I'm such a hypocrite, a liar to myself. Because
even though I hung up on him, I'm still watching.
Still here, curled up on the couch, staring at
the screen while he fucks another woman. And
I can't look away. It turns me on. It turns me
the fuck on. And I hate that. Hate that I'm still
sitting here, silent, burning, thighs clenched
as he gives her what should have been mine. I
crank up the volume on full blast to hear him
moan. He's rough, perfect. I squeeze my nipples,
aching as I watch the man, who is as dangerous
as they come, plow into a woman that should have
been me. Minutes pass, then nearly an hour, and
he's still at it with her. Good fucking God.
What type of man is this? I'm so wet right now,
but I don't dare get up. Don't dare move from
my seat. I need to see everything. I need to
see him. The tightness in his ass. The way his
cock stiffens and dips in and out of her. Exactly
what he would have been doing to me. I don't
know what happened, but somehow he turns to the
camera and smiles. Like he knows I'm still here.
Watching. Of course I'm still watching. This
is high -quality entertainment. A once -in -a
-lifetime moment. Thank God he doesn't have access
to my mic. Because the way I'm breathing? He'd
laugh. I sound pathetic. The woman writhes beneath
him, arching her back, and Vince grabs her hips
with both hands, slamming into her one last time.
Then he pulls out. and spills his seed across
her back like she was a mere toilet or raggedy
cloth to relieve himself in. I slam the laptop
shut, shoving it aside. What the fuck is wrong
with me? This man is everything I was warned
about, everything I prayed to stay away from.
And here I am, embroiled in this thing with him.
I don't even know what this is, but I'm hooked.
Hooked to the point that I'm using him as a memory.
A fantasy. A way to get off. Just the thought
of him gets me there. And now, the shitty part
of all this is that I'm waiting for him to call.
Waiting for him to beg me to see him. But he
doesn't. I show up for my shift, hoping, thinking
maybe he'll call sometime during it. But no.
Not once. Not a text. Not a missed call. I'm
on edge. Raw and open. He has me like a moth
to a flame and he knows it. But I'll be damned
if I call this man myself. My shift ends. Still
nothing. I go home. I sleep. I wake. I work.
Repeat. Again and again. Still nothing. He's
toying with me and I know it. But I won't give
in. I refuse. Then, just when I'm leaving work,
My phone rings. I don't answer it. I was just
starting to get him off my mind. Starting to
remember who he is. What he is. A fucking criminal.
And now he calls me? After ghosting me for 11
days? Fuck him. Fuck Vince. I'm not answering
that call. I won't let myself get pulled back
into that trap. I try to move on with my life.
Again and again. And it's easy. For a while.
But what's not easy is scrubbing those images
from my mind. Because I yearn for it. He's done
something irreversible to me. Because every time
I feel for him, I feel for his dick. Almost three
weeks fly by. I don't answer his calls. Not once.
And he's been relentless, calling nonstop like
it's his full -time job. I guess I've got him
by the balls now. and for once I don't care.
I have the day off, and tomorrow too, so I use
the time to visit my mom and her sister. I get
there, and it's a good time. Laughs, food, family,
until my phone rings again, and again. I ignore
it, but mom notices. Her face tightens every
time my phone buzzes. Eventually she says, Why
is your phone ringing like that and you're not
answering? Scam caller. I lie. She doesn't buy
it. This is the most Vince has called me in a
day. It's unnerving and chilling. The phone rings
again and I can't take her eyes on me anymore.
I slip into the kitchen and answer. Well, look
who finally picked up. Vince says. His voice
is low, smug. Didn't think you'd answer. Oh,
you were calling? Guess I didn't notice. Don't
play fucking games with me. I'm not playing games
with you. I just don't want to talk to you. There's
a pause, then a low chuckle. I love this push
and pull between us. It builds character. Don't
you think it's fun? You need to stop calling
my phone, Vince. Now why would I do that? What's
the point of that? I am NOT a fucking game. I
glance across from the kitchen to make sure my
mom doesn't see my reactions. Speaking with you
is a threat to my job. Then why did you answer?
Because... Because what? Because you're bothering
me. You're calling down my phone and it's not
appropriate. I want you to stop. There's silence
on the line. Is it bothering your mother? My
stomach drops. By the way, he adds casually.
How is your mother doing? I would love to meet
her Excuse me Well, he says You're at her house.
Aren't you I? Rushed to the front door and yanked
the curtain at the side Angie mom calls worry
in her voice. There's a black tinted vehicle
parked across the road shit Are you outside my
house? Not your house He corrects. Your mom's.
What the fuck, Vince? You followed me? Well,
you weren't answering me. Of course I had to
take another step. You made me do this. Angela,
mom prize. Just a minute, mom. I didn't make
you do anything. How do you even know where my
mom lives? He laughs. A little smug chuckle.
