Auctioned to the Prisoners (Auctioned #4)

9

ROCK

FIX ME

I didn't think I'd be next. With Hyde twitching next to me, I felt sure he'd demand to go second, but Kinkaid has a way of making Hyde reflect, even when he's halfway to turning. The man doesn't need to say too much—he just gives Hyde one of those looks, and the wildness drains from his eyes like a dog coming to heel with his master.

So, it's me next.

I take a deep breath, rising slowly from the chair. It creaks under my weight as I stand, and for a second, I pause to catch my breath. This is a fucked-up situation. I've never paid for a woman before and never had one who didn't want me enough to come home with me. I've never even been with a drunk woman because I always wanted to make sure they had their wits about them enough to consent. No way was I risking getting banged up for something like that. The irony of my current situation isn't lost on me.

I nod at Kinkaid as I pass. He takes Lory the water, so she has everything she needs. The first thing I notice when I pass in front of the door is Lory sitting on the edge of the small bed. Her face breaks into a cautious smile, one I meet with a slow nod. I'm not a smiley man. Got nothing to be happy about usually, apart from this moment.

Hyde's eyes burn into my back, and Kinkaid silently observes from the corner of the room. But right now, none of it matters. It's just her and me. I want to take this slow, for her and me.

“Hey,” I say, my voice low and rumbling like distant thunder. I can't think of anything else to say. Words have never been my strength.

“Hey,” she replies softly, her voice steady, her chin tilted up slightly like a gentle challenge. Even though I'm big and a stranger, she's not going to cow down. I like that stiffness in her spine. She's small and breakable, but she's not wearing a fragile label.

I close the door behind me, and the air grows tenser when it clicks into place. I stare around the room at the chipped paint and window that's so high and narrow in the wall it’s only capable of providing light, not a view.

“You okay?” I ask. “Kinkaid treat you right?”

“Yeah,” she says. “He's nice.”

“He's a good man. The best.”

She probably thinks I’m lying. How does a good man end up in jail, right? Unless you’ve been locked up yourself or had someone close to you sent away, you don’t understand how many innocent men are trapped inside. You can’t grasp how unfair life can be, how it can grind people down, push them so hard they snap—doing things they never imagined or planned to do. It’s not an excuse for everything, but it can be an explanation.

I sit on the edge of the bed beside Lory, careful not to take up too much space. It’s tough when you're built like me—everything feels too small, too fragile, like one wrong move, and I’ll crush whatever’s in my way. Lory shifts, leaning back against the wall, and I can feel her eyes on me, sizing me up. I’ve wondered a hundred times what’s running through her head.

“So... I’m next,” I say, aiming for a light tone, but my voice comes out rough, like gravel.

She doesn’t flinch when I move closer, doesn’t shy away. Maybe she’s just good at hiding it. She nods, lips pressed together, waiting. Her hands rest in her lap, but I catch the slight twitch of her fingers, like she’s nervous, trying to keep it in check.

Maybe she's as unsure about this as I am. “I don't want to scare you.”

“You don't scare me.”

Her words hit me square in the chest. There's no hesitation in her voice, no tremor of fear.

I let out the tightly held breath from my chest, as the tension starts to bleed out of my shoulders. It's strange how her words—so simple—have this calming effect on me. Either she's telling the truth, or she's good at keeping men sweet. Either way, I feel better.

“All right then,” I say as I twist my lips into a one-sided smirk, ducking my head as heat blooms across my cheeks. Who the fuck am I, blushing at a woman? This is what over six years of incarceration does to a man.

“You want to tell me a little about yourself,” Lory says softly. “You know, so we get to know each other.”

“What do you want to know?”

She shrugs and stares up at the ceiling, thinking. “Just about your family, I guess. Or your interests. Favorite TV show. What you like to eat.”

