Prisoned Series Box Set

by Marni Mann

  “Apartment six-twelve,” he said before the door shut.

  When it slid open, I walked down the short hallway and knocked once I reached her number. The stripper answered it. Jesus, fuck, didn’t she look good. She was wearing a long silk robe that wasn’t tied, a set of black lace panties, and a matching bra.

  “Beard,” she breathed.

  Layla moved in behind her. Their bodies were pressed together, Layla’s hand resting just below the stripper’s tit. She looked down at the stripper’s neck and then back at me. “Beard is our guest. Invite him in, my love.”

  “I’m being so rude,” the stripper said. She still didn’t move from blocking the doorway. “Beard, would you like to come in?” As the M from come hummed in her throat, she shaped her lips, as though they were puckering around my crown.

  She wasn’t asking me if I wanted to come in. She was asking me if I wanted to come.

  The answer to that was yes. It was always yes.

  Layla slapped the stripper’s ass. “You’re so naughty,” she said to her. “Now, get inside, and pour us some drinks. Beard and I have business to discuss.”

  “Mmm,” the stripper moaned, looking right at me. “I want more of that.”

  I knew she was talking about Layla’s hand. But something told me she was also talking about me.

  “I’m sorry about her,” Layla said once we were alone. “Please come in.”

  I could tell a man didn’t live here. There was too much white and sparkles. Even the chandeliers fucking glimmered. And the place was too clean. There wasn’t even a drop of something dark on the floor.

  It made me miss the prison.

  And those delicious screams.

  Layla took me right out to the balcony and slid the door closed behind us. It was a large deck that wrapped around the corner of the building, which gave a view of the beach and the city.

  I moved over to the end and leaned against the banister. Layla joined me, her arms close to mine.

  “I know you didn’t connect with anything that I showed you,” she said. “I just want you to know, I appreciate you not giving up on me.”

  The salty air tasted just like home.

  I’d rather be there than here, but home didn’t have the woman to my left. And she was way fucking sexier than the view of the beach and the city behind me.

  So, she was what I admired instead. I checked out her long dress and her bare feet. She hardly had any makeup on. She had washed it off since getting back from our meetings. For two days, she’d been all business. This style looked better on her.

  “We’ll find one that turns me on,” I said.

  Before she was able to respond, the door opened, and the stripper walked out. She was carrying two glasses and gave us each one, immediately going back inside.

  “I brought you here for a reason,” Layla said.

  “I didn’t think it was to see your girlfriend’s tits again.”

  She smiled, licking the inside of her lip that was now wet from taking a drink. “Do you see that building next door?” She used her glass to point and didn’t wait for me to respond. “It’s a hotel that was built in the forties, and it just sold. The new owner doesn’t like the bones of the building. So, he’s knocking it down and constructing a thirty floor, two-hundred-fifty-unit high-rise.”

  With the spot being right next door, the views were the same—beach and city—and we were on the most popular street in South Beach. Layla could walk to the best bars and restaurants.

  I liked everything she was telling me so far.

  “Keep talking,” I said.

  “The developer is looking for investors. He can fund it himself, but he doesn’t want to tie up that much cash. The percent he’s offering is high—higher than any of the businesses I’ve shown you.”

  “Who’s the developer?”

  “His name is Garnik Panig. He has buildings in Manhattan and LA. Now, Miami.”

  “It sounds like the kind of business where he’d be working off a line of credit, not using investors who are looking to launder some cash. Why would someone that legit want to take such a risk?”

  “Legit?” She dangled her drink off the edge of the banister, moving the glass so that the ice cubes banged against the sides. “This whole city runs on cash, Beard. It’s how the inspectors get paid, how half of the employees get paid, how the vendors import cheaper products. Transactions go on the books to keep the IRS off their backs, but a large portion doesn’t.”

  It made sense. Illegal immigrants sure as hell couldn’t get a 1099. I guessed I hadn’t realized the construction industry was so corrupt.

  “How long until they start demolishing?” I asked.

  “He’s pulling the final permits now, so within the next few months. The buildout is scheduled to take about a year.”

  “I want to see the breakdown of where the funds will be going, the points, the payments—everything.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  She had to know she was getting somewhere with me. These were the first and only demands I had made out of all the places she had shown me.

  But being an investor wasn’t the only side I was interested in. The building was also a place I could live. During my last few visits here, I’d stayed in a hotel. Always the same one. It made it feel more like home that way. I’d planned on buying either a house or a condo. I just hadn’t met with a realtor yet. This could save me that meeting.

