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⼠Bang Chan x Reader (f) â 12.1k (~51 min. read)
⼠Prison, Inmate x Doctor, Crazy in Love
â â (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Bro is spectacularly whipped, heavy infatuation and sexual tension, emotional turmoil, prison violence, manipulation, strong language, explicit sexual content (see masterlist for more)
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âKia kaha!â
âKIA KAHA!â
Stay strong, and the rest will follow.
Silver. Silver rings on long, dexterous fingers, silver necklace around the neck that held his head way too high, and silver tongue in his mouth home to all kinds of sinsâŚÂ
Ask anyone who that guy was, and they would grunt his name due to their raging urge to either kill him or fuck him.
It wasnât the sheer thrill of breaking the rules that drove Chris to the convoluted world of crime. He let himself ride the waves of his bad decisions to see where it would eventually take him. He ended up crashing his surfboard into the shores of opioids, and he liked it there. Simple as that. No tragic backstory or anything.Â
Not only was he great at what he did, but he also possessed exquisite mastery over the arts of the tongue. He could walk right off anything just by talking his way out of it, which made him the singular common denominator unifying their rival clans. He had haters just because he existed, and rightfully so, to be frank.
âThey got Jake.â
Now imagine the absolute field day the aforementioned bitter foes had when they heard the shit hit the fan for Crown Street.
Jake. The resident troublemaker aggressively looking up to his mentor and way too impatient for his own good. His sworn protĂŠgĂŠ. This was the umpteenth time an emergency meeting was taking place to come up with a strategy dedicated to saving his ass.
âWhat are our options? Give it to us straight,â boss man Oliver demanded from their lawyer.
âJake has priors. This doesnât look good,â Johnnie stated bluntly. âIf he talks, this time around heâs getting locked up for at least ten years with no chance of parole, if not a life sentence.â
Chris held his head between his hands, utterly frustrated and internally cursing Jakeâs ass off for not being more careful. For not being more patient. For having this stupid compulsion to prove himself.
To whom, bro, we all fucking know what youâre capable of!
âIs there nothing we can do?â Chris appealed emphatically. âIâm not gonna let the kid rot in that hellhole.â
Johnnie leaned back in his chair and looked him dead in his eyes, albeit with a defeated expression.
âHypothetically speaking, if someone else with no priors on paper owns up to it, I can negotiate a deal for as little as five years.âÂ
âHow the fuck is five years little?!â Oliver yelled while slamming his fist on the circular ebony table.
âUnder these circumstances, it actually is. Youâre lucky weâre not trying to dodge a death penalty here,â Johnnie declared. âAll you gotta do is find someone to take the rep. Play nice, and they can get out on parole in a year or so.â
Fascinating thing, loyalty. Things that would never even pop up in your wildest dreams, it would make you do without blinking an eye. What was there to even think about when you knew someoneâs fate was lying in your hands?Â
Especially if that someone meant the world to you.
âIâll confess to it.â
âChris. No.â
âWhatâs the alternative, huh? Heâll get jumped before 3 p.m. on his first day,â Chris countered immediately. âJohnnieâs always had our back. If this is the lesser of the two evils, Iâll do it. He says I can be out in a year.â
âBut what if you canât?â Oliver implored him to see reason. âThis is jail time weâre talking about, mate, not fucking community service.â
He didnât even have to say anything. One look into his eyes, and Oliver knew what that meant. Once he set his mind to something, it was impossible to talk Chris out of it no matter how obvious the end result was. He was one of those people who had to experience things firsthand, either to brag an âI told you soâ or to finally acknowledge what a horrendous mistake he had made.
âYou already know Iâm well-versed in the arts of surviving, brother.â
That very sentence he formed ended up being the one he had to serve. Luckily for him, it at least had a full stop at the end although it ran on for several pages. He didnât care. Anything to protect one of his own.
Stay strong.
Kia Kaha.
I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.
That was the oath you had taken. Well, you had to because apparently some guy named Hippocrates was extremely triggered by the concept of perjury some centuries ago. So either swear to it and make the unbreakable vow, or rip your fucking diploma in half. That piece of paper had cost you a whole lot of money with a good deal of your sanity in the process, so no, thank you very much.
It wasnât the sheer nobility of the profession that drove you to become a doctor. If the design of the human body and mind had fascinated you this much, why not make a career out of getting super intrigued by the total length of an average adult humanâs blood vessels? Out of all the places you could have picked, you took a job at a maximum security prison as the chief attending physician because, hey, multiple birds with one stone.
I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.
Nobody told you to take on the challenge of serving the most âinfirmâ crowd available, but you did it anyway. What better setting to practice your craft than a correctional facility after all?
âIâm leaving. Will you be home by dinner?â
âWeâll see.â
Not even a âHave a good first day, sweetheartâ. Fuck that, not even a curt âGood luckâ.
The awkward tension between you and your husband wasnât always palpable enough to cut with a knife. Not that anything specific happened to cause that, but somewhere along the way, something indeed snapped, and you started growing apart day by day. Maybe it was the unbearable heaviness of the mundane, coloring your entire marriage in the bleakest shade of gray. The affection? Gone. The desire? Gone. You were nothing more than two roommates at this point because you didnât feel like doing anything for him anymore. Why bother when it was one-sided? Why bother getting a gift for someone, imagining how happy it was going to make them when they couldnât even care less? Why get upset when they didnât react exactly in the way you pictured they would? No one put a gun to your head to get the said gift in the first place, which meant they didnât owe you shit, did they?
When it was your spouse in question, it felt like he did. For wasting years of your life, trapping you in a loveless birdcage if not for anything else. Cue the unsolicited commentary and advice from the spectators of your life.
âWhy do you keep doing this to yourself?â
âGet a divorce.â
âYou canât fix him. Just walk away.â
How fucking easy it was to tell someone to make a drastic change in their life in a split second⌠Would you stop drinking coffee just because someone told you to? Fuck no. You had to believe it wasnât doing you any good anymore. Everyoneâs tolerance to change was different, after all; some welcomed it with open arms, and some avoided it like the plague. In any case, only when you felt confident about your eventual decision, only when you felt ready, then and only then would you make the change.Â
Because nobody was going to go through the consequences on your behalf if shit went south, nor were they going to take the blame for your prospective unhappiness with the outcome.
I will not be ashamed to say âI know notâ...
It was fine. Your marital bed, which was empty most nights, was not your place of work. Breaking an oath within the confines of your suffocation was not going to harm anyone.
Other than yourself.
Inmate 8MS3HF92.Â
That was Chrisâ name for the past ten months. Nothing that could humanize him, merely letters and numbers. Another statistic to quote in recidivism reports maybe.Â
The only time he would be reminded of his identity was when his prison family addressed himâthey were the circle of people showing him the ins and outs of navigating the hell simulator with as little damage and as much profit as possible. To all the guards, to the warden, to everybody else, he was just âinmateâ.
Not for long, though.