I rest my hands on my thighs, relieved. “My sisters stationed overseas. My mom passed away last year.” I keep my father's fate to myself. Hearing he died in jail isn't exactly positive. “I like music, cars, and I liked eating my momma's cooking. She made the best BBQ ribs, mashed potatoes, and creamed corn I ever ate.” She only got the chance to cook like that when Dad was incarcerated. Remembering her food comes with a stab of grief and guilt. I wasn’t there for her when she needed me, and I caused so much stress to her, I feel responsible. I swallow and change the subject. “I don't really like TV. If I was out of this place, I wouldn't waste a second watching other people. I'd live my life.”

“You ever read anything?” she asks.

“Sometimes. There's a library here, but the books aren't great. I pick up a thriller now and then. Something to take my mind out of my confinement.”

“Books are like portals into another life,” Lory says, worrying the edge of her thumb with her forefinger. “I had a teacher who used to help me choose books each week at school. I think she could tell I didn't have the happiest home life. She told me when we open the pages of a book, it’s a way to escape. It's stuck with me my whole life.” She wraps her arms around her legs, turning herself into a smaller shape. In Kinkaid's shirt, she looks like a kid playing dress up in her father's clothes.

“Wise woman,” I say. “So, what are you escaping from?”

“Family troubles,” she says. “Not myself. I just need to help someone.”

“So, you're doing this for someone else?” My gut twists.

“I'm doing it for myself so I can help the way I want to be able to.”

“You ever done this before?”

“Sex?”

My cheeks heat, and my cock thickens at her bluntness. “Sex with someone you don't know, or for money? I mean, it doesn't matter to me, but…”

“You're curious?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I haven't.”

“Do you feel…”

“Bad about it?” She drops her head to one side, studying me as I twist my meaty fingers in my lap. “I guess I could have if you were scary or gross.”

“You don't think we're scary or gross?”

She shakes her head. “I know you did something good for the warden. I know he respects you as much as a jailer respects his prisoners.”

I lick my lips, remembering Grady's face when he found out what we did. He was grateful, all right. He's an emotionless man, but his eyes glinted with unshed tears.

“Doesn't seem fair that you're working off his debt,” I murmur.

She reaches up to push her hair behind her ear and I watch the gesture, wishing it was my fingers touching the silky strands. “If you make it good, it won't be like work.”

There's a hint of wry amusement in her tone that makes me grin. Little Lory's a lot sassy!

“Oh, you want me to work?”

She nods. “You okay with that?”

“Always,” I tell her. It's true. I've never left a woman wanting. I always put my hand over their hearts to check if their orgasm is genuine. That frantic racing beat turns me the fuck on.

“Kinkaid said no sex,” I tell her. “But I'm good at fooling around.”

“I'm sure you are.”

I stand, ready with an idea of how this is going to go. I might have to wait to get my dick inside her, but that doesn't mean I'll have to wait to feel her pussy on me. That part I can do without guilt. Rounding the bed, I pause next to her. “Let me sit there, then come sit in my lap.”

Lory scrambles into the middle of the mattress, and I slide onto the bed, sitting with my back against the wall. I open my pants and shove them down a little, freeing my cock. Lory's eyes widen, and she licks her lips.

“Damn,” she says. “You're big all over.”

“They don't call me Rock for nothing.” I don't mean for it to sound bigheaded, but it probably does. I could demolish this girl, tear right through her, and explode deep. My dick is a weapon in my hand, it's so damned hard. “Come sit in my lap, little Lory.”

She crawls forward like she wants to wrap her legs around me, but that's not what I want. With no effort at all, I spin her little body around until her soft ass is resting against my abs, and her legs are straight between mine. My dick juts up, cradled by her thighs, swollen with intention. Her head dips to stare, fascinated.

She's wearing panties, but not for long.

