12
Amara
W hen I got his letter, I had just arrived at work. I bit my lip at his words, my thighs clenching under my pencil skirt. I hurriedly called the prison, requesting a legal visit, and they gave me a spot this week. Not every prison allowed visits when the inmates were in the hole, but they couldn’t refuse legal visits. Inmates were still humans, and they had rights.
I grabbed my pen and began writing a response, ignoring the papers on my desk.
Enzo,
I’ll see you soon. I’m still sore from last time, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Not even my vibrator can make me come that hard, and nothing comes close to your mouth on me. Please…do it again.
-Amara
Feeling naughty, I took my perfume bottle out of my purse and sprayed the letter before slipping it into the envelope, licking the seal, and pressing it shut. I’d mail it on the walk back home, giddy for a fucking criminal.
What the fuck was wrong with me? But I didn’t care. I’d had so little joy in my life that I decided to embrace what I got. He was the last tether I had tied to my past, a happy time before I married Mark. It was the closest I would get to getting that time back, and I didn’t want to let it go.
Enzo’s arraignment for his escape would be soon, and I had to be there. So I focused as hard as I could on work, preparing everything for the court date. I knew they wouldn’t give him bail, so I knew not to ask for that.
We had a legal visit before the court date, too.
The court date was in two days, and our visit was tomorrow.
So I worked as fast as possible until I heard another knock at my door.
Once again, it was my boss.
“You’re going to bankrupt me if you keep working this much overtime,” she teased. “Go home now, Mrs. Branson.”
I nodded as I gathered my things.
“Gotta ask you something, though,” she began. “You get some of your mail under the last name Branson, but your diploma says Roberts. Care to explain?”
“I’m married, and his last name is Branson,” I replied, stepping out of my office and closing the door behind me. “But I’m going through a divorce anyway, so I’ll be Ms. Roberts again soon enough.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry to hear about the divorce,” Marta replied.
“Don’t be; he was a cheating, abusive bastard,” I admitted. It felt good to say it out loud after years of hiding it.
“Well, in that case, congratulations,” she smiled. “Let me know if you want our divorce lawyer on the case for you; make it happen faster.”
“Is he a shark?” I wondered.
“I only hire sharks,” she winked, ushering me out of the building.
“I’ll grab his card before I go to my law visit tomorrow,” I agreed.
Then I started the walk home, dropping my letter in the mail on the way there.
I went home, locking the door behind me. It was almost sad that Enzo hadn’t followed me home this time. But if his letter was any indication, he was firmly behind bars again. I wondered if he would break out again as I fixed myself a quick dinner and began my nightly routine.
My phone rang, and I reached for it, wondering if it would be Enzo.
“Hi,” my social worker chirped. “I need to schedule our next appointment. How’s next week?”
“I’m working pretty long hours. It’ll be hard to reach me,” I admitted. “It would have to be during lunch hour or something.”
I hurriedly scrawled in my agenda, noting that we’d meet each other at noon next week. It wasn’t ideal for either of us, but lawyers could easily work sixty-hour work weeks, and I had no other guaranteed free time during her office hours.
I snapped the agenda shut as I turned to my window, looking at the flickering street lights and the rain. It pitter-pattered outside, picking up speed and intensity, like my heart.
Tomorrow, I’d see Enzo again.
A hot pang of longing curled in my belly, and I took a deep breath as I closed my eyes, leaning forward against the cool marble counter. I bit my lip as I imagined Enzo here with me, pushing up my skirt and having his way with me, pressing my face against the cold counter.
I dragged my fingers along the surface, my body coming alive with thoughts of him. My feet brought me up the stairs to my bedroom of their own accord, my blood buzzing with anticipation.
Pulled along by something intense and beyond common sense, the closet door slid open, and the black knit dress hanging in the back caught my eye. It was modest enough for the prison guards to let me in without issue, but it was tight enough for Enzo to take notice. I wondered if his eyes would darken, knowing I picked something out just for him.
I dragged my fingers along the fabric, soft to the touch, wondering where Enzo would grip the dress. Would he tear it off me, lift the hem gently, or feel it to ground him, reassure him that I was, in fact, there; solid, real, and not only a dream behind those four concrete walls.
I swallowed hard, heat like a live wire zinging beneath my skin. Would he lay me on the table, mouth bruising and possessive? Or would he push me against the wall, hand tangling in my hair, telling me all the naughty things he wanted to do to me?
I trembled, stepping away, restless at the thoughts he elicited in my mind. My fingers shook as I peeled my clothes off my body and went for a shower.
The scalding water beat against my skin, but it did nothing to temper the burning deep inside me. Nothing would, not until I saw him.
When I slid beneath the covers, my dress hung on the door, waiting, just like me.
.
~*~
My heels clicked against the concrete floor, my heart hammering as the guard walked ahead. He opened a tall door marked Legal Visitation Room and ushered me inside. I sat in one of the chairs as the guard slinked away, closing the door behind him as he went to get my client.