He had only one instruction. Do not beef no matter what and survive, and that was exactly what he had been doing. His itinerary was quite straightforwardâhe was going to endure this for two more months, go up against the parole committee, be super charming, then get the hell out. He was probably going to return here within his first hour as a free man for beating the shit out of Jake, though.
If he had the balls to press charges against his Yoda, that is.
Chris took particular, not to mention excessive pride in the way he operated. Getting your own hands dirty was for amateurs. If he wanted something, he would talk his way into it. If he detected a threat, he would orchestrate the subtlest of feuds to have someone else get rid of it on his behalf. Obviously, âon his behalfâ did not mean that you would do it in full awareness that this was in his best interests. He would pitch it to you in such a manner that youâd have no choice but to believe the threat was actually posed to you.
Prison was like a gangsterâs LinkedIn. The most lucrative connections they could possibly have were right under his noseâof course he wasnât going to waste the opportunity to bring in more business to Crown Street. After several rounds of meet and greets within his first month, he had successfully outlined the entire food chain and finally located where the drug ops ran from. Getting himself assigned to any other place was unequivocally out of the question.
âWork detail assignments. Fang, youâre working in the kitchen.â
What a pleasant surprise! Everybody, act shocked.
Smooth talking gets you only so far, of course. Put this man in a room full of his hardcore fans, and he would still manage to make a few enemies. That was both the curse and the blessing of being a charmer. If you didnât annoy the fuck out of somebody for no reason, then you were doing it wrong.
âŚwhich was exactly why the closer his freedom date approached, the more intolerant his fatemates became. That was the tradition of this place. Youâd go through the hazing when you were about to graduate, not during the first week of school.
âFang. A word,â Andrei beckoned him towards the storage shelves right before lunch service.
It was of utmost importance for Chris to stay in the head honchoâs good graces until his hearing. The past ten months had been a very trying test of willpower for having to constantly repress the urge to jump this motherfucker, and patience was not exactly his strong suit. He wiped his hands on his apron and followed suit behind him.
âWhatâs up, boss?â
âWe were expecting a little delivery from the commissary two days ago,â he snarled at him, piercing holes into his forehead with his ice-blue eyes. âWhat the fuck is up with that, pretty boy?â
âYeah, about that,â Chris scratched his nape with a look feigning an apology like he was oh so sorry. âWeâre experiencing a little hiccup. Should come in no later than Friday, though.â
âThatâs not what we agreed upon.â
âI know, but Iâm also leaning on other people here. I canât exactly go out to personally bring in your heroin now, can I?â
Andrei cornered him against a wall and slammed both his hands on either side of him. As if Chris was some white-collar criminal only in here because his lawyer dropped the ball on his tax evasion case. Everybody with common sense would know it took a bit more than that to intimidate Fang.
âYour whore ass gets on my last fucking nerve, you know,â he flashed his half-rotten teeth. âMaybe your goddamn smug face needs some work done, huh?â
âIf you think I need work done, you clearly havenât looked in a mirror recently.â
So much for holding it togetherâŚ
It was like a blackout that lasted for only two seconds. The words just jumped out of his lips before he could catch them in the air. The loud sound of glass crashing alerted the two guards on the floor, prompting them to dash towards the kitchen.Â
âBreak it off! Break it off now!!!â
Chris might have managed to dodge getting his throat ripped, but a large piece of glass still made its way to his chest area, cutting a wound open below his left collarbone. A couple of centimeters more to the south, and he would have secured an early parole in a goddamn pine box. He was immediately escorted to the infirmary to get patched up, which he found fucking hysterical. There couldnât be anything more ironic than nursing someone back to health just so they could rot some more. He was anxiously shaking his legs while sitting on that gurney for someone to appear, washcloth still pressed on the bleeding wound and annoyed out of his mind.
âYo doc, can we get this shit over with already?â he yelled towards the back of the room. âI kinda need to be somewhere right now.â
âPlease excuse the tardiness to your schedule, Your Majesty. Weâre a little shorthanded around here.â
WhoaâŚ
Chris briefly wondered whether he actually died of blood loss on the kitchen floor because why the fuck else was he seeing an angel clad in white, not to mention in this soul-sucker den?
âWho the fucâ? IâI meanâŚâ
âItâs fine, Iâve been called worse,â you responded without looking away from the incident report in your hands, then met his eyes at long last. âIâm the new chief attending physician. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Inmate 8MS3HF92 that got jumped in the kitchen.â
âPretty name, huh? Itâs French,â he quickly gathered his wits and grinned in response, âbut they call me Fang for short.â
âFang,â you snorted at the juvenile-sounding moniker. âBecause you didnât get your wisdom teeth out, orâŚ?â
âItâs because you should let the sleeping wolves lie, beautiful.â
You knew what you were getting yourself into when you started working here, and your contract with Hippocrates included one thing in its essence: Help the sick and do no harm. In that particular moment, however, you crassly fistbumped him for blessing you with this Olympian eye candy shamelessly flirting with you for a change. Yes, this was an inmate in front of you, but all your suppressed urges could register was a pair of thick forearms adorned with bulging veins, long fingers pressing on his wound, and thighs spread wide almost invitingly. Telling you⌠To come closer⌠Then get on your knees⌠And thenâŚ
Well, if you were anywhere else but a prison, that is.
âTake it off, please.â
Chris felt a hard kick in his chest when you uttered those words, unable to register your request and just looking at you blankly with lips parted in surprise.
âYour top,â you pointed your pen at his wound, âso that I can examine the injury.â
âRIGHT! Of course.â
He removed the clothing as told, but never in your entire professional life did you have to contain something so primitive threatening to rear its head inside you. You bitchslapped your lizard brain pretty hard to remind yourself once again that this was a goddamn patient you had to attend to, not some man you were trying to pick up at a bar.
If only you knew that you werenât actually alone in this struggle.Â
Your perfume⌠It was November, but you smelled like summer. Chris didnât have much to hold onto, but you smelled like hope. Your latex-clad hands were running all over his chest, and he didnât give a fuck that it was on his wound. His touch starvation was at such dangerous levels that trying to control the erection growing between his legs was harder than refraining from murdering motherfuckers in this place. To top it all off, the angel before him looking like that?Â
It was an enigma how he managed not to cum in his pants right then and there.
You finished stitching his wound in complete silence as he watched you with his lips slightly parted, and only when you informed him you were done was he able to come back to reality.
âCome back next week, okay?â
And once he managed to snap out of it, Chris instantly wore his other personality on his sleeve as a knee-jerk reaction.
âSay youâre gonna miss me, and I can come back tomorrow,â he smugly grinned. You eyed him from head to toe with brows furrowed in confusion.
âTo get your stitches removed, Fang,â you scoffed. âYou can go back to your easy bake oven now.â
So you werenât easily charmed. No matter. He happened to fucking love the chase.
Chris left the infirmary that day with a stupid smile glued to his lips, full-on launching the crescent craters adorning his cheeks and secretly hoping you found dimples attractive in a man.Â
One borrowed touch was all it took. He found himself counting down the days to get his stitches removed instead of his parole hearing. All of a sudden, the walls werenât closing in on him as much anymore. His breathing was still a little irregular, but seemingly for different reasons rather than the humidity crawling in the stone walls.