Lory gasps when I hook my thumbs into her underwear and drag it down. “Take it off,” I say. She wiggles free of the lace, the heat and moisture of her pussy warming and coating the skin of my abs. I hook a hand around her middle, pushing a hand up beneath the shirt she’s wearing, vibrating with need for her. Oh god, her hard nipple grazes the center of my palm as I squeeze. Her tits are small but soft, like little mounds of heaven. Between our legs, my cock twitches as she groans. “Rock.” My name comes out on a breath as I trail my fingers down the soft flesh inside her thigh. She flinches with the sensation, her butt shifting against me. I like to tease, but today, I'm too jacked up and greedy. I just want to feel everything I've been missing and resurrect some of those memories of my past that have become too faded with time.

Using two fingers, I part her pussy lips and dip into her slit, finding her slick and wet. She's so soft there in this private place between her legs that's been hidden like a naughty little secret. My finger is like a blunt instrument against her tight little hole and the muscles ripple against my skin as her body resists the potential intrusion.

“Easy,” I tell her, rolling her nipple, teasing it to an ever-sharper point.

“Rock,” she whispers again as I push inside just a little. She's insanely small, like a virgin who's never even seen a dick. Higher, her little clit throbs.

“What did Kinkaid do to you?”

“He licked me,” she says, wriggling when I leave the pad of my finger hovering over her nub.

“And what did you do to him?”

She shivers. “I blew him.”

I tap her clit and she gasps. “Did you let him come in your mouth?”

“Yes,” she admits.

Her hands drop to cup my dick. The first touch is like an electric shock. My balls tighten, and my dick stiffens as she engulfs me with slow, easy pressure.

“That's it,” I croon, rocking into the circle of her fingers. “That's it, Lory. Show me how good you are at stroking my cock.” Her fingers tighten, her hand jerking faster, and I close my eyes, letting my head drop back against the cool plaster as I ease her nipple between my forefinger and thumb, twisting until she bucks.

She's so responsive, so built to take pleasure, and so open to receiving it. I bring my finger to my lips, tasting her arousal, and then use my spit to slick her clit, making tight circles around it. I’m high from her sweetness.

“Spread your legs,” I grunt. “That's it. A little wider. Open yourself.”

Jesus. She does it, feet pressed together but hips hinged wide. Her pussy’s like a flower against my big, thick fingers, all delicate petals and softness. I'm almost glad Kinkaid made this rule because, without it, I'd be inside her—I’m not strong enough to resist—and all of this would turn out different. There's something in the act of taking it slow, of building up.

“Open your hand,” I instruct, then take my cock and press it along her folds. “Ride it like this. Get it nice and wet.”

Lory moans as she shifts her hips to slide the length of my throbbing dick while I rub her clit with two fingers. She pushes against the bed with her heels, and each pass of her pussy over my cock is slicker and hotter. I bring my mouth to her ear. “Your pussy feels so good. So sweet against my big dick.”

“You feel good,” she groans as I suck her earlobe into my mouth

She’s better than good. She's an angel showing me the way out of purgatory. She's the light at the end of the longest, darkest tunnel. She's perfect.

“That's it,” she says, trembling against me, pressing my cock harder against her cunt.

“That's it, sweet girl. Let me make you come.”

In two more bucking thrusts, she arches and cries out, her pussy fluttering against my dick. I can't hold back anymore, groaning as thick ropes of cum coat her clit and my fingers, her hands, and the sheets beneath us. I fly higher than I've ever soared, clutching the poor girl so tightly that her ribs fight to expand against my forearm. I'm mindless, boneless, releasing like a blowtorch, all flame and fury and desperation.

And Lory's limp in my arms. I loosen my grip, sliding both my palms over her belly to cup her breasts, slicking my cum over her skin, marking her like she's mine. Her heart pounds beneath my palm, and I turn her, taking her mouth with a searing kiss, tongues tangling as her hands roam my chest beneath my shirt, tickling my rounded pecs and my abs, bringing me back to the land of the living.

“That was…”

There are no words to describe what that was.

“Necessary,” she whispers. It's the perfect way to describe what I just felt.

“Necessary,” I agree.

She strokes my rough, bearded face, threading her fingers through my hair. Lower, she traces my tattoos, but she doesn't question me about them. Most of them are there to anchor me to people I should never have run with or remind me of situations I wish I could forget.

