The Warden by M C Cerny

Author:M C Cerny [Cerny, M C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 197909554X
Published: 2017-11-19T16:00:00+00:00

Seven

Nene

“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

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