Page 14 of Her Convict Wolf

My hand pumps faster and faster, up and down my swollen shaft. In my fantasy, I’m buried deep inside her pussy, my rough hands squeezing her lovely tits while her head is thrown back in ecstasy, crying out my name. One more pump, and I explode, shooting a rope of cum against the side of the shower cubicle. Cum that should be flooding her womb, while she comes all over my dick.

I take the showerhead and rinse down the cubicle, watching as my seed circles around the plughole and is lost to the drains.

Can’t happen, Banks, I tell myself. This thing between you and her is only gonna exist in your fantasies. In real life you’re going to protect her. That’s all.

But if she ever begs me to take her, I’ll be straight in there. Spreading her sweet thighs and stretching out her pussy.

5

Maxim

When I open the bathroom door, a delicious smell of cooking hits my nostrils. My mouth waters. There she is, busy at the stove, with two pans going.

I shove my hands in the pockets of some other guy’s jeans and wander over.

“Smells great.”

She turns to me with a pleased smile. “Nothing fancy, just eggs and bacon. But I figure there’s nothing better for breakfast.”

“Damn straight,” I say.

“Easy over.” She dumps three eggs on a plate and adds five rashers of bacon.

“Just how I like ‘em.”

“I know,” she says.

“Huh?”

“Once we talked about how we liked our eggs.”

I huff out a laugh. “We did?”

“Yup.” She looks solemn. “It was a serious conversation.”

My chest warms. I can’t believe she’s remembered all these years. I put the plates down on the table and bring the coffee cups over, too.

Everything is fantastic.

“I can’t believe how good all this tastes after all the prison food,” I say.

“I’ll bet,” she replies. “When I was cooking all the food yesterday I made a special effort, because I felt bad for all you guys eating prison chow.”

My jaw drops. “You cooked all that food yourself?”

“Yes,” she says, all sweet and self-conscious again, but with a hint of pride.

“I only tasted a few mouthfuls before—before all that shit went down, but it was real special, Emory. You’ve got talent.”

“I’m happy if you think so.” She sighs. “I used to dream of being a chef. Before… you know. And I love working in the kitchen at Sinner’s, but most of the customers are shifters—” She blushes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…”

I bark out a laugh. “Most shifters prefer their meat raw, with the heart still beating. And they probably complain when the flavor is ruined with sauces and spices, right?”

She bites at her bottom lip. “Yeah, pretty much.”

My grin fades because now I can’t stop staring at the redness of her lower lip. The way it’s so plump and pretty. I imagine drawing it into my mouth, running the tip of my tongue across it.

Stop it, Maxim.

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