on top of her head—showing off the expanse of her long neck where my canines watered to bite. A pair of black framed glasses stuck out of her blazer breast pocket.

She looked like a sexy librarian...or—

“Elle is my assistant for the day,” Larry explained as he pulled out a chair and sat at the single table. “It was the only way she was allowed in.”

My lips tilted, remembering other times when I’d been his assistant. He’d gotten me into Fishkill countless of times to see Gio—partly to be his helper and note taker but also to nurture the slowly developing friendship between the man I’d fought with on the streets and the man now begging for scraps of news about his brother.

We put aside our petty grievances and discussed Stewie’s progress and intelligence at school.

We bonded over caring for his younger sibling.

We grew up.

Leaving Elle—even though it killed me—I marched to the table and sat. My skin tingled to touch hers. My mouth watered to kiss her again. But I’d already risked Larry’s generosity by slamming her into the wall the second they arrived.

I twisted to look at the camera again. “They’ll have that on tape.” I licked my lips, tasting blueberry lip-gloss. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Larry opened a folder holding the scribbled notes I’d sent him, along with a few computer typed ones from his own homework. “It’ll be on record. There’s no way for someone to alter the footage—not the lowly guy I have an understanding with anyway. But rest assured, they won’t use it.” He pulled his pen from his pocket, chuckling. “However, don’t go thinking you can get away with sex. I’m not leaving and I can’t go without my lovely assistant. Besides, screwing my staff would most likely end up on some dodgy prison porn site that would go viral and screw you over even more.”

Dropping my hands below the table, I did some subtle rearranging of my hard-on. “I know you have a point but being in this room with Elle. Shit, you’re asking a starving man not to eat the banquet.”

Elle blushed, pulling out the last seat next to Larry. Her hand snuck across the table.

I snatched it, holding it sweetly as if we were first-time boyfriend and girlfriend rather than the reality that if I didn’t hold on, I’d drown in this motherfucking place.

It took a lot to keep my cool and pretend nothing bothered me here. That I could handle whatever they threw at me. That I didn’t give a shit about Arnold Twig and his lying sack of shit son, Sean.

But with Elle here...it made me softer somehow. Showed me how much I bottled up and how much I wished I could just run and be free.

Elle’s gaze narrowed on my lower jaw where the fading bruise of the beating two weeks ago remained. “You’re hurt.”

I shrugged, down playing it as Larry narrowed his gaze. He knew full well what went on in places like this. Elle had no idea. I squeezed her fingers. “I’m fine.”

Her blue eyes glossed with tears. “But someone hurt you.”

“I’m okay, Elle. Don’t. Don’t torture yourself.” My voice echoed with need for her to listen to me, obey me. She’d go mad if she didn’t. “It’s nothing that I can’t handle.”

And it was true.

Ever since the beating, I hadn’t been touched. Sure, I’d endured a few curse words and stolen lunches, but overall, my strategy of staying low and alone was working. Half of the inmates couldn’t be assed with me and the rest were slightly afraid, wondering why I was so quiet.