I opened my briefcase, my hands shaking as I laid papers on the table. Enzo was getting arraigned tomorrow, and I needed to inform him of the basics and what to do. I pulled out all the necessary forms and a few pens, leaned back in my chair, and waited.
And waited.
Every time I heard steps echoing down the hall, I straightened, hoping it was him. But so many people walked up and down the hall; it was unlikely that it would be him every time. It was visiting hours, after all, and so many inmates got visitation today.
I stood only when I heard the doorknob twist and the door creak.
I kept my features neutral as the guard swung the door open, letting in my client. He was in shackles, and his eyes darkened just like I imagined, his mouth tightening as his gaze raked over my tight dress, my curves on full display.
The guard unshackled him, told him to behave, and closed the door. Smirking, Enzo turned the lock, and it gave an audible click!
“Don’t you look delicious,” he purred, sitting in the seat across from mine.
A small smile escaped before I could hold it back, and I pushed some forms before him, handing him a pen. “I need you to read these papers and sign them. This is a new case, so you must agree to hire me as your lawyer if that’s what you wish. Then we need to go over what to expect tomorrow.”
Enzo’s eyes fell to the forms before flicking back to me, his jaw ticking. He took the pen and signed the papers before it clattered back on the table.
“This isn’t my first arraignment,” he informed, his eyes hard and cold. “I know what to expect.”
“The prosecution hasn’t offered a plea deal, and I don’t think they will,” I admitted. “You shouldn’t take this to trial because you’ll lose. You can plead—”
“Guilty,” he murmured.
I looked up from the forms as I gathered them, straightening them before putting them in my briefcase. “Pardon?”
“Guilty,” he repeated, standing from his seat and leaning over it as his hands rested on the table. “You know I am. Is that what you want me to plead?”
“It’s up to you, Mr. Ricci,” I breathed.
“Oh, so it’s Mr. Ricci now?” he snapped, slamming his fist on the table and making me jump. “What the fuck happened?”
“What?” I mumbled, scooting the chair away from the table as a surge of coldness seized my chest.
Enzo lunged for me, gripping my throat as he hauled me to my feet and slammed me against the wall. I squeaked, and he loomed over me, his eyes dark and dangerous, flashing with fury.
“Are you afraid of me, Mrs. Branson? ” he growled, his eyes darting between mine.
“Yes,” I admitted, squirming in his grip.
“Do you think I’m like your husband? Do you think I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp and kill you right here?” he demanded.
I hesitated, and his eyes flashed with anger. I winced at his reaction but forced myself to review the facts.
I’d seen his entire rap sheet, and nothing in there even hinted at violence against women.
“N-no,” I stammered, trembling in his grip. Enzo was dangerous, terrifying, and a killer, but if he wanted to attack me or kill me, he would’ve done it already.
“Do you trust me?” he whispered.
“With what?” I exhaled.
“You.” It was a statement, not a question.
I didn’t answer; I couldn’t. I knew Enzo years ago, but now, he was night and day from back then. He was too far down the rabbit hole, unhinged and unstable. His blood was too soiled with blood, and he could never go back to the vulnerable, self-reflecting man who was my pen pal as an intern.
Now, he was unpredictable, violent, and a cold-blooded murderer. How could I trust him? How could anyone?
Sure, my body came alive under his touch. But maybe that was a mistake. Was a few nights of mind-blowing orgasms worth risking my livelihood, my career, my life ?
Enzo nodded as if he could read my thoughts, like my lack of a reply was an answer in itself. He yanked my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my neck to him as he lifted his chin, looking down at me with those blue eyes swirling with menace.
“If only your husband hadn’t come between us,” he tsked, dragging his fingernails down a vein at my neck. “I might’ve made parole, gotten out, and found you before the fucker had a chance to lay his filthy hands on you. Maybe I could’ve been the man you wanted.”
I whimpered as his teeth latched on my ear, nibbling it, making me shiver.
“But I’m more than that now,” he growled. “I’m not the man you want. I’m the man you need . Because you’re mine , Amara, and no one hurts what belongs to me .”
Enzo licked down my neck, latching on the skin below my ear, sucking, holding me still as all I could do was whimper as he marked me. I could feel the swell of my skin as he moved to the other side, biting into my flesh, making hickeys on my neck, and showing everyone that I was taken.
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Amara?” he breathed, his hands sliding down my body, groping my breasts through my dress, sliding down my belly, my pussy, and to the hem. “You’ve always been a good girl your whole life. I know your type, baby. Straight A’s, pretty clothes, living your life by the rules.”
I gulped as he fisted the hem of my dress.
“But you’ve always been drawn to danger, haven’t you? You chose the stable white-collar boy because society told you to do that. But deep down, you long to have a bad boy ruin you, break you, and make you beg for it, don’t you, baby?”
My breath stuttered, catching in my throat as I froze, paralyzed under a veritable predator, intoxicating and primal. Something electric passed between us, a chemistry, a connection that I couldn’t deny.
Enzo stepped away, leaving me breathless as he raked his eyes over me. “Look at you, my little pen pal, speechless.”
Then, out of the waist of his pants, he pulled out a gun.