He was having trouble sleeping no matter how much he forced himself to because his mind just wouldnât shut up about you. If only⌠If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.
One day. Three days. Five days. And finally back to the infirmary again.Â
God, if that didnât feel longer than the time he had served thus farâŚ
âHey, doc!â
You looked up at the unusually chirpy voice that most certainly did not belong to the dismal backdrop of this place. It was the stitches man that looked more like a sculpture with a little chip on it.
âFeeling good today, are we?â you brightly smiled at him at the expense of giving him a mild heart attack while wearing your gloves to check the healing of his scar. âDid you get some good news?â
Chris actually had a snarky comment ready to go, but as soon as your hand brushed against his, he felt a sudden jolt and completely forgot what he was going to say.
âFish tacos⌠for lunch.â
You couldnât help but heartily laugh at the unexpected answer, effectively stopping his heart for about three seconds.
âI take it youâre very easy to please, Fang.â
Yes. Fucking yes. Just let me borrow your lips once, and Iâll die the happiest man.
As you got to work with a pair of tweezers to remove his stitches, Chris watched you completely awestruck as if he was appreciating a piece of fine art, right-click-saving everything he could observe about you into his mind. Your brows that creased whenever you were focused on something, your beautiful lips you licked every now and then, your hair that looked like it was made of pure silk, your skin that most certainly felt like velvet to the touchâŚ
God, youâre like a queen.
âAll done,â you smiled again, apparently adamant to kill him before he could even walk out of that door, and got up from the stool in front of him. âDonât run around with scissors, okay?âÂ
âThank you.âÂ
The gratitude was pretty much redundant since this was your job. You were literally on payroll to take care of people, but it still made your heart swell because the stitches man was the first person ever to thank you for your services.
âI uh⌠Iâll see you around. I guessâŚâ he stared at his feet by the door somewhat abashed.
âI hope not. That would mean you injured yourself again,â you giggled and gently squeezed his shoulder. âStay out of trouble.â
Oh, I donât think so, my queen.
That night, Chris tossed and turned in his bed for what felt like hours to him. The first unprotected touch you shared without a layer of latex between his skin and yours burned like hell on his shoulder. If only⌠If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.
But he didnât actually have to wait for that when you were all that he could see whenever he closed his eyes. So he did. He manifested you right next to him on his bed, and his hand moved inside his pants as if it had a mind of its own.Â
There you were. Your attention completely on him, your tongue glazing your lips every now and then. Why were you licking them, though? Was it because you also felt your throat getting dry? Was it because you also wanted to press them against his?
Fuck, Iâd kill to feel those lips on me.
Your face. The way the corners of your mouth curled when you smiled at him. The way you slightly squinted your eyes when you were focused. Was that what you looked like when you were turned on, too?
I want you. God, I want you bad.
Your poise. The way you carried yourself. Firm steps, determined voice, quite obviously not taking shit from anyone. Grace materialized. A literal queen. His queen that he wanted to dedicate his entire life to.
I wanna be the floor you walk on. Fucking step on me, christ!
Just your sheer beauty. The way you oozed sexiness without revealing any piece of skin. The way you moved. The way you knew exactly what you were doing. Did you also know what exactly pleased you? Did you know all the things he was willing to do just to please you?
âFUCK!â
Chris didnât even care about the hefty mess he made on himself as he arched on that god-awful mattress. The convulsions rippling throughout his body as he came were a different kind of intense. Up until that moment in his life, he had climaxed infinity times either with the assistance of third parties or all by himself, sometimes manifesting as an unimpressive shiver and some other times mind-numbingly hard.
But not once, never once, did it feel like surrendering his soul to someone.
If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty.Â
Above all, I must not play at God.
Chris wasnât aware of what the Hippocratic oath entailed, nor did he have to take it. Ergo, he was free to âplay at godâ all he wanted whenever the fuck he saw fit. Like when he overheard the Irish circle indulging in a little locker room talk as he was watching TV with his own entourage.
âHave you seen the doctor chick yet?â
âComplete cumdump material. You just know she likes it dirty, sassy-ass bitch.â
Every time Chris felt the onset of a rampage coming on, his mind would switch to autopilot and give him a singular commandâfucking remove yourself from the environment if you want to see that parole committee. Yet the loud, sleazy waves of laughter blasting right behind him triggered him so hard that it took the willpower of a temple full of monks not to scatter this OâConnell lowlifeâs brains out. God knows he came this fucking close to doing it, and he actually would if he wasnât repeating the same thing to himself over and over again like a lunaticâs mantra.
Hold it. For her.
For her.
For her.
For her.
For her.
For her.
He could live with burning his parole chances, but not with not seeing you for an entire month if he went to the hole. He clenched his teeth to the brink of cracking them to put a leash around his urges and jumped to his feet.
âWhere are you going?â Noah asked him.
âTo hit the weights, mate. Iâll catch you later.â
Technically, he didnât lie. He was indeed going to the gym, but not necessarily because his body craved that post-workout dopamine release. It was two in the afternoon, which meant someone was in the middle of some deadlifting.
âPaco!â he opened his arms like he was greeting a friend coming back from active duty. âThereâs my main man.âÂ
âWhatâs good, Fang?â
âCanât complain. Canât complain,â he walked behind the bench. âHere, let me spot you.â
Chris lent a hand with the presses as if that was the sole purpose of his visit all along and put the weights back in their place once Pacoâs loud grunt punctuated the set. He offered a towel to the man sweating like he had been doing soilwork under the scorching sun, then kneeled beside him, speaking in a hushed tone like he was about to reveal top-secret information.
âListen, you know youâre my brother, right?â
âDamn straight, man. Ride or die.â
âSomething came to my attention, so I thought Iâd let you know,â Chris glanced over the gym door and turned his attention back to Paco again. âYou and I both know the guards didnât just have an epiphany one day with all that sawdust they have for a brain. Someone ratted you out about the phone thing.â
âAnd if I find out which son of a bitchâŚâ Paco almost ripped the towel to shreds, but when he saw the knowing grin on Chrisâ face, his fury suddenly vanished. âNo shit, you know.â
Chris slowly nodded.
âYou didnât hear it from me, but a little bird told me OâConnell cut a deal with the guards,â he tsked in disapproval. âShit, we all believed it, but turns out he let them beat the shit out of him in exchange for keeping the phone for himself.â
âThat MOTHERFUCKERâŚâ
âŚand score. Now all he needed to do was pour some gas on the fire and start roasting his marshmallows over the magnificent arson he had just committed.
âEveryone is talking on the DL that he is out to colonize your outside resources, mate. Iâd put a burner on his ass before he could even plan to do something if I were you,â Chris placed his hand on Pacoâs shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. âYou know where to go to take back whatâs yours. Find me if you need anything, yeah?â
âI owe you one, bro. I wonât forget this.â
Poof! That easy. It was astounding how none of these dumbasses knew how to burn sugar as brain fuel, so nobody ever questioned anything. In Chrisâ defense, it took a lot of actual snitching for the ploys to work. Trust needed to be earned first; respect naturally followed. Now he could just sit back, relax, and watch the altercations unfold as the tension between the parties escalated through the roof.Â
Because he never got his own hands dirty. And now that this little wrinkle was ironed out, he could channel all his attention to the only thing that mattered.
