Page 32 of The Sharpest Edges

He can’t be certain if he’s even on the right track, but Jaxson didn’t develop such a hard-on for him until the rookie guard got sent off for more training, leaving a job opening that Dean could fill. The fact that he didn’t fill it and went on to thwart the entire thing has put a bullseye on his back for anyone still under Jaxson’s control.

He is safe here in the holding cell. Safe and bored, with only two magazines and his hand for company. Which is what he’s using right now because what the fuck else can he occupy his time with?

It’ll be easier to sleep afterward once he’s spent a few minutes thinking of her.

Shame tinted his face the first few times even though no one was there to see him. But now…now he only has room in his mind for an image of Ava, beautiful and soft while she straddles him.

She’s got one hand curled into the coils of the bed above them, bracing herself and keeping her balance while she rollsher hips in slow, back-and-forth motions. Tight and wet and wrapped around him so perfectly he can feel himself twitching inside of her, firm hands on the swell of her ass as she rides him.

Her eyes are lidded, her head thrown back while dark wisps of hair glint in the harsh light. When she leans forward, nuzzling her face into his neck and grinding herself against the base of his cock, there’s a whisper of his name on her lips, fluttering against his pulse point and he can’t hold out any longer. His hips thrust up into his palm, imagining that it’s her he’s pushing into. He comes hard with a groan, his body taught and suspended while he jerks his hand in quick strokes, warmth spreading out over his knuckles and onto his belly in a wet release instead of into her body where he wishes he could be.

“Fuck. Shit.” He curses into the quiet of his cell.

He shouldn’t be doing this and thinking of her. Not only does he feel like a creep, but he’s setting himself up for failure. Rejection. Heartbreak. Spending all this time with her in his head when in reality, he may never touch her again. He makes a mental note to only jerk off to images of faceless, nameless women from now on. It’s safer that way. Easier on his heart, less chance of reality letting him down.

The next time he wraps a hand around his dick he realizes pretty damn fast that his plan is shit and he can’t come at all unless it’s Ava’s face he sees behind closed lids.

Week 4 In Solitary

He’s getting out today and never felt such a weird combination of excitement and fear all wrapped up in one. Not about what he’ll do, or where he’ll go. How he’ll stay out or where he’ll work. None of that shit bothers him because he’s not a career criminal like his brother. Getting sent back here isn’t something that’ll ever happen again and if he’s lucky, Hank will give him his job back at the shop.

No, what terrifies him is the possibility that all the worries he’s had about him and Ava are about to come true. He will never see her again. They’ll never talk or touch or go on dates to that cafe she loves so much. He’ll never crawl under her car and fix that giant hole some ass left behind at the shop. Never see the cat he knows she took despite her insisting she wouldn’t.

He’ll never see her smile again, taste her lips again, get to feel her skin under his fingertips…

For all he knows she was nothing but a mirage in the first place. A figment of his imagination, something he conjured up to help himself cope, even though that can’t be true. He has convinced himself by now that what happened in this prison was only two people reacting to heightened circumstances, bonding over shared trauma.

It may not be real. It may not hold up. And if it doesn’t, he’ll be fine. He’ll go home, empty out his fridge full of rotten food, drink a beer or three, and watch TV. Slide back into his boring, sad life where the only other people he talks to are the checkout clerks at Walmart or the teller at his bank and he’ll be just fucking fine.

Can’t miss something he never had. She is better off without him anyway.

* * *

He’s got his street clothes back on, a pair of work pants anda gray sleeveless shirt. The plain cotton fabric feels amazing compared to the rough, bleach-soaked prison clothes. He’d swear he can still smell the Tide he washed them in before getting locked up the next day.

He gets a weird nod from Nick at the door as he passes through it. No words are exchanged, but it feels like acknowledged respect and that’s a moment he never saw coming.

The sun hits him hard when he walks out the door. Bright and warm on his face, so much better than he remembered it. The air smells crisp and fresh and the shoes he wears are so fucking comfortable it’s like walking on little clouds. A big step up from the flip-flops he’d been wearing for months.

Everything is better. Brighter. Different. It’ll wear off soon, once he’s settled in again and all of this is a distant memory, but right now he’s happy as shit, smiling like an idiot as he walks down the long driveway of the building and toward the parking lot. He needs to find a bus stop or a way to call an Uber, but his breath hitches in his throat and the papers in his hands threaten to flutter to the ground when he spots Ava a few feet away, leaning up against an SUV with crossed arms and sunglasses balanced on her head.

It takes him a moment to understand that she’s waiting for him. When they lock eyes, her smile lifts her cheeks and he kick-starts again to travel the rest of the way.

“Hey, stranger. Need a ride?” she asks.

Her voice is the best thing he’s heard in four weeks.

He may have been nervous about where they stand, but he can see now that she is too. The uncertainty on her face is clear under the smile she wears and he doesn’t hesitate to nod his agreement, both hands twitching at his sides, wanting so desperately to reach out and pull her close. Can hehug her here? Are people watching them from the prison?

“I can take you straight home? Or some food first? It’s up to you. How do you wanna spend your first day out?”

“With you. Wanna spend it with you,” he replies, blushing crimson, unable to keep from ducking his head a fraction. “I mean, food sounds good, too. I could eat.”

He should go home and get settled in, but his mouth waters at the mention of food after having nothing to eat but slop on a tray for months and anything that prolongs his ability to be with her is the option he’s going for. He isn’t sure she’d be up to spending time in his apartment yet.

Her smile only gets bigger and his heart stutters at the sight of her, backlit by the sun, golden and hazy.

“I wanna hug you so bad but we can’t here,” he says.

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