  “I have another request.”

  She was back to licking that lip with a pointed tongue and a slight flash of her teeth. I had to look away.

  “Anything.”

  I almost laughed at her offer. “I want one of the units. One on a high floor and on the corner, so I get both views.”

  “I can make that happen.” She watched me as she swallowed from her glass. “We never discussed how much you want to invest. I want you to think about that number and then come up with a date that you can meet with Panig. When it’s time, I’ll draw up the paperwork. If you’re not here, I’ll have it shipped overnight to your other home.”

  “I’ll text you when I plan to come back to Miami.”

  She tilted her body toward me. “What about the paperwork?”

  “I’ll come back here to sign it. I don’t want that kind of shit in the mail.”

  And I didn’t want her having the address to the prison.

  As guards, we followed three strict rules—no one besides the inmates and Bond were allowed inside the prison or our living quarters upstairs, nothing was sent to the building, and the address was never spoken out loud.

  We didn’t break those rules. Ever. Because, when it came to the prison, we didn’t take risks.

  “Do you think you’ll be back in a few days?” she asked.

  “Closer to a few weeks.”

  There was a flash of disappointment in her eyes. That was the first time I’d ever seen anything like that from her.

  “Panig told me this afternoon that he’s finalizing his investor list. I’ll make sure he saves a spot for you.”

  “Do that.”

  We both turned in the direction of the sliding glass door, the stripper opening it and walking toward us again. She hadn’t put on any more clothes but now held a drink in her hand.

  “Is it time to celebrate?” she asked. She wrapped her arm around Layla’s waist and held the glass to her lips.

  I stepped back to give the girls more space.

  “Beard likes what he’s seen so far,” Layla said. “As long as we can agree to a price and a set of terms, I think it’ll be a done deal.” She took her hair off one shoulder and moved it to the other. “Do you agree, Beard?”

  “That sounds about right.”

  The stripper whispered something in Layla’s ear. I couldn’t hear what it was, but I liked watching the way Layla’s lips pouted as she listened. And I liked the way the stripper’s mouth moved as she spoke. Her lips were fake as hell but hot as fuck. They were like two fingers, all soft an
d lubed up, ready to stroke me off. The look in her eyes told me that was exactly what she wanted to do. Maybe Layla was a lesbian, but her girlfriend liked cock.

  Something told me Layla knew that.

  And something told me Layla was all right with it.

  “Are you up for some celebrating, Beard?” the stripper asked. Her hand was rubbing closer and closer to Layla’s pussy.

  Layla’s eyes had turned hungry. Her lips parted. She was gripping the banister, staring at me like she was trying to urge something out of me.

  But I still couldn’t get a read on her. I didn’t know if she enjoyed having my gaze on her, watching this—whatever this was about to turn into—or if she just wanted to please the stripper.

  The answer mattered.

  Because, normally, I’d stick around and see which woman sucked my dick harder, deciding on who would be getting it in their cunt or their ass. But money was involved—my money and a large chunk of it. Therefore, I couldn’t fuck things up between us.

  I needed to get out of here.

  “You did good tonight,” I said to Layla. “Real good.” I took a step toward the door. “I’ll text you when I come back to Miami.”

  “Don’t leave,” the stripper said. “The fun hasn’t even begun.” She sucked one of the ice cubes out of her glass and ran it over Layla’s neck. “It’s so hot out here.” Drops trickled down Layla’s chest and disappeared between her tits. “I’m going to make her even hotter.”

  Both women looked at me now.

  I wanted to see what hotter looked like, especially on Layla.

  The stripper wanted me here; that was obvious. But Layla still hadn’t said a word.

  In case she was looking for an out, I needed to give her one.

  “Layla,” I said, “tell me if you want me to leave.”

  Layla’s back slightly arched, giving the stripper more access to her body. Then, she slowly reached up and brought the stripper’s hand down, so the ice pressed against her nipple. Once it touched her, she moaned.

  The business voice I had gotten so used to was gone. There wasn’t any softness in her tone either. It was all edge and lust.

  I fucking loved it.

  With her face pointed at Layla, the stripper looked over at me. “I heard you like to be watched when you fuck.”

  I’d told Layla that when we were at the grow house. For someone who didn’t like cock, it surprised me that she had remembered and that she’d told the stripper.

