Love didn’t just happen, did it? Wasn’t it supposed to evolve over time?
Fuck nah.
It happened when the heart opened itself up to it.
Officer Rawlings took a swig of his Heineken. The thought of her made his dick hard. He swallowed the strong, bitter lager as he pressed the swelling between his legs together and turned on his computer. He stared at the green bottle with the lone red star, impatiently drumming his fingers as he waited for it to boot.
What the fuck was he doing?
Shit.
Fuck if he knew.
All he did know was that inmate Lewis had good pussy and had sucked the shit out of his dick. And that alone had set fire to his senses in a way that no other woman ever had. He groaned as his dick tightened at the memory of being slickly buried deep in her mouth, the tight grip of her throat milking the head of his cock. She’d sucked him wildly, greedily, and she’d come immediately without being touched, the sweet juices of her pussy flooding her panties.
And he had the proof to smell it.
He pulled her panties from his back pocket—pink and frilly—and inhaled the heady scent, before licking inside the crotch. He licked and licked, then sucked them into his mouth. Then he started chewing on them as if they were a big piece of pink, pussy-flavored bubblegum.
If he could blow a few bubbles with her panties, he would.
Goddamn. Fuck.
This was a fucking mess. She made him crazy with want. Made him twisted with kinky desire. He’d never done any crazy shit like licking and sucking the inside of a bitch’s panties. And here he was laving away, his tongue practically licking out the seam.
And now he was, at eight thirty in the fucking morning, on a mission to shop—instead of crawling in bed and getting some sleep—for shit he’d never imagine buying.
Dildos.
He shook his head. He was bugging for sure. He removed her underwear from his mouth and pushed out a heated breath, then lifted his beer and pressed the opening to his lips and took a long, drawn-out swallow. He belched, setting the bottle back onto his desk as the computer screen lit up with his desktop icons. He clicked on the browser and went to a search engine page.
There, he typed in what he was looking for, and waited for the results. He almost fell out of his chair when pages and pages, link upon link, popped up on the screen. It was too overwhelming. The shit required too much thought: size, shape, color, material—jelly, silicone, soft skin (aka cyberskin), or acrylic or glass—vibrating (or not) . . .
What the fuck?
Ugh. He was tempted to click out of the browser, and simply take his ass to bed. Instead, he kept browsing. When he finally clicked on the eighth link, he bit out a curse.
He didn’t know the first thing about sex toys; let alone a fucking dildo or vibrator, but he was a man of his word. And it was what he’d promised his baby, though he couldn’t understand why the fuck she needed one of those things any-damn-way when he was offering her up all the dick she needed.
Eight, thick, curved inches.
Fucking broads. One dick was never enough. So now he had to compete with a fucking fake-ass dick. He took another gulp of his beer. As the brew heated through his veins, the thought of someone—or something—else fucking her made him feel murderous. He felt he’d seriously beat the shit out of a motherfucker, beat his skull down to the white meat, for even thinking about trying to press up on what was his.
Fuck, man. Get a grip. What the fuck is wrong with you? It’s a damn dildo.
He laughed at the ridiculousness of feeling jealous over a fucking sex toy. There was no way a damn manmade cock could fuck her like the real thing, the way he could.
But, fuck it.
After she’d sucked his dick then ate his babies, she’d given him strict instructions as to what type of items she wanted. Big. And black.
He clicked on a link for sextoyfun.com and, after close to thirty minutes of perusing the products, he settled on some shit called Cockzilla, a black, sixteen-and-a-half-inch dildo.
His eyes widened when another item caught his attention. A Clone-A-Willy Vibrating Dildo kit. Get the fuck out of here. Is this shit for real? He read it again. The description said he could make an exact replica of his own dick. Hell, he had nothing to lose. Shit. He was proud of his thick, veiny dick. He’d give it a try, then give it to his baby as a surprise. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. Then she could have access to his cock whenever she wanted it.
He took another swig from his beer, then added the kit to his cart, along with a vibrating jelly dong. He made his purchase, then, somehow, landed on another link. Zane’s Pleasure Products. Shit. Now he was curious as fuck to see what this freaky broad had going on. He’d never read any of her books, but he’d watched her two television shows, The Jumpoff and The Sex Chronicles on Cinemax, so he knew what time it was with her.
There he purchased Heaven a seven-inch, multi-speed massager.
Rawlings blew out a curse when he was done, then clicked out of his browser, before standing to his feet. He stretched and yawned, then began stripping out of his uniform. Next he pulled his undershirt off, then came out of his boxers, leaving a trail of clothing as he made his way to the bathroom where he turned on the shower, full blast and steaming hot. He lathered up, then languidly stroked his soapy dick, dying to be back inside his baby again; him unleashing his seeds. In her mouth. In her pussy. He even wanted to feel it in her ass.
He closed his eyes to relish in the memory of her mouth on his cock, her tongue along his shaft, her fingers digging into his ass cheeks.
He pumped his dick in his fist. Threw his head back.
And growled.
Twenty minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, his balls half-a-pound lighter.
As he puttered around his bedroom, before climbing into bed, he gave thought to the purchases he’d made earlier. This was some twisted shit. Yet, he’d gotten his baby what she’d requested.
Now the million-dollar question was: How the fuck was he going to get all this shit into the prison?