We rest in an afterglow like the sun paused on its way below the horizon just to shine on us.

After a few minutes, there's a clatter outside. Lory jumps, pressing against my chest to sit up. “What was that?”

“I don't know. Let me up so I can find out.”

She climbs from between my legs. Until my feet are on the floor, I don't realize how fucked my legs are, all jelly-centered from sex. I stumble, and my palm catches the rough corner of the metal nightstand, slicing into my skin.

“Fuck.” I pull my hand back, staring down at the blood oozing from a flapping wound.

Before I say or do anything else, Lory is up, already reaching for me. “What did you do? Let me see.” Her voice is firm and a little panicked.

I'm taken aback by how quickly she moves and by the authority in her tone. She inspects the cut, her fingers delicate but sure as she inspects the damage.

“It's not deep,” she says matter-of-factly. “But it'll need a dressing.”

I can't fasten my pants, but I get my dick behind my boxers, and Lory doesn't bother with underwear. If anyone needs cleaning up, it's her. I lead the way into the main room, finding Kinkaid gathering the spilled drafts set. Hyde is standing, watching, his hands balled at his sides. Whatever happened, it's getting sorted. Both men observe as Lory trails me, holding my hand in hers like it's a newborn child.

“What happened to you?” Kinkaid asks.

“Nothing to worry about,” I say, less bothered by the blood than I am about Lory's current sticky state.

Somewhere above us, shouts ring out. An alarm sounds, and a ruckus of implements banging on bars erupts. There's most likely a fight and the screws are locking down. Fuckers are probably gassing, too. It's practically a vacation being away from it all, even if we're still locked up in this shithole.

“Trouble?” she asks softly as she opens the faucet and holds my hand beneath, leaning closer to inspect the cut.

“Nothing outside the usual.” I speak confidently, but I don't really know. All hell could break loose out there, and we wouldn't find out down here unless someone comes to tell us.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, glancing up at me as she wraps the bandage around my palm.

I shake my head. “Nah, not really.”

She snorts. “Tough guy, huh?”

I grin at her. “Something like that.”

Taking a tissue, she dries my hand around the wound, then she takes a separate tissue to dab the wound itself. Blood bubbles up, and she turns to search the wall for a first aid kit. There's nothing in sight. “I'll check the cupboards.”

“There probably isn't anything,” I say. “This place hasn't been used for years.”

“Surely the warden would've left something?”

“Probably not. He's praying no one's going to need medical attention.”

“Hang on.” She heads back to the bedroom and reappears with a pillowcase, which she hands to Kinkaid. “Can you tear off a strip?”

“Sure.” He rips the cloth like it's paper, forming two thin strips which Lory returns with.

Her expression is focused and determined, like she’s done this a hundred times before. I watch her work—the way her brow furrows in concentration, the way she mutters about the mess I’ve made. It’s almost… endearing. As she finishes wrapping the bandage and ties it off with a neat knot, a warmth spreads through my chest, one I’m reluctant to acknowledge. It’s not just because she’s taken care of me, but the way she’s done it. No hesitation, no flinching at the blood or the size of my hands. She just took charge, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“There,” she says, admiring her handiwork. “Good as new. Try to stay out of trouble, or we'll run out of bedding.”

I laugh softly, flexing my fingers. “I'll try.”

She wipes her hands on her shirt, and an unfamiliar tug in my chest jolts me as I watch her. I've been around a lot of women in my life, but none of them, apart from my mom, have ever made me feel like this.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice low. “For...you know, taking care of me.”

She shrugs, but there's a softness in her eyes that wasn't there before. “It's no trouble.”

There's a moment of silence, and, like a ridge of sand slowly forming between an island and the mainland, a connection forms. A path it's possible to cross.

I tried not to form any expectations before Lory arrived, imagining the warden would go back on his promise or the woman he brought for us wouldn't be my type. But Lory’s more than just a girl who can meet our physical needs.

And having thoughts like that is dangerous.