“I shouldn’t want you like this, but I do,” he said as his hands pushed me backward bumping against the desk. The hard corner rested against my ass, none too gently reminding me how strong he was compared to me. I was no match for the warden as he picked me up and dumped me on top. Papers drifted to the floor like a B rated porn movie, slowly swishing through the air, landing spread out on the floor. It was a mess—like my life currently.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” I asked canting my hips closer to his greedy with my own needs.

“Fuck trouble, I’m sure I’ve broken enough regulations and rules for us both.” He said looking as disheveled as I felt.

Nervous energy fueled my ill-timed giggle, earning me a hard look from his chiseled face. He belonged in a museum with his perfection of all hard angles and ropey muscles. His looks distracted me from how I ended up in this predicament in the first place.

“Does trouble have a name?” I didn’t recall what the inmates called him beside the grossly inappropriate things said in the showers and in the bunks at night when the lights have gone low.

“Cohen Sheppard. Just-Cohen.” He panted leaning into me.

Cohen’s large, roughly calloused hands caught my ankles rubbing the small bones gently before pulling my legs wide apart. Standing between my thighs, his hard length pressed so close, the heat from him was palpable through the fine wool of his suit pants and the cotton scrubs. Boxed in by his body I couldn’t get the clothes off. It was as if someone had cranked the thermostat in the room solely between my legs, and I couldn’t escape the scorching heat. I didn’t want to escape it. I was vulnerable to him, shaking with both fear of getting caught and my overwhelming need for him.

“Please.” I pleaded for him to treat me fairly, gentle even. I didn’t know if he had done this with scores of other women in my similar position. I didn’t want to know, because it would cheapen this, making my heart empty. Incarceration made me do things, feel things, desperate for things I didn’t think possible before today. I had judged myself harshly. There was no worse critic than the one in my head damning me right now.

Cohen looked at me. Really looked at me as he brushed my hair back, his hands gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Strangely, I believed him as he held me up supporting me by the back of my neck like a rag doll, limp and compliant in his hold. He got as close to me as he could, my legs splayed embarrassingly wide for anyone to see if they barged inside the office.

“God help me, I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said. I reminded myself this wasn’t me. I wasn’t this girl. What the hell was I doing? I let him continue to manhandle me. It felt good and my head swam bobbing up and down the gulf surf prepared to drown in my desires for something good out of this terrible hand of cards I had been dealt.

When my head surfaced from the cascade of emotions rationality set in. My hand press on his still clothed chest. His heart beating frantically like mine.

“We should stop.” My heart pounded a deafening sound dangerously blocking out the sounds of my surroundings, my focus solely on Cohen.

He didn’t move a muscle.

“Do you want me to?” He pulled away for a fraction of a second, and I pulled him right back, not leaving a paper’s breadth between us. This was fucked up, but I didn’t care.

“No.” I said watching his eyes narrow. I contradicted myself numerous times we must have been suffering from the same whiplash.

His hand tangled in my hair, a thumb brushing back and forth against the shell of my ear, calming me. The stupid orange scrubs glowed bright reminding me why I was here to begin with. Shame filtered through the fragmented thoughts of need and desire.

“Nene, hear me out.” Cohen spoke low.

“What are we doing?” His chest touched mine and my breasts ached, my heart threatening to break free from its cage it was beating so hard.

He chuckled.

“Well, we’re about to make out but I had something else in mind, unless you want to go back and forth about this again.”

I blushed, thinking about limbs tangled in a more copacetic setting, unlike this one.

“I meant—” I was afraid he misunderstood, but he was ahead of me already.

“I know, Nene. I want to have someone I trust look over your case.” He implored looking my face over, his lips hovering closer. I could smell his clean breath and I closed my eyes whining.

“Cohen, I’ve already been convicted.”

Brows raised, he asked the question. “Yeah, but you didn’t do it. Right?” I feared he wouldn’t believe me.

“The judge and the state.” I needed to—no, I wanted to argue with him because it seemed so implausible.

“Did you do it?” He shook me until I looked him in the eyes, mine hazel into his blue, transfixed on a painful truth.

With conviction, I said, “No, I didn’t kill Grant Espina.”

“Then, Nene, it’s not impossible. Don’t give up on this before it’s even begun.” He ordered gaze searing into mine.

“But Warden Shep…” Using his free hand, he put a finger to my lips, and a frown marred his face.

“Call me Cohen. In here and in private, you call me Cohen.”

“Cohen.” His name was soft sounding, an elixir to the roughness around me. I kept my focus on him, wondering how crazy I must be to trust this stranger with my life and his body standing between my legs. I didn’t think I could be this impulsive but prison taught me to grasp what moments of freedom and escape I could from this place either mentally or physically in Cohen’s arms. I convinced myself this was just an escape. An interlude in my sentence. One time.

“Nene.” He reached down between us, and his fingers found their way to the elastic band around my waist. Slipping past the offending scrub like garments, he trailed lower until the pads of his fingers met my slit. I hadn’t felt a jolt like that in all my years, not from the rough pawing of boys I casually dated to my own clumsy ministrations in the dark. Cohen was sure and steady, using that thick digit to circle the bundle of nerves between my wet lips, pinching the pearl. My eyes rolled back, and I fell hard under his spell, needing everything he would give me and more.

