Page 18 of Toxic
“Sorry about that,” he says. “I thought you heard mecalling.”
I give a little shake. “No harm done, I have a hard head. What can I doforyou?”
He ambles over, his eyes a little too assessing for comfort and hands me a clipboard. “Got some paperwork here for you about the inmate you worked on yesterday. Confidential, youunderstand?”
My heart beats double-time in my chest. “Paperwork.”
He nods to the clipboard that I didn’t realize I’d taken and heads for the door. “It’s all there. You takecarenow.”
I know before I even look at the page what it’ll be and who it’s from. There’s a possibility the guard will inform Vic, but Gracin would have paid him to keep quiet. I entertain the thought of throwing it straight in the trash, but I can’t make myself do it. My ears ring as I focus on the version of me he drew this time. It’s how I must have looked right after he brought me to the brutal edge of a powerful orgasm. My eyes are still closed, and my mouth is full and soft and a little bruised. For the first time, he’s included himself in the drawing. Just his hand on the side of my throat, his thumb on the edge of my jaw. It wouldn’t seem significant to anyone else, but it’s everything to me. He signed it with his full name, and under the signature are three words: Cometome.
I’m on my break, but I don’t care. Eating is now the last thing on my mind. The impatience, irritation, and rage that’s been building beneath my skin all day like a geyser churns and churns with each step I take. I clutch the clipboard in my hand like a shield, and I haven’t decided if I want to throw it at his head the moment I see himornot.
The part of me that didn’t scoff at his audacity to beckon me luxuriates in his attention. It’s a low, mean facet of my personality I didn’t even know I possessed. I glut myself on the knowledge that a man like Gracin—a powerful, dangerous man—wants me. I may be his only option, but it doesn’t seem to register when all his attention is on me. Even though I know I’m walking a treacherous path with fatal consequences at either end, I can’t seem to makemyselfstop.
The officers at the entrance to his cellblock must have been bribed as well, because they turn a blind eye when I appear. Loud cranks and clangs of the door opening, which are followed by an accompanying shout, are the only sign they’re aware of my presence at all. I linger just outside the gaping maw of the prison block, and the chilling realization that the next step I take will be a defining moment overwhelms me withindecisiveness.
I take an unsure step forward, pulled by the inexplicable connection that’s spurred so many of my rash decisions. The dark parts of me find solace in the blackness inside him. Like finding like and setablaze.
I approach the cell I know is his, unaware or even conscious of any inmates in the surrounding cells. I can hear them catcalling and banging on their doors, but it doesn’t faze me. The bars on his cell are in desperate need of repainting. Flakes of gray slough off onto my palms as I grip the iron with bothhands.
“Why did you summon me here?” I say. “We had a deal.” My words are saying no, but my voice is all wrong. Breathy. Like a little virgin who isn’t quite sure she wants to go all the way despite how good she knows itmayfeel.
His abs contract as he lifts to a sitting position. Try as I might, I can’t look away. Surely, I deserve a place in hell for the long seconds I spend staring at his bareabdomen.
He doesn’t notice or doesn’t comment as he gets up from his bunk to cross to the bars. His posture is deceptively relaxed with one shoulder against the metal. I have a feeling all the things he doesn’t say are only stored up for another time, but only because they don’t serve him in thismoment.
His reaches through the enclosure, his expression contemplative as he twines a lock of my hair around his fingers. Like a cat toying with his prey. “I think the more important question, Mrs. Emerson, is whyyoucame?”
Words knot in my throat and horror leeches all the blood from my face. “Because we crossed a line and you need to know we can’t do itagain.”
He abandons my hair for my jaw, his finger tracing from the point of my chin to the curve of my ear. I start to step away, then realize his other hand wraps around my wrist. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. When had he taken holdofme?
“So you’re saying you came to see me because you don’t want to see me again?” His voice is so smooth, so guileless and entrancing, I find myself leaning toward him, wanting to taste his words right from the source. When the fingers investigating my chin scrape up and over my lips and I do taste him . . . the earthy flavor of his skin bursting over my tongue like an aphrodisiac, I shake my head toclearit.
“Stop twisting my words.” I try to yank my arm out of his grip but to no avail. His hold is more effective than handcuffs. “Letmego.”
He cocks his head like he knows how badly I want him to keep touching me. “I don’t think I will. We’re notfinished.”
“Finishedwithwhat?”
I’m horrified and ashamed to find the back and forth has gotten me wet. It’s all fun and games until the realization dawns that I like this. Not just the forbidden aspect, or the danger, but thewrongness.
There must be something wicked inside me. Those parts Vic broke pieced themselves back together, but the jagged edges don’t quite fit anymore. Panic spurts through me hot and vital—instinctual. He doesn’t hold me hard enough to bruise, and somehow that only intensifies his draw, but he doesn’t let me go,either.
“Our conversation,” he says in a low voice. “Now answer thequestion.”
“Gracin,please.”
He sucks a deep breath through his teeth, and it causes the hair on my arms and the back of my neck to stand on end. He shifts closer, pressing his body against the bars between us. He’s so close I can feel the heat of him through the metal. If I moved, even the slightest bit, we’d be chest to chest. The temptation makes meshiver.
His groan causes the bars to vibrate, and my blood hums in response. “Say thatagain.”
I tug at my arm, but his grip tightens, and he pulls me forward so that we’re almost touching. I’m so far over the line that I don’t even know if it was intentional or not. “Stop,” I say, without an ounce ofconviction.
With his forehead against the bars, he closes his eyes. “Say it, littlemouse.”
“I will if you’ll letmego.”