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.