The Reaper (Eastward Prison)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER

EIGHT

JACK

As he drifted off to sleep, he had many things whirring through his mind. When she had blushed earlier, Jack had almost needed to bite his lip to distract himself. He had been embarrassed at first, ashamed almost of the erotic image, flashing on and off, like a film struggling to stream, buffering. He heard himself coming, he heard her coming, he felt white hot release. Bodies, close, hot, theirs. He had been with her, and when he had mentioned it, the thought of it had made her blush. It was almost too much. It was hot as fuck and he couldn’t take his mind off it.

He had thought he had to bury that. Worry about what was actually going on. Being held in a prison, the head injuries, his missing memories, the fog surrounding what had happened to him and why. The whole fucked up situation. He had thought he needed to fucking get a grip on his raging libido.

But it sounded like she wanted him to step up the physicality, too. All that talk of it not really mattering what had happened, that they could change… it sounded like she was trying to persuade him to move on from what had been. When he’d voiced his fears, that nagging sense that something wasn’t quite adding up, that he wasn’t sure he’d been good, she had looked positively panicked. That had told him something, too. He hadn’t been a good man. He’d not been particularly attentive to her, as his other half, treating her more like a casual hook up than a girlfriend or partner. But no, it was more than that. He felt it in his soul. The residual darkness. Something he’d forgotten, but something he didn’t want to remember. There was something there that held her in fear, and now he knew that.

He also knew she was lying.

He wasn't sure what about. But he was 100% sure, she wasn’t telling him the truth. He had to rely on her, for now though. He wanted to rely on her, for now. The nurses and doctors at this prison infirmary were the ones in a position to hurt him, they were the threat for now, until he had worked out more about what was going on. He had trusted her with his concern, that he was still a target, he wondered what she would do with that information? He would bring it up again later. Would she trust him, or not? Would she act upon it, or dismiss him? She did seem to genuinely be concerned about him. That kiss. That little split second flashback he had of sweet hot release. Like a porn movie suddenly playing at an inappropriate moment. It flicked on and off, raising his pulse, disarming him. Sending blood straight to his dick. It was slightly disconcerting, as it was mixing in his mind with the other flashback he had, the only real memory, of her finding him, peering down, looking at him with such sadness, such concern. He felt thrown off balance, the moment of sheer pleasure and release and her face, peering down at him, worried for him. Maybe the memory of the orgasm wasn’t real, he was just responding to an attractive female. He didn’t know for sure.

His thoughts were all over the place. Disjointed and jittering. He couldn’t hold anything in his head properly. He just felt raw feelings. Anger, and danger. Fear. Trust. Desire.

He had a niggling sensation that he needed to disregard this distraction, this desire, these feelings for Hannah. He needed to focus, to think, to stay one step ahead of whatever game he was stuck in here. Because he had a sense that indeed he was caught in a trap, and he had to fight his way out. That is what he did. He was a fighter, at some level, he knew that. And this hot, hot flash of blonde orgasmic pleasure went against the grain. It wasn’t there, normally, but it was there now and he couldn't get it out of his mind. It was strong too, it was a strong pull, he’d lost himself, he had wanted to have her, he had wanted to take her right there, how quickly his need for her had spiralled out of his control shocked him. Damn. Fuck. He wanted her.

Yes, she was lying about something. He knew that there was something at least, that wasn’t quite right. Maybe it wasn’t about them, as a couple, they seemed to be doing fine, maybe it was something else. Maybe they had money issues, or they’d be about to break up, maybe he’d cheated on her. No, none of that felt like it fit. He would need to ask more questions about them, he needed to feel what they were like as a couple. She was the key to him unlocking his memories. Though he was afraid. What if she wasn’t the ally he wanted her to be? He felt he could trust her implicitly and the enemy was out there somewhere, not from within. Not from here. But what if? Could she be working with his enemies? What if she was his achilles heel, she was his kryptonite and that was how he had ended up at Eastward, beaten up, left for dead. He didn’t want it to be the case. He was aware of all of this arousal and discovering this amazing relationship with this amazing woman was all against the backdrop of threat, a threat he couldn’t yet see, or hear, but it was growing in his mind. Danger. Like a chill, a draft coming under the front door. For now, he could ignore it, pretend he didn’t feel it, bask in the runny liquid warmth of the growing intimacy with her. But eventually, that cold draft was going to become more and more of a problem, more and more noticeable until it took over. It would become a howling gale.

For now though, he felt he just had to let the situation play out, let things fall into place. He needed to heal, he needed to get physically stronger, he needed to get out of bed, start walking about, running maybe, lifting again. He couldn’t do anything until he could move again. He knew that, his body was one that was used to moving, used to staying fit, staying on the go. This laying about in bed wasn’t doing him any good. He needed to be physically ready for whatever it was that happened when events unravelled. Because he was sure things would unravel. It was just a question of time. Maybe their bodies could find the answers that his mind could not.

He felt beneath the sheets. He felt for himself. He closed his eyes and let in that moment, of his release, of her release, he watched it. He let it take him, he let himself go there. Yes, his body responded instantly. His erection grew, hardness now filled his fist. He palmed himself, flexing his hips gently, starting a rhythm. She was obviously bold, not shy, happy in her own skin, happy with seeking her pleasure. Would she be keen to dominate him, or keen for him to dominate her? Or were they both equals in the bedroom? What did he prefer? He found the pace of his hips, thrusting his cock into his fist quickening. He stifled a groan. Yes, he didn’t need to worry, he knew he could do this, he could give her, and himself, what they both wanted. He saw that now.

He liked her, he found her attractive. She was his girlfriend. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It felt too good. It was too right. How it felt when he touched her. How they got close, that feeling when their lips touched or he looked into her eyes. And then how she broke the moment. Every time. She looked away, she looked down. She looked out the barred window or at the bed.

He didn’t want to think about it, but his brain tugged him there. Suspicions tumbled in his brain like a line of dominoes. Was she somehow involved with whoever hurt him? Was she mixed up in this mess, too, or did he really have a genuine sweet, normal girlfriend? He almost laughed. No, something was up. But what? No doubt they were together, that kiss… that chemistry didn’t lie. Maybe she was working for whoever it was who beat him up, whoever it was sent to kill him? Or maybe she was a target, too? For the nurses and doctors who were acting as his jailers for now. Was he being paranoid, to think this way? No, a voice in his head answered, loud and true. A rational voice that he trusted. No, there really were people out to get him. One look at his bruises confirmed it. What was the connection to her? He knew he felt calmer with her, he’d felt happy chatting to her, with her perched on the edge of the bed, holding his hand. And that heat when they touched. That felt right. He wanted to believe that they had been happy together. That they were a good couple, strong, able to get through this and live happily ever after.

But he couldn’t remember her. He couldn’t remember any form of normal life with her. Coming home to her, cooking with her, making cups of tea, lazy weekend lie-ins, walks, arguments, tears or laughter, he couldn’t remember any of it. Only that one orgasmic flash. He couldn’t quite believe he had her. It felt foreign to him, that he would have a girlfriend, a woman, in his life, romantically involved. He didn’t know why, but it felt like he didn’t have room for her in his life.

Something about it felt off, something about it felt wrong.