Throne of Truth

We kissed until we were breathless. Until his voice returned and he mumbled incoherent thanks. Nuzzling my hair, he whispered, “Christ, Elle. Did you arrange this? Arrange a night to be together? How?”

Kissing my cheek, my chin, my jaw in his race to capture my lips, his groan unraveled the rest of my decorum. I’d come here to seduce him. I’d expected a moment or two of uncertainty before we attacked each other.

I hadn’t expected him to turn rogue on me.

His lips found mine again.

He came utterly undone. His groan turned to a grunt, switching to a growl. He hummed, he purred, he sighed in utmost need.

His hips rocked forward, robbing me of breath as he pressed into me as hard as he could. His body tried to either consume mine or become one; regardless, we were still fully clothed.

I gasped, giving him access to my mouth as his hands formed tight cuffs around my wrists, his tongue diving deep, licking mine with impatience to join him in the frenzy.

He kissed and thrust as if he had twelve seconds to climb inside me not twelve hours.

There was no reprimand for touching. No bullhorns to separate. No knocks to keep our distance.

Just Penn and me.

Together.

Alone.

It didn’t matter we were guests of the state or the bed wasn’t our own.

All that mattered was our body heat as it exploded into sinful, the sweat slicking our skin in anticipation of joining, and the clenching in our bellies at just how good it would be to finally devour one another after so, so long.

Capturing both my wrists with one hand, he dropped his other to my neck. His fingers wrapped around my throat as he angled my head, taking me past the realms of sanity and into chaos with his kiss.

It hurt. It broke. It freed. It destroyed.

Teeth and tongue and wet and heat.

Our heads tilted and fought. Our breathing ragged and short. My lips burned from his as if we’d burst into flames.

His hand dropped from my throat, reacquainting itself with my breast. He pulled my nipple, rolled my weight, and squeezed the flesh until I cried out for more.

His touch moved again, this time dropping down my side to jerk my leg over his hip and angle my core, so his pants-clad erection pressed as perfect as ever, driving me crazy.

I’d deliberately worn a floaty daisy print skirt. Something he could gather and hoist up—which he did.

I’d purposely gone without underwear. So he could reach between my legs and find—which he did.

His mouth tore away from mine as his fingers found the slick heat that’d burned in me for months. Nothing could damper my need for him. No personal late-night ministrations. No celibacy. No tricks. Only he could help me because he was the one who ruined me.

“Fucking hell...” Pulling his fingers away, he brought them to his lips and licked. His eyes rolled back, his knees buckled. He stumbled away to slam onto the bed. “Christ, I missed you.”

I expected him to command me to join him. To reach out and tug my wrist to strip me of everything and command me to my hands and knees. I didn’t care what position he wanted. I just wanted.

But he leaned forward with his hands clutching his head, the slickness of my desire still coating his fingers. “As much as I want you. Shit, I can’t—”

Ice water replaced the fire inside. I brushed my skirt down, wishing I had scaffolding for my knees to hold up the wreck he’d made of them. “Wh—what?”

He shook his head, bending over his legs. “I can’t. We’re in fucking prison. You came here for me. You’re ruining your life for me just so I can get laid.”

“Hey!” My temper burst. “You have it all wrong.” Moving to stand in front of him, I snapped, “I’m here because I want to be here. I want you to do this.” I stroked his hair, running my fingers through the overgrown strands. “I need you to do this.”

He looked up, swatting my hand away with rage. “I’m not going to fuck you in jail, Elle.” His eyes turned tortured as they skimmed over the beads of my nipples visible in the tight singlet I wore. “Even though I’m dying to be inside you.”

I stepped back, searching his face.

In all my planning and hounding for this night to happen, I never envisioned him refusing me.

God, it hurt.

My chest squeezed as if my ribs had become an overzealous corset. My heart slunk away, reprehended with its tail between its legs. My breath caught when he looked up, glowering with unflinching morality. “You should go, Elle.”

“Go?”

He nodded. “I can’t do this with you.”

I hated he was firm with commitment and convicted with certainty. The decision to deny what we desperately needed from each other all because of some stupid ideal.

He’d made that decision without me. He’d reached that conclusion without discussing it.

As we stared, I fought for calmness. An assurance that he couldn’t just kick me out. That we had twelve hours. I’d paid ten dollars for this room. I’d signed the forms that promised no cameras would record our time, no recording devices, or guard supervision.

We were on prison property, but this room was neutral ground.

I crossed my arms. “Nope.”

“Nope?”

“Just nope.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I’m not going to let you ruin this.”

Anger etched his face. “Let me ruin this?” He pointed at me. “You’re the one ruining it.”

I threw my hands up. “How exactly am I ruining this? We have an entire night together. We should be tangled almost at an orgasm by now, but you’re the one who pulled away and complicated things.”