The Bars That Hold Us (11 page)

Thinking of Saxon sparks the memory of the note. I know I shouldn’t read it—just throw it in the bin and forget all about it and ask to be moved to a different cell block. Somehow, I know that’s not going to happen. He’s already sparked something within me that refuses to be snuffed out.

I scramble out of bed and grope for my jacket in the dark, hands feeling their way into the pockets. My fingers touch the sharp paper edges of the note—still untouched and waiting to be read.

If I open it, there’s no going back.

With a little regret, I know I’ve already made up my mind. It’s like one chapter is closing while another opens. I take my penlight from the drawer and switch it on. Honestly, the way I peel the tape off the note you’d think I didn’t have any say in the matter.

I’m careful
not to rip the paper. As I unfold it I can see the writing of Saxon Miles. Even before I read it his name scrawled on the bottom of the paper screams out at me. The writing is not neat, or careful. It’s hurried and… desperate.

My eyes scan back to the top, needing to know what was so important that he was willing to risk severe discipline, his and my own, in order to get this message to me.
Words filter into my mind, seducing me into his realm. It kind of makes me giddy to think that he could feel in such a way about me. My heart quickens at the thought. All his thoughts and words are a revelation into the man who demanded I ask him to kiss me.

I fold the note up carefully and place it in my top bedside drawer along with the penlight.

Saxon Miles may come across as the tough guy, but he’s just like me in so many ways: damaged, broken and in desperate need of someone to give him purpose and meaning.

I lie down to go to sleep and I wonder why he thinks that person should be me.

Time is a thief, stealing snippets of my life right out from underneath me. If I thought the last three years were tough, it was nothing compared to the weekend. Each passing second seemed like torture, but one I was willing to endure just to see it through ‘til Monday.

I’m hoping that my kite reached her—told her that I’m nothing if but a desperate man who needs her. After flying solo for so long, I feel like I’ve suddenly opened the floodgate, desperate for intimacy and with only one person who can give it to me.

The morning din in the house makes me feel tense. I feel this way because I know it won’t be long before we’re let out for  breakfast—something I’m hoping I can do with Mercy instead of the crims that
permeate the cells around me. With each passing moment I become more like a caged animal than ever before, pacing my cage with edgy optimism. At this rate I may just wear a path in the solid concrete floor.

She comes without warning or preemption. I’m startled, but instantly gratified. My anxiousness flips like a switch, enabling my cool, calm and collected persona to claw its way back to the surface.

‘Miles.’

Okay, so we’re back to formalities. I can handle that.

‘Good morning.’

‘Let’s go.’

She inserts her key into the door, releasing me into her authority. I go happily, trying with every ounce of strength I have to keep a smile off my face. I don’t want her to feel like I’ve won, or I’ve manipulated her into this. I want her to feel in control—in control of us. It’s important for both of us that she feels like all the decisions that are being made are her own.

Mercy follows me to the mess hall where I pick up two trays of food
for us. She says nothing, allowing me to carry them towards the library.

There is no idle chit-chat, or conversation laced with flirty pretext. For the most part she ignores me, although she still makes coffee for the both of us. As much as I get the feeling she would like to snub me completely, her ingrained sense of etiquette won’t permit her from excluding me from simple niceties that we have already established.

I thankfully down the coffee she places next to me and try hard not to drink in her scent as she moves past me. It makes me long for days when I used to be able to wear aftershave and smell nice myself—not like the cheap soap scent I now wear. She retreats to a table near the window while I eat my breakfast in silence.

She doesn’t touch much, instead staring thoughtfully out of the window at the miserable weather. There is no view to speak of—just more concrete that acts as a functional pathway between one building to another. It’s like the architect didn’t quit
e know what to do with the remaining space, so they just left it bare. I would imagine when the jail first opened they made some effort at making a flowerbed underneath the windows in an attempt to make the place somewhat welcoming. Over time, though, the flowerbeds have become nothing more than a place where weeds grow and random bits of grass have taken over, leaving the flowers to die a little more each day, just like the inmates inside.

I leave
Mercy to her musings and get started on the bookshelves. I’m careful to varnish each one slowly and methodically, wanting to maximize my time in the library away from the mundane prison life that Silverwater offers.

By the time lunch break
rocks around, I’m barely aware that Mercy is still in the room with me. Well, at least until she comes up behind me and makes my heart start doing some crazy shit. It’s dancing to the warm and welcome timbre of her voice, emphatically aware that she’s female—and hot-blooded.

I turn to face her, not expecting her to be so close.
The warm, black pupils of her eyes melt me. There is so much written there I can hardly decide what to decode first. Sadness for sure, but tenderness lurks there, too. What intrigues me most about her is that despite the fear and restraint, she can’t hide the fact that
want
is screaming at me whether she likes it or not.  

She watches carefully as I drop my paintbrush into the opened tin of varnish. This makes me exultant because I feel like every labored movement is directed to gain her attention. My hands fall to my hips, she notices. My tongue swipes over my lips, she notices.
She doesn’t want to, but boy does she notice. My eyes fall from hers, down towards the top button of her shirt. It’s open slightly, allowing me to see the rise and fall of her chest. As much as she’d like to act like she’s not affected by me, her body’s betraying her in all kinds of ways.

‘Miles.’ It’s as stern a warning as she can muster.

‘Yeah?’ I can barely make my voice box work. My tongue feels thick, my throat constricted by desire.

‘Lunch?’

‘Yeah, I’m hungry alright.’

‘Stop it.’

‘What?’

‘The innuendo.’

‘Really?’