You.
Chrisâ only chance of catching a glimpse of you was to come to you in the infirmary. It wasnât the fucking yardâof course the guards would never let him leave the wing unless he absolutely needed medical attention, so he needed to get a little creative to put on successful performances. If that meant cutting open some wounds to get some stitches, so be it. If it took standing in front of the ventilation grates right after a freezing-ass shower, so be it. You were worth risking pneumonia, infections, even fucking death. If youâd smile at him just once, he was going to be cured and reach immortality anyway.
âDoes it hurt when I press here?â you gently sank your fingertips into his chest after listening to his breathing.
âI canât tell. Do it again.â
âYou realize this is a medical examination, Fang, not foreplay.â
âSays you,â Chris mischievously smiled. âYouâre very much getting to second base with me right now.â
You applied pressure to the area right under his jawline sharper than your scalpels to check for swelling, then grabbed a throat swab for a strep test.
âOpen wide.â
âShouldnât I be telling you that?â
âBangâŚâ
âYeesh! Pulling out the government name and everything,â he raised his hands in surrender. âDonât be mad, Iâll behave.â
You got your sample for a throat culture and went back to the back of the room to properly label it. Chris sat there in silence for some time and spoke with a soft voice that almost didnât belong to him.
âI donât know why the fuck you care this much, but Iâm grateful that you do, you know?â
âItâs my job to care,â you responded without looking at him.
âI know, butâŚâ he trailed off and took a moment to find the proper words. âNobody else ever cared about me unless I was useful to them. Youâre the first.â
Unless your eyes were deceiving you, when you looked up at him, you saw something glinting in his gaze in a faint shade of pink, terribly reminiscent of yearning. It was just a glance. It was nothing. It didnât mean anything.
But it still made something thump really hard in your chest.
He slowly got up to his feet, approached you with careful steps, and placed a chaste kiss on your cheek, releasing one butterfly after another in the pit of your stomach with each second he lingered there.
âI owe you my life,â he gently brushed his fingers on your skin before heading back to his wing again. âThought you should know.â
This was Chrisâ third time in the infirmary within a span of two weeks. How the heck this man even functioned in a cartel while hurting himself this much was appalling, really.Â
Maybe he didnât, and that was what landed his ass in prison in the first place.
âWhat is it this time, Fang? Tripped on a flat surface?â
âI figured youâd like to see your favorite inmate,â his face lit up like a Christmas tree at your sight. âIs that so bad?â
âYeah, thatâs not a thing, and donât say that ever again,â you furrowed your brows, mildly nauseated. âWhat do you have for me today?â
Chris spread his legs wide to show you the cut on his inner thigh, blood oozing from it now dried.
âI wasnât being careful with the knives during kitchen duty. Gotta be fast to feed so many people on time and whatnot.â
You put on your latex gloves, the supply of which was frequently used for Chris nowadays, and examined the wound closely.
âLooks like a clean cut, but youâll need stitches again,â you observed, then retorted while preparing the suture. âJust bring a pattern or something next time so I can tattoo it on you. At least itâll look pretty. Drop your pants.â
Chris was tremendously lucky you were facing away from him as he gulped that thickly, experiencing a sudden case of cottonmouth. He knew the remedy to that was hidden between your lips, of course, but that was neither here nor there, and certainly not to be brought up right that second. On any other Tuesday, he was the most shameless motherfucker that ever walked this earth, but at that moment, he was somehow feeling extremely self-conscious about putting himself on display for you.
His rabid heartbeat was about to choke him to death.
You pulled a stool right in front of him to get to work, your instruments neatly placed on the surface right next to you. When you locked your eyes on your target, you got momentarily furious at yourself for wondering whether his thighs were always this sculpted or if he shaped them out during his time here. Heaving a deep sigh, you penetrated his skin with a needle to proceed with stitching his wound, but that wasnât when he hissed.Â
That sharp inhale manifested itself when you placed your hand on his inner thigh.
âAm I hurting you?â you looked up at him questioningly.
âNothing I canât endure.â
Fucking RICH!
Of course he was going to lie his ass off. He wasnât about to confess to your fucking beautiful face how he was barely enduring the lack of your lips on his on a daily basis. How it made him go so crazy that he was constantly on the brink of killing someone. How that contact just now went straight to the synapse connected to his X-rated inner mind theater and prompted a chain reaction reaching all the way down to his cock. One slip, and you were going to notice it. You were not supposed to notice it. Not yet. Not yet. NOT before he laid the groundwork first!
âA little pussy of you to gasp at a little needle when youâre in a fucking prison, donât you think?â you broke into a taunting smirk.
âYou usually swear this much?â he chortled in slight surprise at your commentary.
âHelps you gangstas check yourselves around me,â you replied with a firm voice, your eyes still glued to his thigh. âDoesnât seem to work on you that much, though. You keep showing up here like this is a restaurant.â
âSo what? Is it a crime to want to be tended to?â he responded with a knowing grin. âI like it when you take care of me. I donât think thatâs grounds for violating my parole chances.â
Like you were the one to talk. You wished you could help the smile he elicited out of you as if you were two people flirting over drinks at the aforementioned restaurant.
Fucking charmer.
âDonât you think we got a little more than a Hippocratic relationship going on here, doc?â
His words landed like a nuclear bomb in your office, and Chris noticed that pause in your movements even though it didnât take any longer than two nanoseconds. A sign. The sign he had been looking for all this time. To prove to himself he wasnât delusional. It was true, wasnât it? It was true, and this was the indisputable evidence.
âYou shudder when you touch me,â he turned it up a notch.
âBang, stop.â
âExactly. I make your heart stop, donât I?â he scooted just the tiniest bit closer. âYou know itâs true.â
His voice turned deeper all of a sudden like he was trying to get a message across. It didnât matter whether that message was in a glass bottle floating its way into obscurity without a proper address attached to it. Extremely lucky for him and to your endless misfortune, however, it indeed made its way to the intended addressee.
âSorry to burst your bubble, but Iâm married,â you looked away in panic.
His face dropped ever so slightly, barely noticeable to the naked eye.Â
You wereâŚÂ
Married?
But⌠But that didnât necessarily mean anything. Otherwise, why would you spend all this time with him, alone for that matter, running your hands all over him and getting fucking goosebumps because of it? Your playing house thing was just a formality, wasnât it? You had only stated an unprompted fact. Like how it was Tuesday and the weather was bleak and there was tapioca pudding for lunch. That wasnât an invitation for him to make himself scarce. Otherwise you would tell him to. Otherwise you would yell at him. Otherwise you would strike him in the face instead of getting heart palpitations like what the FUCK?!
