Chapter 34
Thirty-Three
Penny
An entire body shiver ran out over my skin when I heard Adrian pause. A sudden pause, his feet skidding on the hard floor, like he realized something. Then he changed direction, and I had to stifle the laughter threatening to burst free from my body. So exciting. He was coming for me.
Took him long enough. Even though he’d been right at my heels the whole time, it was too damn long.
His footsteps thudded up the narrow stairs toward me, reminding me of the old days, when I would wait for him in my cell, not knowing what kind of mood he would be in. What those footsteps might mean for me.
Even now, I couldn’t predict it. The more playful, horny asshole who was down and ready for a good fuck, or the deranged man who wanted to pin me down and ruin me?
To this very moment, I couldn’t predict him.
The man went from causing me the most intense pain and threatening my death, to making me come on his tongue with a few focused strokes.
An enigma, that man. And one moving closer in slow, steady steps while I held my breath.
I had no idea what was going on in that prison now, nor even what had happened to facilitate my escape. No access to the internet, to a television or a phone, and Adrian kept his mouth shut when I asked. He’d planned all of this so well, and he wouldn’t tell me how.
The world could have ended outside of this theater. Maybe the riot had spilled over into the whole town, maybe bitchface Mandy was leading a gang of cannibals or some shit. Or maybe they were back in their cells begging for more food.
It was weird.
Didn’t even know where in the world I was. Just this theater from Adrian’s past.
“Come out, little piggy,” Adrian said as he reached the top of the stairs, the heaviness of his presence heating my blood.
There were only two rows of seats up here, and I’d tucked myself into the front, right in the corner of the balcony where the view of the stage was shit but the shadows were dark.
I wondered what kind of things other spectators got up to in this little corner…
“You’re the pig,” I called to him, voice soft, cursing myself for not being able to keep my mouth shut. Not playing the game well enough.
He laughed, reached the balcony edge and turned to me, his body in silhouette, tall and domineering.
God, he looked stunning, his muscles on display with only those sinful gray sweatpants covering him, the shadows harsh and damned sexy.
He held his baton in his hand, and his expression was tense when his eyes fell on me. I took in a deep breath.
“Nice to see an old friend,” I said, gesturing to the baton as I made no effort to move from my curled-up position.
Adrian lifted it, twirled it around his grasp. “The things I wanted to do to you with this thing…”
“I did them to Randal?”
“Fuck Randal,” Adrian spat. “That prick—”
“You let him rape me, invited him into my cell.” It was a cold reminder for both of us, biting and harsh.
For me, it was a disgusting memory, but one rectified with the CO’s death.
For Adrian, it wasn’t clear, but his expression fell, giving away nothing but that it wasn’t a good thing to revisit for him.
He’d made it clear that his feelings on the matter were complex.
“I told you I didn’t know what I was doing,” he explained. “You made me sick, still do. I wanted…”
“To punish.” I stood up. “To destroy.”
“Yes.” He paused. “Lean over the balcony.”
My eyes narrowed. “But you haven’t caught me yet.” I showed him the space between us, all few feet of air that he hadn’t crossed. When he stepped forward, my eyes darted to the balcony, and my body jolted. We were still playing that game; I just didn’t know if it was one I wanted to win.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Adrian warned, his eyes darting to the edge.
“Don’t I dare what?” I asked. “Don’t die? Don’t try to escape? Don’t take my death from your hands?”
He squeezed his lips together, and I watched the tension he hated zip through him — I lived for it, wanted to see more of it, paint his skin with it. I just knew, however he placed his hands on me, be it in violence or sex, it would be explosive.
Stepping closer to the balcony edge, one hand on the ledge, running my fingers over the dusty banister, I raised an eyebrow. He shook his head.
Then I did it.
The second I moved to jump, Adrian leaped forward and grabbed my hair, driving my face into the banister and making me cry out in surprise.
Right away, blood gushed from my nose, the aching stab of pain making me shout and laugh when metal flooded my mouth. Adrian threw me from the edge, smashing me into a few of the chairs as my body crashed through the ancient structure. The whole balcony shuddered from his force.
“I thought we’d decided I get your death,” he shouted down at me, stalking closer as I tried to rearrange my limbs. “That those last few breaths, that last decision, were mine.”
