Chapter Six #2
“You want me to take the cuffs off, sir?” Hancock asks, startling me when his voice breaks through the silence. I forgot he was there for a second.
“That’ll be all, Officer,” The Ivory sings, deliberately ignoring the question while making a condescending shoo motion with his hand.
I peer over my shoulder at Hancock while he scowls and storms off, closing the door behind him.
Shit… He’s gone.
My face slowly tilts back in the Warden’s direction, and I gulp.
Why am I here?
What does he want??
Questions litter my brain while I stand still and wait for him to say or do something. It feels like an hour before he finally sighs and closes the laptop, folding his hands on top of it.
Then he locks his black eyes on mine, and his mouth quirks. “How are you, Byron?”
I swallow another lump, mouth dry as a bone. “Um… fine.”
His eyes narrow into slits, a threatening look if I’ve ever seen one. I shift awkwardly.
“Thank you for asking. H-how are you…?”
He makes a small noise, not quite a chuckle. More of a puff of air accompanied by a smirk. He cocks his head. “I have to say, I’d be a lot better if you hadn’t stashed a cellphone in the basement rec room…”
Well, fuck me. That’s it.
I’m completely screwed.
Allowing myself a moment to sift through various responses, I watch him cautiously as he blinks up at me from his fancy-looking desk chair. “I don’t—”
“Come here, please,” he cuts me off with a stern command. I don’t want to. And my feet know that, refusing to take a step. But he hisses, “That wasn’t a request, inmate.”
The look on his face is causing a stiffness to take over my body, nerves bunching up, keeping me tense. But I have no choice but to obey him. I mean, what’s the alternative?
He’s in charge. There’s no free will here.
I’m at the mercy of Manuel Blanco.
Stepping over to his desk, I stop right in front of it, by the two chairs he has on this side.
But he’s not satisfied. I can tell just from the way he’s glaring at me wordlessly.
So I keep walking, taking tentative steps, while still moving briskly enough that he doesn’t yell at me for taking too long.
Now, I’m on his side of the desk, standing before him while he sits. He swivels his chair, peering up at me, displaying a more contented expression.
“There you go,” he chirps, slapping his hands down on his knees. I flinch. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“What am I doing here?” I blurt out the question, a bit more hostile than I meant to sound.
But the wondering is stressing me out. I don’t like feeling vulnerable like this. I hate it, in fact.
Obviously, he likes it. It’s why he does stuff like this… Plays this cat-and-mouse game. Toying with you before he sinks his teeth in.
I’d rather he just snap my neck and get it over with.
Naturally, he stays quiet for way too long before finally responding, “I wanted to check in with you. About the cellphone.” He sits back in his chair. “Who were you planning to contact?”
He asks the question as if he already knows, and it turns my stomach. Because I’m sure he does.
“No one,” I mutter. “I wanted to play Candy Crush .”
This time, he actually laughs. Even so, it’s a low, growly, I can’t believe your audacity sort of sound.
“Byron, you seem to forget that I’ve always given you the benefit of the doubt.” He lifts a light eyebrow, and I gulp. “Never once have I interfered in your affairs, or held you accountable, despite your often questionable choices…”
“Like what?” I seethe defensively. It just comes out, like the quip of a petulant child.
But he gives me an obvious look that has me shrinking into myself. “I can only hope you know what you’re doing.” He sighs. “I’d hate to see such potential squandered on some pretty blue eyes and a brilliantly deceptive mouth.”
Now my jaw is clenched so tightly, my teeth are aching. “I have no idea what you’re talking about…”
The Ivory shakes his head admonishingly, giving me that tsk-tsk bullshit. Heated shame is rushing up my neck, and it’s pissing me the fuck off. “I know it feels good in the moment, but he’ll never be your Michelangelo…”
In an instant, I’m set ablaze. His words, the match on my puddle of kerosene.
Launching at him, I lean in close, hovering over him while my chest heaves with rage. If my hands weren’t cuffed behind my back, I’d be grabbing him by the throat. Undoubtedly a terrible idea, but I can’t help it. I’m fast-fuming.
“You don’t get to say that name to me,” I snarl. “I’m done playing games. I’d rather you just slit my throat and be done with it.”
The Ivory is entirely unaffected by my threatening stance. Of course. If anything, it’s just entertaining him more. Straightening, he inches his face up to mine, holding me still with those black irises.
“My sweet Byron,” he whispers over my mouth. “Where’s the fun in that?”