âDoesnât take a genius to conclude itâs not a disgustingly happy one,â he commented in a stoic voice, completely contrary to the violently raging storm inside him turning everything to dust. âIs it because he works so late? Doesnât cherish you like you should be?â
âItâs none of your business.â
He continued examining your face while you kept stitching him up as if the answer was written there somewhere. Because it was. It always was.Â
Nothing told the truth like someoneâs averted eyes.
âOr is it because heâs out a little too much? He doesnât come home for dinner anymore?â
Fuck.
You involuntarily flinched. Of course you didâeveryone would when you pressed salt on the wound.
âSo thatâs why,â he tilted his head and continued, more pleased than he should have been. âWhy do you even put up with that when heâs out fucking someone, calling her all sorts of vile things? Do you still let him go down on you with that mouth when he comes home?â
âMaybe it worked out for the best that I donât need to worry about anyone going down on me with that mouth,â you hysterically laughed in response and handed him the antiseptic, trying to brush away the interrogation over your failing marriage. âHold this.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âIt fucking means you need to know the taste of something to crave it. Christ,â you mumbled through your clenched teeth, then heaved a deep sigh to calm yourself. âThis should heal nicely.â
His eyes widened upon your words as if you had just told him he was getting out the next day.Â
âWait, so you⌠Like, youâve neverâŚâ
As you were putting your instruments away, you put on an applause-worthy performance, acting like you werenât even slightly aware of your face burning up to the tip of your ears. Chris, on the other hand, was trapped between feeling somewhat endeared versus some type of weird relief.
And extremely turned on thinking about the noises he would have you make if he dropped to his knees for you right about now.
âFuck me, you really donât know what itâs like to get your pussy licked, do you?â he started laughing in earnest.
As much as you were annoyed out of your mind, you didnât answer and returned to the stool to clean around the wound in silence since nothing intelligible was going to come out of your mouth anyway. So what if no one ever went down on you? What was so funny about it? It most certainly didnât warrant mocking to the extent of bullying. Would you throw a maniacal laughing fit right at his stupidly gorgeous face if he told you he never got his dick sucked? Where the fuck were his manners? What were you even doing looking for manners from an inmate?
Yet even though his question was rhetorical, he kept pressing for a reaction out of you.
âItâs fucking phenomenal. Nothing quite like it,â he continued his verbal torture. âEspecially when you have someone eating your pussy like theyâre gonna fucking die if you donât cum in their mouth. It takes a woman like you to induce that kind of appetite.â
âHow would you know how it feels?â you loudly scoffed to ignore the buzzing sensation below your waist. âDo you have a secret clit I donât know about?â
âI fucking wish, but I have references instead,â he discreetly licked his lips. âThey would tell you all about the first-degree murders I committed with my tongue. I can give you their numbers if you wanna confirm.â
He was adamantly painting you this tantalizing picture and forcing you to look at it, infesting your mind with the image of himself between your legs. Slowly killing you with curiosity so that you would snap and find out for yourself if it was really the kind of infernal experience he was making it out to be.
And unfortunately for you, it was fucking working.
âBut youâre not terribly upset with me, are you?â he faked a pout which quickly turned into a smirk again. âBecause this doesnât bother you as much as you believe it should.â
You were wondering whether Chris had somehow managed to install wires in your mind, shamelessly narrating your own thoughts back at you. Your heart almost stopped when he touched the stray strands of hair right in the intersection of your nape and your ear.
âSee? Why else would you close your eyes when I touch you?â
He placed his hand on your cheek, concerningly warm to the touch courtesy of his relentless flustering attempts. You knew what your rational reaction was supposed to be, and you were desperately looking for the whereabouts of your sanity to fucking act on it, butâŚ
ButâŚ
You found yourself leaning into his touch instead, not a shred of courage present in your soul to open your eyes and look at him. You heard a soft rustling sound, then a source of heat approaching your way, and thenâŚ
A kiss.
So soft but unbearably intense. So warm but sending jolts down your spine. So tender but lethally passionate. Asking for permission to stay a while longer, begging you to please please not send him away, and it was gaining speed like a plane was about to take off with his fingers getting tangled in your hair. His tongue clashing with yours, your lips consuming his, pairs of hands trying to find their way to the otherâs face.
If you didnât take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.
âNo!â you pulled away from him hurriedly as if someone had electrocuted you, panting hard to catch your breath. âGo. Weâre done here.âÂ
âAre we?â he flashed an unconvinced smile.
âYou donât have to come in every time you sneeze. Just⌠Grow a pair and learn to be fucking careful,â you quickly made your way to your desk to occupy yourself with filling out patient forms.
âI would hold that thought if I were you,â he got up to his feet to make his way back. âThis is a prison after all. The only place worse than here would be the third circle of hell.âÂ
Right before he left, he stopped right behind your chair, leaned in, and breathily whispered.
âWhen I come in to get my stitches removed,â he placed the softest of kisses on your ear, âweâll pick this up where we left off.â
Chris was perfectly aware playing doctor with you was not a sustainable plan at all. He had to find a way to position himself around you strategically so he wouldnât have to remind you of his existence every five minutes.Â
And he had to do it fast before he inflicted fucking permanent damage on himself.
âAn idea, boss,â he nonchalantly uttered one night, bouncing a ball against the cell wall. âDonât you think it would be more lucrative if I was in the infirmary instead? Itâs literally the stash of this entire fucking prison. Kitchen just ainât it anymore.âÂ
âThatâs out of the blue,â Noah creased his brows. âWhere did that come from?â
âOut of the blue? Have you missed the memo on our feud with the Vices? They want my ass on sight,â he turned serious all of a sudden. âIf Iâm out of the wing, at least I wonât have to constantly look over my shoulder. Itâs either this or Iâll have to hide in the hole, and Iâd like to avoid solitary if I can, thank you very much.â
Chris liked to think that he was smarter than most, if not all people, but there was something he wasnât quite able to conceal from Noah, a family man to two beautiful girls. He could read anyone like the damn book in his hands, and Chris should have known those hawk-like observational skills were a byproduct of being a father, not a veteran gangbanger.
âAnd you swear this has nothing to do with the doctor lady?âÂ
He continued with his reading as if he hadnât said what he just said, stunning Chris hard enough to lose the ability to form coherent sentences.
âItâs⌠Iâm⌠NâNot reaââ
âFang,â he immediately stopped Chris before he could even attempt what was sure to be a convincing argument. âFake it to whoever the fuck else you want. Not to one of your own.â
Chris briefly contemplated whether there was any chance at all that he didnât have to confess to it. He was either going to get ruthlessly mocked for being so stupidly vulnerable, or get a good beating for having too much time on his hands to waste on teenage crushes. What was even the point of denial anyway? Noah had already caught on to his less-than-pure motives.Â
His fingers inadvertently touched the wolf tattoo on his inner left arm, and he heaved a sigh so filled with yearning that it colored the stone walls into an even bleaker shade of gray.
âShe seeped through me, mate,â he sighed with a broken smile. âShe lives under my skin like a fucking tattoo.â
But that night, Chris learned that when you shared a moment of honesty with decent men, sometimes all you got in return was a comforting pat on the shoulder.
