The Possessive Convict

by Celia Crown

  That level of trust does not exist in my world.

  Medical professionals are the exception. They’re often under duress with a gun to the back of their head.

  “Where do I cut?” she asks, picking up the scissors again.

  “Furthest away from the wound,” I say as I guide the edge of the scissors to my skin.

  She grazes the unharmed skin and presses down to get leverage for the first snip. Her breath hitches in relief as she peers up at me with her uncertain gaze.

  “Did that hurt?”

  I chuckle and rub the back of her head, scratching and tugging on the delicate strands. She has gotten used to my touch, and her soft skin craves the roughness of my palms.

  It’s a delectable sensation that causes sweltering lust in my cock.

  “Are you laughing in pain, or are you making fun of me?” she gripes with a frown.

  “Make fun of you?” I recite, affronted as I smile. “I would never. I hardly have enough time to adore you properly.”

  Her cheeks turn pink. It’s a common occurrence to see her flustered by mere words that come from the most real part of me. It comes out naturally and drives me to do more when she reacts so pleasantly.

  “Stop it, you Casanova.” She scowls light-heartedly.

  Her pink lips part in concentration as she takes another stitch between the blades. She’s very delicate, and she’s cautious to not hurt me. I barely feel the cold edges.

  “Is that what you think of me?” I ask curiously.

  I’m not offended that she would perceive me as a man with two women in my arms. The supposition that powerful men must have beautiful women in their beds every night will stay. It’s an old mindset that many prefer to keep alive.

  I’ve never seen women as companions; they’re business products to sell just like men and children. Their organs are more valuable than their lives, and it would be outlandish to sleep with the merchandise.

  Women offer me nothing that my hands can’t do.

  My belief has changed drastically, and it’s Nia’s fault. Her sweet innocence has tipped the balance of my life with a simple smile. She even stole my heart in the style of a cutthroat business move.

  Flawless and ruthless.

  “I assure you; women do not hold my attention.”

  Her fingers shake at the last stitch as her brows furrow. She blinks in disbelief until a pout comes to her lips, then she shrugs.

  “You don’t believe me,” I remark unconcernedly.

  A whisper of selfishness ricochets in my head. I want her to be jealous, to be possessive of me, just like how hungry I am for her.

  She does care for me, or she wouldn’t be putting her future on the line by helping me.

  I want her to care more.

  “Hard to,” she mutters as she scrunches her nose. “You look like a fashion model.”

  The sides of my jaw hurt. I’m smiling too hard as she focuses on caring for the healed wound. This is going well, better than I anticipated. I had doubts since she’s young and lacking in life experience.

  Everything I have done was to warp her sense of morality.

  No sane person would help a felon. I threatened her once when we first met, but the rest was of her own volition.

  What an extraordinary turn of events. Escaping the concrete walls has given me the blessing of meeting Nia.

  “Believe me,” I whisper as I grasp her little hand, squeezing harshly until she squeaks.

  “Trust me,” I utter quietly.

  “Trust…” Nia breathes uneasily as she avoids my eyes. “Yeah, trust.”

  I understand where her hesitation comes from. That pesky virtue of being a good person will vanish soon. She has already allowed fragments of darkness into the choices she made.

  “You’re a criminal,” she argues with a grimace. “How much can I trust you?”

  “You do trust me,” I oppose happily. “More than you realize.”

  “How would you know?” Nia scoffs as she brushes a dainty finger over the raw skin. “I don’t write my thoughts in a journal.”

  “No,” I agree. “You do feel safe enough to sleep in the same room as me.”

  She stumbles on her words. “There was no other place to put you.”

  Her hand points out the length of my body and the width of my bare shoulders. The curious gaze always lingers on the intricate ink, and she likes to trace the designs with her pretty eyes.

  “Did you forget you slept with me?” I mention offhandedly.

  “On,” she objects fervently. “Slept on you. Big difference, bigger than Jupiter.”