‘What do you mean, really?’

‘Do you really want me to stop, or do you just think that’s what you should be saying?’

‘Look, I came back because I get it, okay? I do. But this—you and me—cannot happen. You said that you’d go back to you being the prisoner and me being the guard but, right now, you’re not even remotely trying to reign in
any of your… your… hotness!’

Damn. She thinks I’m hot. She looks pouty—upset—as though I’ve unwittingly coerced her into all thoughts and actions.
She’s cute as hell when she’s like that. I take a small step towards her, but it’s far from insignificant. My lips are just a hair’s breadth away from hers. She doesn’t move or pull away. She just swallows deeply, struggling with indecision. My lips part and hers mimic my action. I tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear before removing my hand. Her eyes close, seduced by the caress.

‘Cole?’ Her eyes snap open, the formality of her surname like a
hard slap. See? I too can play that game if that’s the way she wants it. But I instantly regret it. I don’t want to be formal with her. I want to be intimate and discover every inch of her mind and body.

‘Sweetheart…’
There, that’s better.
‘If you want me to stop any of… this,’ I say, motioning between the two of us, ‘then you better stop looking at me like that.’ I nod my head at her, pointing out the look on her face.

‘I—’

‘Don’t deny it.’

‘We can’t do this. It’s not right. I’m not ready!’ She’s flustered and
has the right mind to blush crimson while she struggles to maintain a professional distance. Her personal reasons for keeping well away from me don’t seem to be holding up too well.

‘I’m sure you’re right about that, especially since what you had to go through with… him.’ I dare not say his name. I don’t want him in this conversation between us. I don’t want her thinking of him while she’s so close to me. I want her fully vested in what’s happening right here, right now. ‘But your body’s saying something else entirely.’

My brows furrow, trying desperately to figure her out. Figure out what she wants or needs from me. Her expression remains the same, yet a single, solitary tear slides slowly out of the corner of her eye. I watch as it trails down her cheek and under her jaw, leaving a wet streak in its wake. Fuck. I know I should abandon this right now, but apparently I’m a sucker for punishment. Or pleasure. I haven’t decided yet.

My hands reach for her hips and I push her back against the wall, her body not resisting me in the sl
ightest. With only a minor nudge of my nose, her head lulls back, allowing me full access to her throat. My tongue finds the end of her tear trail and I lick it, all the way back up her cheek. Her skin is soft and so supple – not at all like my rough, stubbly face. Her scent invades my senses, intoxicating me even more. My hands care for her hips no more. They need to feel it all.

With as much restraint as I can muster, I allow them to feel the planes of her body as they make their way to her chin. A tiny sob catches in the back of her throat, but I don’t stop. I know. I know she doesn’t want me to halt in my caress
, despite her emotional torment with what’s happening between us.

My mouth covers hers, hot and demanding that she give me exactly what I want. It’s not a kiss. It’s a passionate entwining of tongues that insinuates other sexual acts I’d like to do to this woman. Her sob turns to a groan and it sparks my dick to life between my legs. I thrust up against her, wanting her to feel exactly what she does to me.

She’s no longer a passive soul in this interaction. Her hands pull tightly against my back, wanting me as close as I’ll allow. While I continue to assault her with urgent kisses on her lips and neck, my hands grab her ass and lift her off the floor. Her legs instinctively wrap around my waist, grappling for purchase as she thrusts her pelvis against my own. The pressure on my dick is amazing, it feels so good to be rubbed—stroked. For the first time since my incarceration I feel alive. I feel human, and what it means to be wanted.

I dare not think how far she’ll let me take this. I’m just lost in the moment, second by second. With each kiss, each stroke, I become bold. Maybe too bold for her.

With my hips firmly pressing her against the wall, I release my hands from her backside so I can fumble with the belt buckle of her utility belt. It releases easily and thumps heavily to the ground. Perhaps this is my first mistake. Not that I’m taking things to the next level, but I have induced thoughts of removing her security blanket. Her weapons; her cuffs; they’re all gone, so that she is left vulnerable. The absence of her heavy belt seems to shake her from her senses at the same moment my hands find her ass again.

I know she’s now distracted, thoughts invading her headspace. Her words confirm this seconds later.

‘Stop! Stop, stop, stop.’ She’s breathing heavily, our heavy petting session taking all the air from her lungs. But she’s firm, though. She means it. I release her instantly, no desire to cross boundaries
she
needs to set.

With great care, I slowly place her back on her feet. My erect
ion throbs painfully in my underpants, but I dutifully ignore it. Instead, I concentrate on clearing my head of the fog that has taken over. While Mercy’s body trembles before me, I reach down and retrieve her utility belt—her security blanket that provides barriers and boundaries between us.

Even though she’s shaking like a leaf, she allows me to place it around her delicate hips, securing it in front with the huge buckle that keeps it firmly in place.

She’s concentrating on the floor very intently while I appraise her. I refuse to distance myself too far from her, though. I still need to feel the warmth of her body that was mine to possess just moments ago despite the need for me to resume my correct place as her prisoner. It’s what she wants, I know. I just don’t want to give it to her.

I lift her chin with my finger, and she reluctantly looks into my eyes.

‘Only with your permission, okay?’

She looks at me quizzically, not understanding. I take my thumb and rub it across her lips.

‘Whether the go ahead comes from these lips of yours, or your body signals, I don’t care. Your eyes tell me exactly what you want and just as much as your mouth ever could. You say yes, I’m not going to stop, do you hear me?’

She nods, conceding.

‘So, what now?’ I say, still flush with desire for the complicated woman before me.