âLooks like you grabbed the tiger by the tail this time, brother,â Noah solemnly spoke while pointing at his ink. âOr in your case, a goddamn wolf.â
The guardsâ voices echoed in the narrow hallways to announce lights out. As Chris clasped his hands under his nape to spend yet another night staring at the ceiling, Noah put his book under the tremendously uncomfortable pillow and got under the sheets.
âDonât get your hopes up,â he whispered to his right once the guards passed by, âbut Iâll see what I can do.â
âFucking seriously?!â
âI said donât get your hopes up,â a loud hiss bounced off the walls. âTry to get some sleep.â
âYou know I canât.â
âInsomnia going strong?â
âWhen did it ever not?â
âYou never know,â Noah turned to his side and pulled his blanket up. âMaybe you should try counting doctors so sheâll come visit you in your dreams.â
Chris wished it worked that way, but even the slightest possibility of seeing you was enough to curl his lips into a smile.
âFang? What are you doing here?â
It had been a while since you last saw Chris, which meant some banter exchange over whatever klutzery he dabbled in this time was long overdue. Much to your surprise, however, he not only looked very much in one piece for once but also responded with an uncharacteristically straight face.
âShift in work detail. Iâll be working here from now on.â
No dimple charms cranked up to the maximum. No attempt to aggressively hit on you. A paranoid thought crept up in your head, debating whether someone saw you during⌠that, and he got reprimanded for it. Otherwise, why would he abruptly distance himself from you?
Why did the stench of disappointment raid the room all of a sudden?
âDoing what?â you kept an equally âprofessionalâ composure.
âHelping you?â he shrugged. âDid you forget the day we first met?âÂ
He was referring to your annoyed greeting when he visited your royal chambers for the first time, and his heart melted a little when you averted your eyes from him. Maybe youâd never stopped thinking about it either. You called him Your Majesty that day, and Chris kept replaying those words in his mind all day, every day ever since then. It wasnât⌠It wasnât what you said but how you said it. Just the thought of being your king, living his life to serve his queen, loving her, cherishing her, pleasing her, and protecting her from all harm in the worldâŚ
If only you knew how much he was willing to give up just for a shred of thatâŚ
âHow you snapped at me because you were shorthanded around here?â he jogged your memory. âJust dump whatever menial labor and paperwork you have on me. I know how to read.â
His originally planned maneuver was to be less aggressive in his advances towards you. Heâd figured just being close to you would be enough to keep him pacified for the time being, and he could work his way up from there. Find that rift in your defenses to slowly pour himself into you. Sure, it could take some time, but he was willing to wait it out so that he couâ
Day 3 of breathing the same air as you, and he was on the brink of having to check into a fucking psych ward already.
It was as if you owned the leash to his rotten soul, and he was getting antsier by the minute that someone was going to notice his biggest weakness was carelessly walking around out in the open like that. He had never felt like this before about anything or anyone, having trouble breathing because of some invisible weight constantly pressing on his chest. He didnât doubt his affection for you for one second, but the more he saw you, the more he heard your voice, the more he was exposed to you in some way, the more the one emotion he didnât know he could feel started flowing through the cracks of that stone he had for a heart.
The unmitigated shame of how ferociously he was lusting after you.Â
One look at you, and he was about to faint. One whiff of your scent, and he was pushed to the limits of his self-restraint. He was thoroughly consumed with the urge to kiss you, to touch you, to hold you in his arms, to taste the salt on your skin⌠God, he would fucking die if you moaned his name. He would lose whatever remained of his sanity if you said you wanted him back. He knew you deserved pure-white love, and he could never give you that with all the stains he bore, but he could rewrite everything you thought you knew about euphoria. He could make you soar to the heights you never thought were possible. He could love you so hard that you would hear his devotion to you coursing through your veins. He could if you let him.
And he could swear he felt it the day he kissed you. He could feel in his heart of hearts that you wanted to.
If you werenât the slightest bit interested in him, then you should have immediately pulled out the rejection card, but you didnât. You didnât. You kissed him back. For quite a bit. If that didnât mean your marital status didnât mean jack shit to you, then what did? Why would it even matter when you were so obviously unhappy anyway? He could make you happy.Â
He could make you so happy if you let him.
Five days. Seven days. Nine days. Veiled glances. Stolen touches. Your scent in passerby winds. Craving. Denying. Pretending. Yearning.Â
Yearning.Â
Yearning.
He forced it to the absolute limit of his patience. Honest.Â
But a man in love was just the politically correct way to say a deranged maniac.
âNeed a hand with that?â he made his way to the desk you were standing in front of.
âFelt lonely by the file cabinet?â you quipped with a little smirk as you kept labeling documents.Â
âYes.â
You just wanted to bounce snark off of each other to end the tiring day on a somewhat lighthearted note, however lighthearted it could be in a place like this, but the unexpected solemnity in his voice caught you off guard. You stopped trying to cram a piece of paper in a sheet protector and looked at him.Â
Chris had been too quiet lately. His eyes were clouded with something akin to sorrow, and it didnât suit him at all. The only thing fit for that face was crescent moons and the dimples that chipped away at his dangerousness.
Your chest was about to collapse for how hard invisible hands were wringing your heart.
âDid⌠something happen?â you quietly asked.
âWhat do you mean?â
âYouâre a bit aloof,â you channeled your attention to the papers again. âLike⌠thereâs something wrong.â
âNo, everythingâs fine.â
You knew he was lying, but you werenât sure why. Was it just because he didnât feel like talking to you, or was heâŚ?
He wasnât trying to shelter you from worrying or anything, was he?
âAre you expecting any visitors?â you attempted to change the topic. âItâs visiting day tomorrow.â
âNot really.â
âNot even your colleagues are coming to see you?âÂ
âI think youâd also agree that would be playing tic-tac-toe with landmines,â he spoke with an utterly straight face, heaving a longing sigh right after. âItâs not like I can ask for a conjugal visit with my standing, soâŚâ
It felt like you shoved a finger in a socket when he suddenly brought it up. Did that� Did that mean�
âYou⌠have a girlfriend outside?â your lips rendered the question before you could press âabortâ.
âWould you be jealous if I did?â he responded with another question mark, eyes glued to the papers in his hand, but he was so damn amused that he couldnât help his devilish smile.
âTsch, why would I be?â you sneered, horribly failing to veil your interest in that minuscule piece of information. âYou said you canât ask for it with your standing, so I assumed there is someone you could ask for if your standing was good.â
When he finally looked up, Chris saw just how deep the creases were between your brows, shoving paper after paper into sheet protectors. Your jaw was slightly clenched, your nostrils were flared, and you were exhaling a bit too loudly from your nose.
Oh, god, you were jealous.
You were jealous.Â
Of him!
He was so happy that he thought he was going to die from heart failure right then and there.
âOr Iâm just saying shit to test your reaction,â he uttered in a voice filled with the mirth you were used to.Â
Only when you saw how smugly he was grinning to himself did you realize how busted you were. You suddenly felt the need to drink a gallon of water all by yourself to put out the fire your embarrassment set on your cheeks.