I gasped. “H-How the hell did you get that?”
“Please,” he smirked. “You think I don’t have connections? I practically own this fucking prison.”
He spun the cylinder, the sound filling the silence like a warning.
Click. Click.
I stood before him, his weight pinning me to the wall, trapping me. Enzo ripped my top down to my waist. The muzzle of the revolver traced slow, lazy circles over my collarbone, then lowered, teasing the swell of my breast.
"One bullet," he murmured, pressing the gun against my ribs. "Six chambers."
My breath hitched.
"Do you think you're lucky?" His smirk was cruel as he dragged the barrel lower. He lifted the hem of my dress to my hips, and my knees buckled as he slipped the gun up my skirt between my thighs.
I clenched my legs, snapping them shut.
He laughed. "Oh no, baby, you don't get to hide from me."
His hand forced me open. The cold steel pressed against my most sensitive flesh. "Tell me," he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. "Are you afraid?"
I swallowed hard, knowing whatever answer I gave would change nothing for an unhinged murderer like him .
"Yes," I admitted, my voice breathy and shaky.
His chuckle was dark, filled with something twisted and starving, deprived of a woman’s touch for decades. "Good," he whispered, cocking the hammer. "Now beg."
My eyes widened. “What—”
“Don’t make me say it twice,” he challenged, slipping the gun through my wetness. Why was I wet?
“Please,” I pleaded, my lower lip trembling as tears sprang to my eyes. “Please. Please don’t hurt me.”
He chuckled, lifting the barrel, using it to trace slow, lazy circles around my clit. My hips jerked, and he grinned.
“Oh, but your body wants it,” he whispered, increasing the pressure slightly and making me moan. “You’re begging for my gun, my little lawyer.”
He tilted the gun, pressing it at my entrance before ramming it inside me. I cried out, my hands fisting at the invasion, my vision going hazy at the combination of adrenaline and endorphins.
The cold, hard steel was a shock against my heated walls, and it felt so forbidden, dark, and taboo. It was stiff and hard, and I whimpered as my body came alive, pulsing with need against the very tool I was sure Enzo had used to end lives before.
“You want me,” he murmured, nipping at my jaw, ear, and lips. “Your mind might fight, but your pussy craves me, Mrs. Branson.”
I shuddered in revulsion at the name, but the movements of his gun inside me pulled me back to the present, forcing me to submit to the overwhelming sensations. He angled the gun, pressing it against my G-spot as I yelped, my hands shooting to his shoulders as I dug my fingers into his skin as if trying to ground myself, clutching on for dear life.
His pace was brutal, assaulting, and relentless, and I had no choice but to scream as he covered my mouth, and I came hard, spasming all over the barrel of his weapon.
Growling with victory, he grabbed my hips, hoisting me up on the wall before slamming me against it, wrapping my legs around his waist. He reached between us, pulling my panties to the side as he slid his fingers through my wetness, his eyes never leaving mine.
“No one else makes you wet like this, do they?” he rasped, shifting as he lowered his pants, pulling his cock out of his boxers, his gun clattering to the floor. “And no one ever will because I’m going to ruin you for any other man.”
The tip of his cock pushed against my pussy before he slammed me down, forcing me to take all of him. I sobbed, and he shoved his hand against my mouth as he stretched me to the brim.
He was huge, long, and thick inside me. It stung at first, but with his punishing, claiming thrusts, I grew so wet that all I could feel was pleasure as tears streamed from my eyes.
“What did I tell you about wearing these?” he growled, tearing my panties from me before stuffing them in my mouth.
I whimpered as he shoved into me, his hips shifting, angling until I screamed; the sound muffled my panties as he hit every wall, brushed every nerve, and stoked a fire in my very soul. An inferno like no other clawed at me like a liquid flame, bursting from my clit and spreading all over my body as I exploded. My breath seized as my pussy fluttered on his cock, squeezing him like a vice.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, fucking me into the wall like his life depended on it. “Milk me dry, little angel. Fall for me.”
Enzo quickened his pace, not letting me breathe or recover as the onslaught of sensations assaulted me, and he gripped my throat, looking into my eyes as he cut off my air, and my clit throbbed, twitched, and spasmed so hard against him it fucking danced. I came so hard that I saw stars, reveling in the nirvana as he raked another climax from me. He was bigger and better at everything, and I was addicted, consumed by all that was Enzo.
I felt Enzo pulse inside me as my vision blurred, and he threw his head back in bliss as his rhythm stuttered, shoving himself deeper and harder inside me as he filled me up.
He didn’t stop until I was a writhing, sweaty mess, and only then did he lower my wobbly legs to the floor, his release leaking down my leg.
But he didn’t let that happen for long. He scoops it up, shoving his seed back inside me, making me moan against my panties.
“That stays inside where it belongs,” he snarled. “And you make sure it stays there.”
He brought my panties to his nose and inhaled deeply, pocketing them before he brought the barrel of his gun to his mouth, licking my juices off of it, making my pussy clench at the erotic sight. He pulled his pants up, pocketed his weapon, smirked at me, and walked out the door.