“Yours,” I breathed, steadying my heart, placing my hand over it to prove it was still beating. He studied every breath; proof I hadn’t taken anything else. Not yet.
“So get up.” He pointed the baton at me like it was a knife or a gun, and for a moment I let him imagine all the things he would do to me if I disobeyed.
Then, on unsteady legs, I rose, too curious to see his plan to not participate.
He gestured the baton to the banister with a tilt of his head and a firm frown, so I obliged, stepping toward it, wary of having my nose smashed in again.
It was broken, crooked now and sharp with pain, like bone scraped cartilage. Throbbing with each pump of my heart.
We were seeing things through, though, so I left it. My nose being wonky was about to be the last of my issues. There was a bubble of excitement making my belly ache as I stepped past Adrian and stopped right at the edge.
“Your death is mine,” Adrian repeated like a mantra. “Remember that, for fuck’s sake. That’s the only way to see this through.”
He came up behind me, his naked chest hot and sweaty as he pressed it to my back, wrapping an arm around me and squeezing my tit through the thin cotton of the shirt I’d stolen. I wanted to be bare for him, to strip down to nothing and press our spent bodies together. But I stayed still.
With his other hand, Adrian used the baton to lift the shirt, running the cool metal along my hips, pressing it to the top of my pussy before dragging it up my stomach, bringing fabric with it, exposing me to the room.
“What’s the plan?” I asked, not even bothering to hide how much he was affecting me. “You’ve seen what I can do with a baton, Adrian. What can you do?”
His teeth sank into my ear, biting until my lobe throbbed, hot and angry.
I gasped, leaned into it, then he forced my head to turn, kissing the blood from my skin as it poured from my still-bleeding nose.
My head rolled back onto his shoulder as he pressed himself into me harder.
Then he shoved his tongue into my mouth, coated in blood and hunger and a possessiveness unmatched.
Whatever this was… it wasn’t going to end well.
I let my hands roam behind me, touching his body, enjoying all those firm ridges and dips that came from years of taking care of yourself.
I was softer, never cared for exercise, and it meant we molded together so well, my softness squashing into his hard in the most perfect way.
He’d hate it, knowing his body caused me no pain, only a cocoon to burrow into.
So I let myself enjoy it all until it was ripped away once again.
As he devoured me, he moved the baton around my hip, then forced it between us so it rested between my ass cheeks, right against my hole. The top of it pushed against my asshole, but not in, just there, a warning, a memory.
“I killed one of the men like this, you know,” I told him, ripping my mouth away from his, taking in deep, messy breaths. “Shoved that baton so far up his ass it almost disappeared.”
“I know,” he replied with another biting kiss. “Brandon Walsh, your first. Age twenty-two at the time of his death, already cautioned for lewd behavior. A recent report of rape against him.”
“One that was dropped,” I finished, darkness shuttering across my vision at the memories. “He looked so smug when I saw him in the bar when he should have been locked up, Adrian. I had no choice.”
“You always have a choice,” Adrian whispered before yanking the baton away, dropping it to the floor and sinking to his knees. There, he pushed my spine forward and spread my ass cheeks.
“What choice do I have here?” I asked as his warm breath fanned over my hole. I curved my back for him, giving more.
“Take it.” He wrapped his mouth over my asshole and sucked, making my legs buck and my head fall forward with a crack.
My vision swam. With his tongue, he filled me with his saliva, spitting and shoving, feeding it into me with grunts and groaned of pleasure, feral and angry and unbidden as he devoured me and my cries echoed around the theater.
We could have been anywhere, anything, but we were only this. Us. A private, disgusting bubble about to pop.
Pleasure zapped through me, the delicious sensations, all rough touch and zaps of lust through my veins as he ate my hole, savored it and turned crazed.
He kissed me there, sucked and licked, drove his tongue in as deep as it would go until I was stretched, until his nose was smashed into my crack and the stubble on his jaw scuffed up my pussy.
Then a finger joined. He wanted this to hurt.
I knew that from the lack of lube, but like before, there was still some prep.
He pressed his finger in as far as it would go and twisted, flooding my body with endorphins.
Sweat beaded across my skin, and I pushed back, wanting more. Wanting the pain and the overwhelm.
“Do it,” I demanded. “I can take it.”