Why were you this disturbed by the mental image of him with another woman anyway?
âWould you come to the visiting days if we were married?â he nonchalantly asked.
âWho wouldnât visit their loved ones?â you put on a fantastically convincing performance through your small panic fit.
âWould you ask for a conjugal visit with me?â he continued his questioning, hands still busy with sorting out documents like this was some regular conversation topic over tea, but his smile was slowly fading.
Even a man of his composure had his limits because he was a goddamn human being. A human being with needs taking over his sanity. He wanted to be held. He wanted to be kissed. He wanted to hear sweet nothings in his ear from the woman who committed arson on his soul.
He wanted to be the first to know her taste and keep going until he passed out from fatigue.
âWell, uh⌠Er erhm, itâsâitâs important for the family ties toââÂ
âFuck the family ties,â he interrupted, visibly annoyed. âIâm asking if you would want to be with me.â
You finally locked eyes. That gaze held so much meaning that you were concerned he was going to hear how you were whimpering inside.
âYes, I would,â you answered with calm resolve.
âWould youâŚ?â
He took a moment to look for the right words, staring at the papers again. He was turning into this gigantic puppy right before you with how nervous he was, and it was tightening your chest even more.
âWould you miss me enough toâŚâ he acted like how thickly he swallowed was no big deal at all, â...want to touch me?â
Your blood pressure hit berserk levels, but at the same time just why the fuck was he this endearing?
âItâs⌠only nânatural that⌠I would miss my husband,â you shrugged it off. âI mean, wouldnât you want to sleep with me?â
Chris stole a glance from the clock on the wall to call his time of death.
Were you even aware what kind of a fucked up sentence you had just formed?! Him. Sleeping with you. Wouldnât he want to sleep with⌠with you? You needed to stop. You needed to fucking cut it out before he dropped to his knees and beg you to crawl into his ribcage.
âYou can earn up to forty hours here on good behavior,â he spoke with odd tranquility as if your sheer beauty alone wasnât burying him alive. âBut if weâre alone in the same room for that long, I assure you weâre not sleeping.â
Weâre not. Not âwe wouldnâtâ, he said weâre not. Like you werenât even talking hypothetically anymore. Like you were actually in that private room with him.
Even a gallon of water couldnât save you now because the fire had jumped to the highway of your body, and your embarrassment was rapidly morphing into shame. Even shame wasnât enough to contain this insanity possessing you, mind and heart alike, because something always always burned much more brightly and fiercely than that.
Lust.
âIt may not be forty hours, but weâre still alone in the same room for that long, donât you think?â you carefully stacked the sheet protectors into the red folder in front of you and loudly locked the clip. âEvery day, for that matter.â
The chill that licked his spine when he held your gaze made him shudder. Your eyes had fully darkened, and you were looking at him almost daringly. You werenât smiling, but the way your tongue discreetly swiped across your lips was simply diabolical. You werenât touching him, but you were choking him to death. You werenât kissing him, but you were taking his breath away.
He was about to go clinically insane if he hadnât already.
âAre youâŚâ he narrowed his eyes, fully aware he might be taking his last breath any minute now, âtrying to tell me something?â
âNo, nothing,â you shrugged, feigning ignorance.Â
Oh, please. He knew you meant something. He knew you meant exactly that, but it was driving him up a wall that you just wouldnât confirm it.
âIf weâre not sleeping, then what?â you asked as casually as you could manage, pulling up a new sheet protector. âDo you wanna play checkers or something instead?âÂ
You sly little minxâŚ
He knew full well that you were trying to get him to say things to you. You werenât looking at him, just filing away with your attention fully on the documents in your hands, and this was the first time Chris felt jealous of goddamn paper. You were still faintly smiling, though. Why were you smiling? Why were you smiling if your intention was not to drive him crazy, huh?Â
God, he was trying. He was really trying to control his urges, but youâŚÂ
You were fucking enabling him.Â
âOh, I want to play alright.â
He put down the papers in his hands and slowly walked behind you. Your eyes followed him as he moved, your breath hitching in your throat. You really should have been sitting down instead of standing because your knees were about to give way any second now.
âBut being away from you that long, locked up in here⌠Iâm a literal caged animal, you know,â he stood right behind you and put his hands on the desk, trapping your body under him. âIâm so touch-starved, itâs killing me.â
He gently touched the strands of stray hairs on your nape again, knowing damn well what it did to you. Your eyes fluttered close feeling his body that close to you. Close enough to forfeit all control over your reins.
You would kill to feel him closer than your veins.
âTouch me once, and youâll be lucky if I donât rip your clothes off,â he whispered into your ear, his voice slowly changing colors as he kept talking. âIâm that feral over you.â
You were getting so wet that the weak ass support your morals were standing on was about to collapse. One move, and you would be resting your head on his shoulder, perfectly putting your neck on display for him to kiss.
âItâs cute that you think I wonât rip your clothes off first,â you reciprocated his serve.
He let out a heavy exhale, growing a lot more excited than heâd be able to control. He had no idea where that courage came from, but⌠No, actually he did. It came from you flirting back. It came from how you couldnât keep your eyes open when he was close to you.Â
It came from the fact that he knew you belonged with him, and you fucking knew it, too.
He put his hands on your waist, subtly pressing himself against you. You almost let out a moan when you felt how huge he was on your ass. Maybe you didnât need to be locked up within stone walls to feel how touch-starved you also were. You were touch-starved every minute of every day, wishing the man you were developing dangerous cravings for would just jump the gun, when even the one you were legally bound to wouldnât. You tried talking yourself out of it. You tried so hard, but himâŚ
HimâŚ
âIâd be offended if you didnât,â he placed a chaste kiss on your neck, âbut what kind of a man am I if I donât take care of my girl first?â
My girl. Take care of. Words you had never heard before. Words you had never heard even in hypothetical contexts, and he was declaring them into your ear like they were martial law.
âShe spends all those nights alone in our bed. Touching herself, thinking of the nights I devoured her. Maybe more than once on the nights she misses me a little too much,â he ran his hands up your sides, dangerous enough to make your heart stop. âWhich is why, when I finally get in bed with her again, she orders, and I do. Thatâs why I exist. Anything she wants.â
âAnything?â
âAnything.â
You imagined it. You imagined missing Chris in your bed. You imagined curling up in his remaining clothes to still feel his scent on the tip of your nose. You imagined cumming to that scent. You imagined sending your cum-soaked panties to him as a souvenir. Maybe he could cum on it and send it back to you, and that would be how you wrote love letters to each other.
You imagined a man crazy enough to go to prison for you and asked you to wait for him, but you didnât have to imagine being in love with him.
âWhat if all I want is just to tease you?â you leaned into him a measure so you could properly feel his hardness. âCan you handle not getting your release in your caged animal state?â
âIf it pleases you,â he reached for your chest and cupped your breasts, âwho the fuck am I to say no?â
The breath you let out was so sharp, there was no way you could plead ignorance anymore. He knew you wanted him. You knew you wanted him. And you wanted him to hold you tighter. Harder.