Didn't I tell you I have my ways? What is wrong
with you leave me the fuck alone I? Need you
in this vehicle now I'm not coming out there
you need to go Do you want me to come and introduce
myself to your mother? Vince I say through gritted
teeth He laughs again Then get your butt in my
car now I Hang up my heart is pounding I glance
over my shoulder Mom is still talking to her
sister, but I know she's listening. She always
listens. She's the type of woman who catches
on fast. Mom, I say. I'm just going to step outside
for a sec. Gonna talk to a friend, okay? She
stands. Who friend? A new friend. Yeah, um, I'll
tell you about it. I slip outside, closing the
door behind me a little too hard. Vince's car
is parked right in front of mine, waiting. I
slide in and slam the door shut. Seeing him in
the driver's seat this close is dangerous. It
makes something shift in my chest. But God help
me, it's liberating too. I glance around the
car, checking the back seat, making sure we're
alone. How come you're driving? Don't you have
like a chauffeur or something? He smiles without
looking at me Sometimes I like to do things on
my own like visiting you I fold my arms What
do you want from me? He turns slightly just enough
for his eyes to land on mine You already know
what I want from you Angie You can't just show
up at my mom's place. That's not cool Well, if
you'd been answering my calls I wouldn't have
needed to show up here. I get it. No seems like
a foreign concept to you, but you need to learn
that it's an option. He looks at me, searching.
Did I do something to you? Why won't you take
my call? Because this is wrong. Is it? Was it
wrong when you sat there watching me fuck that
bitch? My heart stutters. Was it wrong when you
stayed on the video just to see me stroke my
cock? I don't answer. I didn't see anything.
I lie. He studies me, unreadable. I guess not.
All I want is for you to be happy, Angie. That's
all. I am happy. Before I met you, I was fantastic.
Now, I'm freaked out. Paranoid. Looking over
my shoulder every damn minute. And you're not
making it easier for me. Calling my phone. stalking
me. I stiffen as he reaches up, brushing his
palm against my cheek. I exhale sharply. His
hand is rough, calloused, unforgiving, but it
still feels so damn manly. Too good. I'll never
hurt you, Angie. This paranoia, it's just a symptom.
A symptom of you holding yourself back. He leans
in slightly. Eyes burning into mine. You need
to let shit fucking go. If this is how you feel,
then feel it. I blink at him. My throat tightens.
You want this, but you're fighting it. And all
that pent -up energy? It's fucking with your
head. I scoff and look away. He doesn't say anything.
You can deny it all you want. He murmurs. But
I know what you really want. His hand falls away
from my cheek, and then he reaches down to his
lap. He's hard, rock solid, and fuck. I can't
take my eyes off it. Vince squeezes his cock
over his jeans, eyes locked on mine. This is
what you do to me, Angie. I burn for you. Just
like you want me. What are you doing? He zips
his pants down with no hesitation. Giving you
what you want. You don't know what I want. Oh,
but I do. You want to see it. Feel it. I'm giving
you that chance. I glance out the window, praying
no one can see us, because this man is crazy.
Then I look back. He unbuttons, slides his pants
down. Vince slips his cock free from his briefs
and eyes me. It's thick, long, just like I imagined,
just like I saw it on the screen. I fight the
urge to lick my lips, but I do it anyway. He
inhales sharply, dragging his palm across his
length, then presses his thumb over the tip.
My eyes dart to the window again. I pray my mom
doesn't come outside. I'm grown. But right now,
I feel like a kid caught playing with something
forbidden. Touch it. He says. I stare at him.
Then at it. Angie. He says again, firmer. Touch
it. He grabs my wrist and pulls me toward him.
My hand falls against his length and I suck in
a breath. It's stiff, rough and hot. I slide
my palm up, exhaling. He likes it. I can feel
it in the way his hips shift. I do it again,
circling my finger around the shaft. There's
a bead of pre -cum there. I want to lick it.
But I don't. I don't even know this man. Not
really. I don't know what he's been with. What
he has. Still, I slide my hand down the base
of his cock. Vince groans. You like that? He
pants. I nod quietly. I quicken my pace. Ah,
yes. That's it. Oh, shit. He starts muttering
something I don't understand. Over and over.
Then, a knock. I whip around to see mom by my
car window. Panic grips me. My mom is at the
door. I can already see it. Don't stop. Ugh,
fuck. His body twitching I lean toward him almost
close enough to take him in my mouth But I don't
I can't not now not here Instead I use both hands
and spit on him a long drooling spit fuck Vince
starts to thrust his length squeezing through
my palms eyes fluttering shut He mutters curses
under his breath and I know He's close. He's
close for me. Not like that woman in the video.
Not like before. This is different. He wants
this. I slide my thumbs over his thick, bulbous
cock. He moans. Deeper now. More raw. More mine.
Then, click. His seat falls back, the chair reclining,
laying him flat. Fuck. Even if it was reckless.
