Kick (Songs of Perdition #1)(24)

“Wa…” I couldn’t finish the word, such was the pressure on my throat.

I didn’t like it, and I wanted to tell him to stop. When I tried to push his arm away, he ignored it and yanked at my pants.

“Keep still,” he said, fingering my cleft under the standard-issue panties. “Oh, you’re ready.”

His grip on my neck moved to my upper chest when he got his dick out. I breathed.

“No choking, Warren.” I pulled one pant leg down. “I’m warning you.”

“Sure.”

“Hey.” The voice wasn’t loud, just firm.

Fuck. A guard stood behind us. Warren jumped back as if his hand had been in the cookie jar, but I could have told him he hadn’t even gotten the lid off yet.

“What are you doing on that side of the fence?”

“It was her.” Warren pointed at me, the fleshy rod swinging from above his waistband making a lie of his participation.

“Chilton, get the f*ck out of here,” the guard said. “Don’t make me write your ass up again.” He got out his walkie-talkie, observing the hole in the fence. “Hey, Ned,” he said into the radio. “There’s a breach at four-seven-two.”

Warren ran through the hole and past the grove of trees. The guard glanced at me after I’d gotten my pants up.

“Go on inside,” he said. “You get a pass this time. Go on.”

He indicated the building, and I hustled. I had forty-five minutes left. My clit rubbed on my inner thighs when I hustled back inside, swelled to pain and wanting release so bad it swallowed my brain. All I could think about was f*cking. Fucking swell. I hated my needs. For the first time, they seemed more of a burden than an indelible character trait.

Warren was a dead issue. That * was going to mark me and get me in trouble. He must have been the source of Karen’s mark.

When I got back to the residents’ hall, I realized I had no idea where Jack’s room was. Fuck. Fuck f*ck f*ckity f*ck. Was he even in his room? And what if I couldn’t find him? I was starting to think about Elliot in ways I shouldn’t. Ways that would come out in hypnosis. He’d touch me again, and I’d say something like, “Hey…let’s—”

I ran down the halls, looking in each room. All the doors were open. Most of the rooms were empty, or being cleaned, or occupied by strangers. In forty minutes, I’d be in front of a man, and he had a dick, and I could maybe convince him to f*ck me.

But I kept thinking about being tied to the ceiling, the knots in the rope rubbing my skin, and Deacon’s cock sliding against the back of my thigh.

Tell me how badly you want it, beautiful kitten.

Bad bad bad bad….

My ass. My poor ass as he’d paddled it, holding back the avalanche of need. I lost days to his ministrations. I needed him. I had no control without him.

And I’d stabbed him.

I didn’t believe his denials for a minute. His refusal to implicate me only meant one thing: I’d done it. I’d stabbed him.

What the f*ck?

What the actual f*ck?

“Hi, Fiona.”

I spun. Jack was standing in the hall with a paper towel of yellow petals.

“Jack, I was looking for you.”

“Job well done, then. You found me.”

I stepped close to him so I could say something without being overheard. “You said you weren’t completely unf*ckable.”

“I’d like to think so. Why?”

It was as if the cues and clues I’d given men my entire sexual life were a foreign code to this guy. Normally I’d reveal some part of my body, but we were on camera.

So I tilted my head and pressed my lips together before whispering, “I want to show you how f*ckable you are.”

His bottom jaw went slack, and his eyes widened. He made a little tick in the back of his throat as if an attempt to swallow had failed. I took that as a good sign.

“Do you want to touch my tits? The nipples are hard already. I know places we can go to do it, where they can’t see. I can put your cock down my throat so deep I can lick your balls. And I’ll swallow your load, every drop.”

He didn’t say anything, and when I went to touch his arm, he dropped his paper towel, sending yellow petals adrift.

“Jack?”

He ran down the hall as if his ass was on fire.

I guessed I had that coming. It was a mental ward, after all. But talking dirty had made the swell worse. I had thirty minutes to release it, and I didn’t even have a damn vibrator. I was just going to have to take care of myself and hope for the best.

My room was a few doors down. I ran in and closed the door. The window was still open, and the shade blew in, slapping back against the window when the breeze went out. I went into the bathroom. Frances didn’t want to hear me, I got that. I knew I could be quiet. I’d done it for Deacon a hundred times.

Slipping out of my crazy-proof cotton pants and shoes, I eyed the sink again, its smooth texture and cold surface. It was good in a pinch, but this wasn’t a pinch. This was something else entirely. I wanted warm skin and a fullness, a filled feeling.

There were reasons I didn’t touch myself. Good reasons.

That pleases you, Fiona? What you’re doing?

That was old stuff. Dad catching me in the chair by the window.