  I fist her hair, pulling on the strands and forcing her to look at me. “You slept soundly. That’s trust, Nia. You slept, knowing I would never hurt you.”

  “Do you allow other men to sleep in the same room as you?” I challenge confidently.

  Her miffed voice becomes a whine. She puffs her cheeks and sets her meek eyes to a glare; a glimpse of bravado rules her features.

  “Never,” she says. “I’m not like that.”

  I did not insinuate what type of woman she is. I was only proving my point, and she didn’t disappoint me.

  Nia is someone who caught my attention, and I pride myself on having a keen eye for good things.

  She’s a good girl, a sweet virgin who kept her purity while surrounded by men who see her as fresh meat. Youthful and naïve, she is the lamb amidst the lions.

  “I know,” I whisper, content. “You’re my good girl.”

  She squirms shyly, her cheeks adding another layer of redness. “Stop distracting me. I’m trying to work.”

  I slacken my grip on her hair, letting the strands drop over her shoulders while the straps of her little sundress inch towards the edge when she leans in to examine the wound.

  “Well, there you go. Another scar for your collection.” She moves back and comfortably rests on her knees.

  The unwavering interest in her eyes is too much.

  I tap her temple. “You’re staring.”

  “I’m not,” she lies.

  “I do feel self-conscious, little girl,” I muse spiritedly. “Be considerate of me.”

  Nia scoffs under her breath. “’ Self-conscious,’ he says. Not with that confidence.”

  She’s too endearing. I fear I’ll turn into a despicable animal and claim her sweetness as mine if she bites her plump lip one more time.

  Having her little body between my legs sparks vile thoughts in my head, and my cock twitches angrily at the vividness.

  She will be very beautiful, peaceful, and vulnerable to my advances when I have her where she belongs—under me and taking every thick inch of my fat cock into her tiny virgin pussy.

  She huffs, mortification gathering at the corners of her lips. “It’s just that I’ve never seen anything so pretty.”

  My brow ticks towards my hairline as I follow her captivated gaze at the tattoos across my torso. The intricate strokes had fused with the crude lines of prison tattoos. I did what I needed to do when I was younger, and jail was a daunting concept for a first-time offender.

  I was a scrawny juvenile offender, and the guards weren’t the most upstanding citizens. It was a private jail that banked on sending underage boys away for “rehabilitation.”

  It was false advertising at its finest.

  “That has never been a description of me.” I pet her hair, running my fingers through the tangles and caressing her bare shoulder.

  It’s absurd of her to describe anything about me as pretty. It’s a word reserved for her, she deserves it and has earned it from me.

  The scars are the memories of crushing my enemies beyond recognition with my bare hands. The slow trickle of blood running down my hands will always be mesmerizing; I like to watch the regret in my enemy’s eyes. Regret for crossing me.

  “Go ahead, Nia,” I purr huskily. “You may touch.”

  She stills her flustered stammering as her trembling fingers touch my abs, tracing the black lines
into the defined grooves and stroking the faded scars when she finds one.

  She moves to my arms, every patch of my skin marked by her lively fingers. Her face nearly touches my burning skin as she persists with the journey of exploring my body.

  Her fingertips skim the elastic band of my pants. Nia breathes in deeply, her head bowed in humiliated shame as the tips of her ears tint with crimson.

  “It’s rude to stop.”

  Her panicked eyes fly up. “Rude? I’m not going to—what do you mean ‘rude’?”

  “You are depriving yourself of knowledge,” I say indifferently.

  I hold her red cheek, nudging the softness with my thumb as I grip her tenderly.

  She sputters in defense, “There is nothing educational about touching a man’s body!”

  Snatching her hands back and holding them to her chest protectively, Nia glowers vehemently. Her plan to look intimidating is defeated by her beguiling glare.

  She contests grumpily, “Also, I was checking your wound! You know, the one where you saw your life flash before your eyes?”

  I flick her temple again. She winces and slaps my hand away; I gather the neglected strands of hair back around my fingers.

