Page 92 of Blade
I have dressed how he likes me. One simple dress, no underwear. The highest stilettos, a scarf tied around my neck.
He advances slowly, a wicked gleam in his eye, and as he reaches out, he slides the scarf from my neck and pulls it taut between his hands.
I am dripping for him, and he knows it, and he jerks his head toward the prison he just vacated.
“I’ll drive.”
I nod, disappointment flaring inside me that I don’t get to put on a show for the guards today.
He drops into the driver’s seat, and I take mine beside him. As he starts the engine, his voice is husky.
“There’s a motel not far from here.”
“That charges by the hour?”
There is hope in my voice.
“Of course.”
His knuckles tighten on the wheel.
“A dirty motel where the sheets are stained.”
A low groan escapes, and my fingers edge under my dress, and he snaps, “Hands where I can see them.”
“Fuck, Gideon. God how I’ve missed you.”
“I have a lot of aggression to deal with, Jenna.”
His warning only excites me.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
He leans across and stuffs my scarf into my mouth, pushing it in deep, silencing my conversation.
“You don’t get to speak.” He hisses, and as he pulls away from the kerb, I hope the motel isn’t far.
He turns on the radio, and the low sound of music rumbles through the car, the roll of the tires on the road soothing. The sun is beating through the window, and he flicks off the air conditioning; the temperature increasing with every mile we travel. Sweat slides down my back, my breathing stifled by the fabric of the scarf.
My breathing is shallow, and my mind is focused on only one thing.
Gideon Fox.
The prison disappears from view, and as we round the corner, the dusty trail out of here stretches as far as the eye can see. The state penitentiary is in the middle of fucking nowhere, and that is purely because it’s a high category one, and they don’t want their inmates escaping and surviving the journey out of here.
He pulls to a stop. I jerk forward, my back hitting the seat as I fall back.
His hand closes around my throat, his eyes flash, and I can’t breathe as he cuts off my air supply, his sneer of contempt all-encompassing.
“How many men have you fucked since I’ve been inside?”
He wrenches my hand in the air and pulls the scarf from my mouth.
“Twenty, thirty, three hundred?”
His eyes blaze and I gasp, “More like four hundred.”
His palm connects with my cheek, and the sting burns, causing my eyes to water.
