Page 15 of Brainwashed

Rolling onto my stomach, I grind into the mattress a little. My dick is hardening up from all the reminiscing. Blood and carving and sexy deep-voiced guards with tattoos and big bulging biceps.

A soft breath escapes me while I press my hips into the bed harder. It’s working to warm me up, that’s for sure. And the ache in my balls is reminding me of how long it’s been since I had sex.

“Jesus Christ…” I grumble under my breath.

I haven’t gotten laid in like six months. It’s not completely crazy, since I’ve never been an overly sexual being. My enjoyment of sex typically relies on the other party. Ever since I lost my virginity in a spectacularly underwhelming fashion in college, I’ve always sort of been left wanting more.

I can count on one hand how many times I’ve gotten those tickly stomach flutters… The ones that travel down into your loins and spread all over your body. The ones that have you craving, salivating, down on your knees, begging andpleadingfor whatever the other person wants to give you.

Huffing out of frustration, I flop over onto my side, giving up. My erection will go away if I just ignore it, I’m sure.

The sound of a loud door slamming distracts me, and I sit up on my elbows. I hate how much my excitement spikes at the prospect of food and water. I haven’t eaten in at least a full day and almost three before that. Stomach grumbling has become the soundtrack to my life.

But I can’t be concerned with any of that right now because the clunking footsteps are accompanied by that familiar shuffle.

They’re bringing someone else down here.

Sure enough, I hear the door to the cell right next to mine open, and someone is deposited inside. Whoever dropped him off leaves without giving me anything to eat or drink, which is devastating, but I ignore it and listen closely to the sounds of my new neighbor.

I think he’s pacing, which goes on for a while. I actually drift off to sleep with my ear up to the wall, and wake to a light thunk, like he’s banging his head on the concrete we share.

For some reason, my lips curve as I press my palm flat on the cold, rough surface.He begins cursing up a storm, and I chuckle. I’m surprised that I can hear him so well through the wall. Although I think everything echoes in this shabby old tomb.

“Sounds about right,” I mutter to him.

“Who’s there?” he asks me frantically, and my smile widens.

I reposition so that I’m sitting facing the wall. “Tell me your name first.”

“I don’t need to tell you shit,” he grunts petulantly.

He sounds like a stubborn brat, but his voice is already irresistible. Even through the wall, the sound is like seductive music.

“Well, yea. I know you don’tneedto,” I tell him. “But you should.”

“Why’s that?” he asks, still clearly holding on to his shields.

“Because you’re gonna start to go a little nuts in here. Talking to someone can definitely help.”

And it’s in my own selfish interest to keep him talking, too.

“Well, I haven’t told you my name yet and you’re still talking to me.” There’s some minor triumph in his tone.

It pulls a tiny breath of laughter out of me. “You’ve bested me, mystery man. Congratulations.”

“I’m proud,” he replies. “How long have you been in here?”

Keeping quiet, I settle into the mattress and fold my arms over my chest.Because he’s not the only brat in the dungeon.

A moment goes by before he says, “No response? That’s cool. You don’t have to answer that, I guess…”

I grin to myself.He’s kind of sweet.Blinking at the wall, I wonder what he looks like.

Another couple of minutes go by before he mutters, “The silent treatment. Real mature.”

I cover my mouth to make sure he doesn’t hear me chuckling.I’m so going to win this game, sexy stranger. I’ll get you to tell me your name, and then we’ll be best friends.

Hopefully, he doesn’t end up sucking like dead old Ivan Wilkerson.