In a snap, he grabs me by the shoulders and shoves me to my knees. I crash onto the floor with a wince, but I don’t have time to register the pain because his hand is around my throat.
“I cannot believe how ungrateful you’re being,” he hisses, long fingers digging into me.
“Do you know that I believed you from day one, Byron? I saw the truth in you when no one else did, and this is the thanks I get?!” His tone is taking on a maniacal volume as his grip tightens, cutting off my air supply.
“You should be bowing at my feet, you little shit. We’re done playing when I say we’re done fucking playing . ”
Having him in my face, saying these words, is infinitely more terrifying than him choking me. He’s not loud by any means, and yet he’s roaring at me like a malicious beast. I know he could tear me to shreds with his bare hands, and he’d probably love to do it.
But Manuel Blanco’s weapon of choice has been, and always will be, his ability to get inside your head…
And turn it into his personal playground.
The fear, the way my pulse is rapping frantically beneath his palm, the deranged twinkle in his obsidian eyes… On my knees while evil bares its teeth right in front of my face. It sends an unexpected lightning bolt through my insides.
I don’t understand it, not one single fucking bit. But my skin is balmy, and my lips are quivering.
“I’m… s-sorry,” I croak, blinking a hazy gaze up at him.
His grip loosens slightly, as if I’ve uttered the magic words. And he growls, “Say it again.”
“I’m so sorry,” I breathe. He loosens more. “Sir…”
A hum rumbles from within his throat, dark eyes falling to my mouth.
I feel like I’ve been strung up by my feet. My blood is rushing, fire burning me from the inside out, flushing my entire body until I’m sweating.
I can’t believe this is happening to me again…
“Why do you insist on testing my patience, inmate?” He finally releases my throat, sliding his fingers to cup my jaw. “You know how much worse I can make things for you…”
I don’t really know what he’s talking about. It barely even seems like he’s talking to me…
And yet, I nod. Rippling with fear, but also some bizarre heat. “I know.”
“Is it because you… like it?” Fingertips brush over my bottom lip.
I can’t move, let alone speak. There’s no way I can admit this out loud… Because it’s fucking crazy.
The Ivory moves back a bit, reclining in his chair as he gazes down at me curiously, still touching my mouth. “You don’t have to say it, I suppose…” He sighs. “But you will stay down there until some part of you gives me what I want.”
Blinking up at him, I’m buzzing from head to toe. Shivering and shaking, my head is spinning off of my body with a whirlwind of memories… A collection of secrets at the forefront of my consciousness.
And this time, when his fingers trace the seam of my lips, they part. And I let him stuff them inside.
Fuck…
My mind sighs as my body unfurls. Like it’s finally being fed after far too long wasting away in captivity.
In an instant, I’m lost. Wandering through the darkest mist of my deepest, most confusing desires. I suck on his fingers, desperately , my cock already rock hard and visible. But I don’t care.
Whatever. I’m done fighting.
This is always how it happens… It keeps bubbling, rising to the surface until it inevitably boils over, and I just… overflow.
“Mmm… I knew you wanted it, pajarito ,” he croons, thrusting his fingers in and out of my mouth, rhythmically slow. I have no clue what that word means, but my mouth is sloppy wet, and I’m fucking crumbling . “There’s no point in running. I’ll always catch you.”
H-huh…?
“Mm-mm,” I object, shaking my head. Though it’s obvious bullshit because my dick is straining against the flimsy material of my jumpsuit pants and I’m sucking hungrily on his fingers like a needy slut.
He rumbles, one of those chuckle sounds, tugging them out carefully. I whimper, and he faux pouts. “You might be my favorite of all the damaged souls in this place, you know that?”
“Why?” I whisper, dazed and burning with shame. “Because I’m easy prey…?”
“Oh, far from it, my angry boy.” He soothes me with a soft touch, threading fingers through my hair. Then he yanks it, hard, and I mewl from the delicious pain. “Your brokenness is your best quality.”
The rationality in my brain knows that none of this falsified praise is real. He’s using me, toying with me for his own sick amusement. I’m not stupid.
But the cold hard truth is that ever since the moment that got me locked up here—the night I gave in to my truth and lost my life for it—I’ve been begging for a reason to feel again. Searching for my next secret.
Anything to get me as high as he did.
The Ivory tugs me closer by my hair, while his other hand works on his belt. “Show me your sorrow , shadow creature.”
I barely even recognize where I am, or what I’m doing anymore. All I know is that my mouth is filling with saliva as he pulls out a very, very long dick…
And shoves it between my waiting lips.