  “I’d have a film collection with every time I have been bothered by a measly knife wound,” I say.

  Doing business with live merchandise gets complicated; human emotions tend to cloud one’s judgment, and many have attempted vengeance against me.

  It’s entertaining for me to watch the despair on their faces when loved ones are harvested and burned like trash.

  Nia ends up muttering back, “Your intestines would say otherwise.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Nia,” I coo smoothly.

  She breathes shakily as she leverages my knee to get on her feet. “Put on your shirt. People would get the wrong idea if they saw us like this.”

  Nia raises a finger and refutes, “For the record, I’m not taking advantage of you.”

  She wouldn’t have to put too much effort into taking advantage of me when I would be a willing participant. I find that Nia tugs on heartstrings I never knew existed in my cold, selfish heart.

  Her existence is special, remarkable even.

  I have never wanted to protect anything—anyone more than I want to protect Nia.

  Keeping that sweet smile takes precedence over everything, and dare I say, including my business too.

  I wish there is a way to crush these unusual feelings. It is unchartered territory, and frankly, being an escaped convict is not the greatest time to find—

  Find what?

  What is this? I am not a prince taking my princess to ride off into the sunset. There is no such thing as love in my world. There are only venal carnage and bloodcurdling cruelty.

  It’s a world that doesn’t deserve Nia’s breathtaking smile.

  Nia is an acceptable case for love, as one would call this disgustingly rewarding feeling that causes butterflies in my stomach.

  Love at first sight.

  I scoff silently at the notion, such a preposterous concept.

  I can walk out of this pungent flower shop and leave Nia behind without a second thought. It’d be easy to use every step as destructive stomps of these ridiculous emotions.

  Liar, my voice compulsorily hisses.

  Yes, I am a liar.

  I am in love with this little girl.

  Admitting that was easier than I expected.

  “Nia,” I call.

  She hums, unperturbed when my hand reaches for her smaller one. She lets me hold her hand; I’m not pulling or putting pressure that might smother her. Her hand lays in mine, resting naturally as she tilts her head at my quietness.

  What do I do next?

  Where is the guide for finding love in these circumstances?

  I’ll have to improvise and learn while I woo her.

  What the fuck am I thinking? Wooing?

  This is embarrassing.

  “You look like you’re in pain,” Nia voices worriedly. “Did I mess up?”

  She frets hysterically as she closes her fingers around my knuckles. “I’m sorry. I should’ve let you do it.”

  “No,” I manage to croak forcefully. “Not your fault. I’m not in pain.”

  “Are you positive?” she questions with a skeptical huff.

  I don’t reply immediately. I let my thoughts chatter idly and listen to them urge each other with more and more atrocious suggestions.

  “No,” I admit tentatively. “I’m not alright.”

  “What’s wrong?” she fusses. “Should I put a new bandage on?”

  I squeeze her hand to silence her worry. “You can make it better.”

  A trance washes through my mind, calming the roaring of my blood and pinning the bouncing thoughts to the back of my mind.

  Words come naturally as I bring her to my lap. Her desirable little ass nuzzles against my hard muscles. She fidgets to find a comfortable spot as her back straightens tautly.

  “Tell me,” she says enthusiastically. “I want to help.”

  The suppleness of her thigh fills my palm when I clasp my fingers around it. I remember the first time I touched her intimately. I was only trying to warn her when that woman came to order flowers for her wedding.

  She was here longer than I wanted, and I was losing too much blood. I required my Nia’s undivided attention. The second reason to touch her luscious thigh was to remind her of my presence as I indulged in the soft temptation.

  She’s lucky I didn’t sink my teeth into the squishiness. I would’ve broken her skin, and she would have screamed. Then I would have killed that woman for finding out about my existence.

  Nia shudders and clamps her thighs shut, trapping my hand between the heavenly plumpness. I wouldn’t mind having them around my head while I suck on her little clit with my finger toying her leaking hole and petting her puffy folds.