“Sweet, innocent, Nene.” He growled so low that my mouth dropped open, my jaw to my chest as he plunged inside pulling me close to him, the barest of space between us, and my head tilting back on my own moan. He felt thick, good, and deep as my walls clutched him. A chuckle escaped my lips knowing this was only his finger and not the main event I was panting for.

“I’m not so innocent.” As multiple kisses peppered my throat, my hands supporting me on the desk shook with the effort it took to maintain my position.

“Not anymore you’re not.” Desire laced through me followed by a flash of guilt. This was wrong, yet I couldn’t stop myself.

“Cohen.”

“What baby?” Fingers pumped deep, spearing me apart. I would be sore later, my body unprepared and wet but not yet there. It had been a good long while since I fooled around with anyone. In the time I’d been here, I never attempted to ease the ache in my bed alone, fearing I would be caught. I didn’t need anymore hazing from the inmates. His finger slipped out, and with it, a rush of dewy juice that coated his digits. Our eyes locked, and I watched him, transfixed, as he sucked on those same fingers tasting me, and keeping them wet. Cohen used the slickness from both of us to coat between my thighs spreading it out and rubbing back and forth pressing in with a second finger stretching me to accommodate him.

“Kiss me, make me forget.” I craved oblivion and if he offered it, I would take it any way I could. I would let Cohen be my ultimate drug, my addiction.

“I’ll do more than make you forget.” His lips seared mine, I tasted tart and musk as his tongue plunged deeper with each shared breath. He pulled me up to reach him, his fingers sinking deep down below. His hand against my neck pulled me in a pumping motion against him. The power of his grip around me was more than I could bear. I flew over the edge, whimpering into his kiss. He sucked at my lips and licked my unexpected tears away. The sensation was too much and yet enough to see me through.

“Nene let me help you.” I came crashing back down to reality when a knock sounded at the door. I pushed back from him, and he let me slip away to adjust my clothes.

“Warden Shepard.” The voice belonged to Garcia on the other side of the door. I gasped. Cohen growled.

“Just a minute,” he shouted, further jarring me back to a place I didn’t want to be. Back to prison.

“Cohen, I mean, Warden Shepard…” I corrected myself feeling self-conscious with the sticky dampness clinging to my thighs fearful it would stain through and everyone would know what happened here this afternoon.

“Nene.” His hands cupped my cheeks, tender and sweet. It was the kindest gesture I’d received from anyone since my parents’ death. I could smell myself on him, the tang cutting into bittersweet memories. I turned my face and kissed his palm, licking the one that had rubbed me to completion a moment earlier. His eyes narrowed, darker if possible, and I pried myself away from his hold.

“Thank you. I’m not sure anyone can help me.” His hands tangled in my hair and he kissed my forehead sweetly not letting me go.

“I will, if you let me.” Our eyes locked and I wanted to believe him.

“About the library?” I wondered why he used that to get me to his office in the first place. Had that even been legitimate?

“Would you like to work there? It’s quiet and away from the rec room where the Tribe hangs out.” Cohen’s hands rest on my shoulders kneading them as if I needed any convincing to get away from those crazy bitches in here.

“Yes. Thank you.” I leaned up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek suddenly feeling shy.

The knock on the door sounded again. It was Garcia. I hated him.

Cohen pulled me in close and kissed my lips letting his tongue push through tasting, taking, claiming.

“I’ll deal with him.” Cohen stepped outside the room leaving me inside. I heard stern voices and Cohen quickly opened the door walking in. Garcia winked at me from the hallway and my stomach felt gutted watching him saunter away.

“What did he want?” I asked.

“He wanted to talk about room shakeups for contraband.” Cohen husked frustrated.

“Should you be telling me that?”

He shrugged. “Probably not. I probably also shouldn’t tell you to tell your cellmate to hide her chocolate. You definitely didn’t hear that from me.”

“Uh huh.” I nodded wondering how the hell Sharee got her chocolate when the answer was staring me right in the face. Funny that he should look like the guilty party for a change.

“Stay away from Garcia.” He warned me and I nodded. As if I needed that warning. I would happily avoid that guy like the plague.

“Was the library really what you wanted to talk to me about?” I confront Cohen who backed me up against the wall again feeling me up over the offending orange cotton.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this either, but the Tribe is connected to some shady shit inside and out of here.”

Of course they were, the Tribe was always being talked about.

“So if I heard something it would be helpful for you to know?” I wondered if that was why he wanted to know so much about my case and how I ended up here. Was it another ploy to use me? Did I really care? As long as Cohen Sheppard was the warden I might be relatively safe as deceiving as that might be.

“Look forget it. I never said anything. I want someone to look your case over anyway. I do not want you messing around with those girls.”

“But.” I hesitate. What if I did hear or see something.

“Forget it Nene, let me call one of the female guards to take you back.”

Just like that our conversation ended and Cohen reverted to being bossy and moody. I waited for a female guard I hadn’t met before to escort me. She was quiet and I was thankful to have my thoughts to myself. If I was lucky I wouldn’t run into anyone, especially anyone from the Red Tribe. I had to remember that, no matter what, I’m in this alone. I got here alone, and I would get through this that way.