“I can fix it for you.”
What?!!?? “No, no thank you.”
“I’ll be quick.” His voice—God—the way the words fell so seductively off his sinful lips.
Stopping at the foot of my bed, I finally took a moment to really look at him. He was comfortable?—and not at all affected by my confession. His blue eyes were hazy and full of want; add in the way he was sprawled out, legs a foot apart, and his hoodie barely covering the V-crease of his hip and you had the perfect combination for swoon worthy eye candy.
I pointed at his eyes. “Stop looking at me.”
“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that.”
“Baby? Don’t—what?” I fisted my hands through my hair. “What is going on right now—are you trying to seduce me?”
He cracked a smile. “That depends: do you want to be seduced?”
Do you? Did I?
“You’re not attracted to me though. Remember?” I was frantic.
His eyes drifted shut and I can’t explain it, the sense of overwhelming dread that entered my soul when he finally opened his eyes again and looked at me. “I lied.”
My lips parted. This was a first. “You’re attracted to me?”
“Mmmm.”
I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “So, what?—you’re imagining my face while getting off to Nurse Kline?” Whatever comfort he had felt evaporated instantly. The bed, which he’d gotten cozy on, suddenly became a pit of lava and he jumped up so fast. “Yeah, did you honestly think I would forget about her? That I would just spread my legs for you?”
I could see the war raging in his eyes as he grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. “That’s over.”
I scoffed.
“It is!” He growled.
I smacked his hand away, “Don’t you shout at me!”
He fisted his hands through his hair, gripping the black ends so tightly. “We can discuss this later—right now I want to give you an orgasm.”
“Ah!”
He truly was shameless.
“There’s a janitor’s closet down the hallway, right across from the men’s room.” Laces said. “Meet me there in ten minutes and I’ll rectify your situation.”
“No.”
Laces’ jaw clenched. “I wasn’t asking for your permission.”
“Good, because you’re not going to get it!” I snapped. Spinning on one heel, I marched to my bed and crawled under the sheets. This night needed to end, quickly, before I died from humiliation. “Please just go!”
Yeah, and take that sexy milk-can-do-a- body-good torso with you!
The pain, though constantly uncomfortable in his presence, was bearable. I wasn’t desperate enough to shack up in the dirty old janitor’s room. Not yet. Hearing his footsteps retreating to the hallway, I breathed out a sigh of relief and squeezed my eyes shut, willing sleep to take over.
Fifteen
Laces
Denied?
My poor cock. He didn’t ask for much: a clean pair of drawers, a shower, a hand to keep him warm—and to be fed. Basic needs, people. And now, Gambrielle Evans had taken away one of the essentials for survival, dinner.
Out of respect for my cock—as well as my own sanity—I ignored Gambrielle in the days that followed. I needed time to strategize and regroup, and also to mourn the orgasm that never was. Men outside of Hawthorne would’ve thrown back a few shots, screwed a slut or two in a bar, and maybe took a picture of their erect cock and sent it to the enemy to give them a taste of what they were missing.
But not here.
In a psych ward the game was more complex. All attacks had to be covert and carefully executed for maximum damage.
“I could’ve gotten myself off, but what’s the fun in that?” I blasted days later in one-on-one therapy. “She knew what she was doing, leading my cock into the black abyss!” I slammed my fist on his desk, shaking his cup of pens and paper clips. “How is he supposed to ever trust her again?”
“You mean you.” Dr. Young corrected.
I grabbed a handful of my cock and gave it a healthy shake, “No, him! He is his own entity! I bring my hair gel and condoms—and that’s it! He’s the one making serious plays!” Couldn’t he see the position I was now in? The turmoil my body was facing at the hands of the simpering southern belle, fuck, it would take months, if not years, to recoup the dignity my cock had lost! Pushing my hair away from my face, I glared at Dr. Young as he tried to make sense of it all. “And do you know what else pisses me off, Doc?”
Dr. Young peeked up from his jotting notes down on his ever present legal pad. “You didn’t get a blowjob?”
I threw my head back and laughed, the inky strands of my hair falling into my eyes as I pointed at him. “That’s a good one, but no.” I straightened and slowly leaned forward, meeting Dr. Young at the center of his desk. “I would’ve eaten that pussy all night long, no questions asked.”
“I don’t follow. Most men enjoy—”
“—I don’t eat pussy!!!!” I shouted.
Silence filled the small confinements of his room.
Pussy was like food, and I was a picky eater.
Always had been.
But with Gambrielle I didn’t have to mull over the menu and check the ingredients to decide if she was worth my time. No. I already knew she would be. She had an aroma about her, a sweet scent that obstructed everything in its path long after she had gone, making it impossible to select anything else.
Dr. Young rocked back and forth in his seat. I could see it in his eyes, his mind reeling from my confession as he tried to decide whether or not to up my medication, or blame it on a hormonal imbalance. “Would you hurt this girl to get her—FRUIT?”
“Maybe.” Hey, at least I was honest!
More silence, then a “What does that mean?!!!”erupted from the good doctor.
“It means I need that pussy, dumbass!”
Dr. Young squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath before whispering, “Please promise me you will behave appropriately on this week’s outing to Baylor.”
Every two weeks the ward allowed us to go shopping in one of the neighboring counties. This week the mall in Baylor had offered to host us for four hours. It was supposed to be a constructive exercise, one to help ease us back into polite society. But truth be told there were more tears than dollars actually spent.
“I can only speak for myself—not my cock.” I snickered. “He’s cooking up some big plans down there.”
Dr. Young shook his head. “Then maybe you should sit this one out.” He tried to be nice about it, patting my hand and all that bullshit.
“I can’t do that.”
Dr. Young ran his hands down his face, clawing at his pores, and groaned. “Oh why not?!” He demanded.
“Because this is the first time in a year that I’ve been eligible for a weekend pass and I’d… like to get out for a while.” I kept my voice even as his eyes widened to the size of lemons. He didn’t know what to think about this, or the pussy drought—hell, any of it, really. I’d thrown so much at him in the last hour that I was surprised he didn’t pull his wig off.