  I am an immoral human, but I’m also a gentleman.

  “Sergei?” she whispers hesitantly.

  Above all, I’m a greedy man. I take what I want, I keep what I have.

  “Kiss me to make it better,” I command with a timed squeeze of her thigh.

  She shivers and draws her shoulders up to her neck, motioning in the direction of my stomach.

  Nia yelps, “There?”

  Silly girl. If I wanted her lips near my hips, I would’ve offered her unobstructed access to my fat cock. I have a lot of cum for her to swallow.

  “Here,” I amend with a nudge to her bottom lip.

  Logic does not apply here. Nia will do whatever I tell her to do. She’s a good girl, she wants to make me happy.

  “Does that work?” she whispers trustingly, and rather senselessly.

  “You won’t know if you don’t try,” I encourage with a small hiss of her name.

  “Okay,” she relents as she leans in shyly.

  The bashful red on her cheeks darkens. I pay no attention to that when she moves closer, her thigh rubbing the bulge of my throbbing cock.

  A faint enticing scent expands my lungs before her lovely lips press to mine. It’s awkward and unskilled, but she makes up for it with her wet tongue slithering out for a moment as she draws back.

  It was the perfect timing of an unintended action, but her sweetness stays wetly on my lips.

  I lick the same spot and taste her on my tongue. An eager throb pulses at the base of my thickened cock. It’s beginning to hurt.

  I pry my hand from her thigh and spread it on her waist, digging my fingertips into her and reeling back a hungry growl.

  “Better?” she asks gracelessly, her voice almost inaudible as she scrapes the side of my neck with her fingers.

  “Better,” I croon with velvety decadence lacing in my tone.

  Tilting my head, I kiss her again and again until she pants unsteadily. She follows my lead without protest, testing her boundaries, and learning what makes her feel better. Nia doesn’t take the lead, and I don’t mind guiding her to
make the kiss last longer.

  We part ways, foreheads pressing together, and our breaths mingle. Her meek gaze turns away as she looks up at my blistering blue eyes.

  I can’t stop my fractured control. I kiss her again, muffling her weak whine and hugging her to my body.

  A sharp pinch of soreness comes from the wound, but it’s effectively ignored as I relish the change between us.

  She breaks away this time, her fingers mindlessly ghosting over my neck and tracing the angle of my jaw.

  No words needed, it’s just us and a shared smile.

  A mutual understanding.

  Chapter Seven

  Nia

  “Howdy,” the same deputy greets me over the chiming bell.

  “Why, hello, deputy,” the mayor’s daughter responds with a sly smile.

  I stand behind the counter, silent, and judging as she flirtatiously bats her eyelashes at him. He gives her a strained smile and tips his head respectfully at the woman.

  I was in the middle of helping her finish the last details of the flower delivery. She has found transportation, so I just need to wait for her wedding day and let the helpers load her flowers.

  She said it was a private wedding, and she doesn’t want strangers near the intimacy of the setting. She wants a pallid aesthetic, and my “flamboyant” sundress would ruin it.

  “No offense,” she had said as if I cared enough to be offended.

  “Congratulations, ma’am. I hope you have a wonderful wedding,” the deputy politely says.

  “You are more than welcome to protect the sanctuary for the wedding,” she offers shrewdly.

  I wish she would take her flirting away from the shop. I want to go back into the arms of Sergei.

  Yesterday was a hazy trance for me, but I do remember the breathless kisses we shared. Today, he refused to let me open the shop. He was adamant about keeping his nose in my hair and arms looped around my shoulders.

  It took ten minutes of reassurance in between kisses for him to agree it would be suspicious to not open for business, especially after the recent death of those teenagers.

  “Oh, silly man!” the woman squawks. “You are wanted! I would feel much safer with you!”

  The deputy throws me an apologetic glance and a pleading smile. I can’t help him, her attraction to him is entirely his business. I don’t want to step on her toes; she would make my life miserable with her pettiness.