Page 9 of The Inmate's Intern

“Yeah? There’s no work more important than giving me a kiss when I need one.”

“Patience is a virtue,” she snickers, before pulling a tiny chair inside, “please sit and try not to break it.”

I scowl but my mouth twitches and I sit. Humming to herself, she puts a towel around my neck, apinktowel with lace frills and I roll my eyes at myself in the mirror. “You don’t have any other color?”

She shakes her head but then she slaps a hand over her mouth, burying a laughter and oh, I bet she’s loving watching a fucking 6.4 convict getting humbled like this. Struggling to get serious again, she drags a breath before tilting her head to the side.

“Hm...” she murmurs, dragging her fingers through my hair and her touch gives me shivers. She notices my reaction and it makes her sigh with delight. Reaching for a shaver, she asks, “Do you trust me?”

“Sure,” I shrug without hesitating.

Porsha turns the machine on. “Usually I use this to shave my legs but I guess it’s all about multifunction.”

“Shave your legs?” I ask, adjusting in my seat to hide my erection. “You’re going to have to let me watch one day.”

“You’ll be more entertained watching a movie...,” she mutters and I grab her wrist, making her gasp.

“You think I’m able watching anything other than you? Think I’ll be able to focus when you’re in the room? Porsha everything but you is a fucking distraction. A damn interruption.” And it disturbs me. Anything that’s not her rubs me the wrong way. It’s like anything other than her is too bright and abrasive and only with Porsha do I feel that much craved armistice.

“That was surprisingly...sweet,” she whispers and I let go of her, muttering it’s just the truth. No nonsense, just straight up honesty. She combs my hair and she touches me gentler than anyone ever has. I grew up without my father, raised solely by my stepmother and I still remember that woman’s callousness. Fuck as a boy I would have given anything to have a woman be this careful with me.

I look at Porsha with gratitude but she doesn’t notice, too busy focusing on what she’s doing and she starts shaving the back of my neck. It takes a while and once she’s done, I’m sitting there with an undercut. Her eyes flare when she looks at me in the mirror.

“You...you look...,” she bites her lip, as if she’s a little embarrassed about being transfixed and I muse,

“Are you blushing?”

“Maybe. It’s what girls do when they look at something they like.”

“Just like?” I rasp in a low tone and I cross my arms, flexing my muscles because I’ll break something if she never goes beyondlike. “That’s all I get?” She fidgets, nodding and flushing even more, before clearing her throat and she goes to work on my stubble. Once I’m clean shaven, she takes off the towel and I rise. She’s done a good job and at least I don’t look like I do on the photos anymore.

“Are you satisfied?” she whispers, squirming. “If you want me to change anything I’ll be at your service.”

At your service. Will she be at my service when it comes to everything else? What if I told her to tell me she loves me? What if I told her to say it even if she does it reluctantly?

Holding down a groan, I rasp, “Got no complaints. You can do whatever you want to me.” I mean it. If this girl asked if I could lie down on the street for her, so that she can cross a puddle without getting wet I’d allow it. And shit, it sounds like I’m exaggerating but thing is that I’m not.Whatevershewants.

“Do I get that kiss now?” I say and she lets out a squeal, putting her mouth on mine and I breathe in her helpless moan, suck it deep down my lungs and it nourishes me the way air nourishes men who’ve been oxygen deprived. She’s that breath of freshness, of cleanliness and I encourage her to give me more, coaxing her tongue with mine. I hold her close, like I promised I would and she sinks deep into me the way rain sinks into the earth and she makes things grow inside of me, things I didn’t know I had. Things that are good and not bad.

“You change me. You know that?” I ask and she peers up at me.

“You’re already perfect the way you are, Giggs.”

In her eyes maybe. Though, it’s all that counts. Even if I can’t be perfect in mine its more than enough to be seen in that light by her.

“Later when night grows darker, you and I will leave,” I say, stroking her lower lip with my thumb. “You’ll follow me wherever I go and let me take care of you.”

“Have you ever done anything else?” she breathes. “You’ve always taken care of me. Even when you were locked up.”

And I’ll never stop. This girl domesticates me and gets me wild at the same time. She’s my tease and my tamer and I...I’m the animal eating out of her palm.

7.

Porsha

“Should probably take a shower,” Giggs says and I nod my head, pulling out a towel for him as I clean up the mess I made from cutting his hair. I’m thinking he’ll wait until I’m out of the bathroom before stripping but he doesn’t and I squeeze my mouth not to gasp and slap a hand over my eyes.

He’s getting butt naked, prowling into the shower stall and my breathing turns rapid, shivers of electricity running from my throat down between my legs and I clutch the sink. In the mirror, I can see my eyes have turned glassy and there are dots on my cheeks like someone just gave me a quick brush with red paint.

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