I didn't want it to stop. But I knew it would.
It had to. And there wasn't a damn thing I could
do about it. I wish I were inside you right now.
He grates out, thrusting his hips higher through
my tight grip. I would feed you with my cum.
I lower my lips as close to his tip as possible
and wait. Fuck. Vince growls out loud, clasping
the back of my head. He releases. It's a spurt.
Violent. Sudden. Expelling from him like a force
he couldn't hold back. It hits my mouth. My nose.
The roof of the vehicle. Thick and loud. For
a second he's nothing but animal. Wild. Unguarded.
And something else too. Something darker. He
curses under his breath. Jaw tight as he swings
his seat upright again. grabs a cloth from the
side of the seat and wipes his ceiling. There
are wipes in the glove compartment. I let go
of him. He tucks himself in fast, zipping and
buttoning like it never happened. He faces me,
leans over and fetches the wipes himself and
begins cleaning my face. He's slow and tender,
like this man has never done a crime. When he's
all done, Vince touches my chin, soft. Slow.
Like it means something. It feels like an endearment.
Like he's grateful. Or smitten. Or both. And
I let it happen. Because I like this man. I like
his vibe. His danger. His calm. And as much as
I know what I'm doing is wrong, I can't help
myself. Vince's lips moves to my ear. I need
you to do something for me. He says. I stiffen.
What? His palm wraps around the back of my neck,
pulling me close. It's possessive, but yet it
feels like control. I need you to make a drop.
I pull back immediately, brows furrowed. It's
nothing damning, nothing serious. I have a colleague
in the cell, number 23. I just need you to get
this to him. He hands me a piece of paper. Small.
Folded. I open it. It's nearly blank, except
for the words TMT12CC. That's it. I stare at
it, confused. Maybe it's a code, or something
only they understand. You want me to give this
to number 23? He nods. I can't do this. It's
just a piece of paper. But I don't know what
it's for Do you really want to know? I shake
my head No Then don't fucking ask My breath catches
I'm trying not just to stay professional but
to stay sane I'm trying not to implicate myself
in anything You're not implicating yourself in
anything You're safe All you have to do is give
that to number 23 That's it. I narrow my eyes.
And what do I get in return? He doesn't blink.
You can have me. I laugh, bitter and disbelieving.
Alright then. He leans back. I'll free you. You
won't hear a word from me after that. I'll stop
the calls. I won't show up again. No more gifts.
No more stalking. I disappear. I swallow hard.
It sounds like a steal of a deal, but deep down
it feels like a setup, a trick, a trap. I look
at the paper again, then at him. What does it
mean? It's better to not know. I exhale. Your
call. And what if I say no? He shrugs, but his
eyes darken with a glint of heat. Then I'll keep
calling. I'll show up at your mom's. At your
place, and I'll torment you with my cock. I sigh,
the weight of it sinking into my bones. How the
hell did I end up in a situation like this? Why
would I ever put myself here? I want out. I want
clean. But he makes it all sound so simple. And
I know better than that. There's always something
else. Always a cost. Are you sure? Positive.
Do what you're supposed to do, and I'll do my
part. It feels like I'm making a deal with the
devil. But I nod. Fine. I'll do it. Good. I go
to work two nights later, feeling sick to my
stomach. I do my rounds. I secure the place.
I check every cell, every light, every camera.
Everything's in order. But inside, I'm unraveling.
I want to vomit. My hands won't stop shaking.
Still, I do it. I hand number 23 the note. He
beams at me, grinning like I just handed him
a damn slice of birthday cake. I force a nod
and walk off, a cold, dark feeling spreading
in my gut. Something's wrong. And I know it.
But it's too late. I get home and puke all over
my sink. There's a storm churning in my stomach
and I can't get over it. A day passes. Then another.
Then suddenly. My phone vibrates. Inside the
officer's group chat, alarms are going off. Everyone's
blowing up the thread. During lunch, an inmate
was killed by another. My heart stops. Number
23 killed number 12. And that's when it clicks.
Like ice water down my spine. TMT, terminate.
Number 12, the inmate. CC, clean cut. Because
that's exactly how they describe it. One clean
slit, across the throat. I drop onto the couch,
eyes fixed on my phone. No calls, no texts, no
anything. Nothing. Vince just… stopped. Damn
it. A week slips by. Still nothing. He's kept
his word, or so it seems. Prince of his promises.
Silent. Gone. A month passes. Still no sign.
No pull. No pressure. It's almost as if he never
existed. I go back to work like nothing happened.
as if I hadn't just orchestrated an on -site
killing, as if I hadn't been the hand that passed
the blade. My heart is still heavy, but not as
deep as before, because he's gone. I got rid
of him, and he got rid of me. But somehow, somehow
it feels like I'm the one who lost. Another month
passes, and it starts to settle in. Vince is
gone. He doesn't need me anymore. And the worst
part is, he used me for his bidding.