“See something you like, Andrés?” That fucking purr again.
I almost groan—that’s the level of sexiness we’re talking about here—but manage to clear my throat instead and keep my tone controlled. “It’s CO Bala, and you should really pay more attention up there and less about what’s happening back here.”
Benni chuckles quietly, shamelessly dragging her limited gaze down my body. “Kinda hard when I can feel what’s happening back here. Good to know my ass can still turn heads.”
Oh, no, she didn’t.
On the one hand, I’m both intrigued and impressed by her wit, but on the other? It boils my blood and spikes anxiety. If someone were to have heard her, we’d both be screwed.
My eyes narrow. “Turn around, Villanueva.”
“Damn, you know my name already?” She grins devilishly. “Let me guess, Mack told you all about me, huh?”
This girl...
“I said, turn around, Villanueva. Next time, it’s a shot.”
“Oooh, a shot? I see you’re stepping perfectly into the role already, wandering eyes and all. When should I expect to start hearing the crude remarks? Soon or…are you holding onto those a little longer?”
I’m not even gonna lie to you—I’m fucking scandalized. Takes everything in me to keep my jaw from tumbling to the floor, to keep from breaking all protocol and throwing this girl into the nearest wall. She’s got a mouth on her, and while completely unacceptable in a CO-inmate interaction, I like it. I can’t help but want to toss the figurative ball back at her.
Because that’s exactly what she’s doing—throwing the ball in my court—and I want to play.
“This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been doing this for almost five years,” I hiss, trailing my eyes along the line all the way to Walker and his balding head at the front. If anyone’s listening in, I can’t tell. “And I’m not like some of these dudes, so how about you not assume we’re all one and the same?”
“Says the dude who was just staring at my ass,” she counters, flashing me another one of those dick-twitching winks. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our little secret.”
Can’t say I blame her for throwing that jab. The CO stereotype is all too real and very much alive. In B Block alone, we’ve got Mack and Jordan as proof, and considering what went down not three minutes ago, I look just like them.
“Just turn around, Villanueva.” I’m all but gritting my teeth at this point, hands balled into fists as I mentally chastise myself for being, not only so indiscreet but for sidestepping professionalism and ogling her assets in the first place.
She’s not some chick on the street I can mack on freely. She’s the state’s property, an inmate in a maximum-security federal prison who has dues to pay and time to serve—aka I can’t have her.
Which brings me back to last night’s question: why is this suddenly such a concept for me?
Surprisingly enough, Benni finally turns around, yanking me back into the present. Not before snickering while she’s at it, of course, her shoulders bobbing up and down in amusement, but she finally listens, sparing me from digging myself a deeper hole. Just in time, too, because the laundry room is our first stop, and this is where she gets off. I only learned she’s on laundry duty when Walker called the girls into the line by work assignment back in the cell block.
We stop long enough for Benni and three other inmates to make their way inside, and then we’re off again, passing the CO—one I haven’t met yet—who’s already stationed outside the laundry room door. He tips his dark head and me, and vice versa, forcing me to keep my line of sight straight ahead. He’s literally the only reason I don’t risk one last peek at her, ‘cause my morale? Ha. I can’t even say that ship has sailed.
Apparently, there wasn’t a ship when it came to Benni, to begin with.
“See something you like, Andrés?”
Hell, yes, I did, and she knew it, too.
“Good to know my ass can still turn heads.”
Shiiit, it’ll do more than that. Forget her ass. Benni, as a whole, could bring any man to his knees. Sure as fuck feels like I am, and all we did was trade a few heated looks and a handful of words. It’s ridiculous. I’m dazed and confused, caught under a spell I can’t seem to reverse or escape.
As predicted, the entire exchange has been stuck on a loop. I can’t get her out of my head. It’s like knowing I can’t have her makes me want her more. I don’t know what to do with this, how to handle it. I’ve never had this problem before, in either prison I worked at. I’ve tried thinking about Kass—how she moans, the way her pussy feels wrapped around my cock when she rides me reverse.
Nothing.
Yeah, she’s hot, and we have a really good time together, but my mind easily bypasses her and circles back to this girl.
Benni.
Inmate Villanueva.
You can look. Just don’t touch. That’s the devil on my shoulder, obviously. Looking is what got me here in the first place. Then again, how do you just not look at someone? Watching these girls is my job. I was gonna have to keep an eye on her regardless.
Guess that old saying isn’t a pile of shit after all.
Ask any female inmate who's been involved with a correctional officer. They’ll tell you this right here is exactly how the majority of those relationships start—that all it takes is a single look.
Then, a look becomes a wink, and a wink becomes stolen whispers and kites—aka prison notes—passed in the hallways.
Fuck, this is bad. This is really bad.
I’ve not been here two full days, and