In a chokehold.
âBut arenât you frustrated?â you asked him in a whisper.
Still heavily breathing down your neck, his hands slid down again, this time all the way under the skirt of your dress. Fuck, your thighs were so soft. It was fine if you didnât let him do anything else; he could make do with just kissing them for hours.
âFrustrate me more if you like it,â he spoke in whispers, but each word came out like a threatening hiss, each one written with kisses on your neck. âI have a thing for that.â
You couldnât help how hard you swallowed.
His hands were sliding up your thighs now, exploring the neighborhood of the castle he actually wanted to reside in. Every time he got a bit too close to your pussy, you were clenching so hard that he could feel it right on his tip as if you were both naked.
You wanted him, too, he knew. You wanted him, too, and he was forcing himself to remember how to be a gentleman about it because all he could think of was how he wanted you in the worst ways.
âYouâre⌠okay with only taking care of me?â you slightly turned your head to your left.
âOkay with it?â he chuckled, melting you with the caramel notes of his subdued laughter. âYouâre my fucking everything. Thatâs the sole purpose of my entire life.â
You were in complete disbelief over what his mere words were inducing in you, appalled that you would even consider something like this. This beautiful demon with that silver tongue of his⌠You were trying. You were trying to remind yourself that there were obligations that you needed to fulfill. Professional ones. Marital ones. Both of which were draining the fucking life out of you.
Both of which were making it next to impossible to resist him.Â
âThen what ifâŚ?â you gulped, breathing unstable. âWhat if all I want you to do isâŚ?â
He knew exactly what you meant just from the way you couldnât verbalize it. You were giving him a terrible case of cuteness aggression, making him want to drown you in kisses.
âThen thatâs all Iâll do for those forty hours,â he promised, tone nonchalant but intent heavier than your own wedding vows. âIâll spend it all eating your pussy.â
âChrisâŚâ
Chris. You called him Chris. Not Fang. Not inmate. The one thing, the only thing that he was being deprived of just so he would forget he was a human.
âThis is all your fault,â he finally dared to cross the line, very very gently caressing your pussy no matter how hidden it was from him under layers of fabric. âYou have this⌠grip on me.â
And he had this grip on you.Â
The softest kisses on your neck. Kisses on your cheek. You were ending his life even though all you did was just exist, and he was afraid to open his eyes and look at you.
âI told you to let the sleeping wolves lie, but what do you do instead?â he pressed his head on your shoulder. âYou walk into the den barefoot. You lie down right next to the wolf itself.â
âThen why doesnât it kill me?âÂ
He smiled to himself, placing a very soft kiss on your temple as if his intentions were as pure as they could ever be.Â
âLoyalty,â he sighed in defeat. âTo its master.â
His whispers in your ear felt like they were blasting from loudspeakers, sending an immediate shockwave to your core. Even a woman of your poise had her limits because you were a human being after all. A human being with needs that werenât catered to for what seemed like forever taking over her sanity, and if you didnât take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.
âI know what youâre thinking,â he reached for the waistband of your underwear, âbut you need to say it first.â
The exit was collapsing along with all your defenses against him. You were just headed towards the cliff you were going to drive off of. You knew you were.
But you stopped caring.
âChrisâŚâ
Chris. You called him Chris. Not Fang. Not inmate. The only thing reminding him that he was a man, but if he couldnât breathe the same air as the woman he would burn this world down for, he was nothing.
âSay it,â he caressed the soft flesh of your mound, unable to move an inch more. âSay it, and Iâm yours.â
Fuck the exit.Â
You slammed on the gas pedal with all your might and drove past it, leaving a trail of dust clouds behind you.Â
You turned around and dove right into his lips headfirst. He immediately grabbed your waist and sat you down on the desk, kissing every piece of bare skin within his line of sight. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him tight. He was burning up under your touch. He dragged the bust of your dress down and kissed all over your chest, filling his lungs with as much of your sweet scent as he could. God, how much he had longed for this. This. This. This was the very thing, the only thing that kept him alive.Â
âTouch me, Chris.â
JUST WHAT THE HELL WAS YOUR PROBLEM, HUH?!
You grabbed his hand and placed it on your thighs again, asking him to make a move. His eyes widened in disbelief, still unsure if he was allowed to do what he was losing his damn mind over, but when you made him grope you hard, he finally took the fucking hint. He spread your legs as wide as he could and dropped to his knees, groaning like he was in pain just because he was this close to the meaning of his life.
Everything had boiled down to this moment.
He hooked his fingers behind your underwear and slid it to the side, repeating to himself over and over again that he was not a goddamn animal as he stared at your mouthwatering wetness. But maybe he was a little. Werenât all human beings animals after all? Animals ruled by their instincts. And his instincts were goading him into claiming you for himself for the longest damn time. No, not to own you. Just to mark you. So that heâd know who to eviscerate if they dared to breathe the same fucking air as you.
He buried his head between your legs, and your entire life flashed before your eyes.
A ball of pure fire had formed in your loins, and with each lick on your soaked folds, a chunk of it was being cannonballed into your veins. You were spiking a lethal fever with acute onset lust, delirious with the intensity of the pleasure this man was inducing in your body. Those full, gorgeous lips wrapped around your clit, lazily sucking on you, obscene sounds bouncing off the stone walls every time he slurped on your cunt⌠It was impossible to stay sane. It was impossible to go on with your life as the woman you were five minutes ago. You put one hand on his head, caressing his hair as he worked his magic, and with each loving stroke, Chris was falling irretrievably in love with you.
You wanted to wreck this prison to the ground when the siren went off in the distance signaling headcount.Â
He immediately jumped to his feet, as frustrated as you were for not being able to give you your happy ending, and helped you fix yourself in case a guard would drop by your office.Â
âLooks like you got your wish, but I dare you to frustrate me more next time,â he stole a kiss from your lips and made his way back extremely reluctantly. âYou owe me forty hours, and Iâm gonna collect every⌠single⌠one.â
He might not have seen the ending of the movie, but Chris was still on cloud nine that he was there to catch the trailers. He skipped dinner that evening so that your taste on his tongue wouldnât be laced with anything else, but with every passing hour, his euphoric high was receding, leaving that void to be filled with something else. Something ugly.
Something urgent.
âHey, I gotta ask you something,â Chris approached Jack after dinner, âbut Noah cannot know about it, deal?â
âIs everything okay, mate?â Jack looked at his former bunkmate with concern.
âDoes Liv still do custom work?â
Jackâs face changed all of a sudden, half-surprised, half-entertained.
âBullet or blade?â he grinned.
âYes,â Chris replied curtly, compulsively checking the gate for Noah. âI have a job for her, but itâs not a message. She has to make it look like an accident.â
This story has a part 2, and I'm about 60% done with it. You can vote for which installment you'd like to read next here.
â Enjoyed this? Your feedback & reblogs free my chapters from the draft prison.
㊠2022-2025, cb97percent ¡ No translations, rewrites, or reposts permittedă
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