  I pushed my back into the banister. “I do.”

  The stripper knelt on the balcony and reached her hand under Layla’s dress. “I want you to watch me.”

  Her entire arm was now buried under Layla’s dress. By the way Layla was breathing, I could tell the stripper’s hand was touching her pussy. She was enjoying it; they both were.

  But Layla still hadn’t given me an answer.

  “Layla, tell me what you want.”

  Her head tilted back, and her mouth opened, another moan traveling all the way over to me. “Beard,” she breathed. She held on to the banister, like someone was about to throw her over the fucking edge.

  “How am I doing?” the stripper said.

  I’d now asked Layla the same question twice. If she wanted me out, she would have told me.

  “I can’t see because the dress is in the way,” I said to the stripper. “Show me her pussy, and I’ll tell you.”

  The stripper lifted the dress and tucked it under Layla’s bra. She wasn’t wearing any panties, and nothing but cunt was in my vision. It was one of the most perfect ones I had ever seen. Tight lips. A clit hidden in the middle of them, wedged between two thighs that were spaced apart by a thick gap. One of the stripper’s fingers was deep inside Layla’s hole.

  My dick was hard as fuck. My hands were having a hard time staying on the banister. I wanted to take some of the wetness that I heard every time the stripper’s finger plunged inside and wipe it over my cock. I wanted to see how Layla looked on my skin, how hot and sticky her juices were.

  But I wasn’t going to get that chance, so I’d have to settle on giving the orders. That was what the stripper had asked for when she wanted my opinion. If I couldn’t touch Layla, then I’d make sure the stripper got her off as good as I would.

  “Add another finger,” I demanded.

  With Layla’s head still tilted back, I couldn’t see her eyes, but her moans became even louder.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed.

  “Make sure those two fingers go all the way in. Turn them when you reach your knuckles, so your skin twists against her.”

  Layla’s head moved straight, and she ground that fucking lip between her teeth. It looked like it was about to bleed at any second. “Beard.”

  From the sound of my name, I felt the bead of pre-cum leak out of my cock. My balls tightened.

  Shit, what I wouldn’t give right now to have her humming that word over my dick.

  “Give her your tongue,” I ordered.

  The stripper smiled at me and turned her face toward Layla’s pussy, sticking her tongue out and swiping it all along her clit.

  I was so jealous.

  I wanted that pussy on my tongue. I wanted that taste coating me. I wanted my nose buried there, so all I could smell was her.

  “Move her lips apart,” I barked. “Flick her clit with the end of your tongue.”

  The way the stripper’s head bounced told me she was giving Layla long, vertical strokes, and I knew she still had two fingers inside Layla’s pussy. Layla felt good. Her expression, her sounds—it all told me that. But I knew she could feel better. The stripper wasn’t licking fast enough; she wasn’t sliding her fingers in and out the way she should.

  Layla needed speed. More friction. She needed strength and power.

  They were things the stripper could give her.

  But they were things I could give her better.

  “Add another finger,” I said. I stepped closer but still stayed out of their space. “And move your hand in and out—more speed on the way in, slower when you come out.”

  Layla’s eyes widened as the stripper took my direction. Her breathing turned louder, her hips grinding to meet the stripper’s fingers. “Fuck,” she groaned. “Just like that.”

  Bi, lesbian—whatever the stripper was, this wasn’t her first time eating pussy. I was sure of that. But something about my orders was turning her on, and it was sure as hell turning me on. However the stripper normally did it, she was now going to do it my way.

  “Flick her clit faster,” I said. “I want you to switch it up with a few licks sideways and then up and down. Then, I want you to suck it into your mouth and tickle just the end with your tongue.”

  “Yesss,” Layla moaned. She spread her legs a little wider, still clinging to the banister but grinding her fingers over it.

  She was close.

  I could hear it in her voice. I could see it in the way her hips moved, trying to buck it out over the stripper’s face.

  “Harder,” I commanded.

  “Beard…”

  There was that voice again. Thick with need. Rough with desire.

  “Faster,” I ordered.

  “Oh my…Beard,” were the last words Layla said before I saw the orgasm ripple through her stomach. The shuddering started in her navel and traveled up to her chest, causing her tits to bounce in her dress.

  My dick strained against the inside of my jeans, the tip rubbing against the zipper, begging for a fucking release. The sound of Layla moaning my name as she came would be in my head for the rest of the night. I’d replay it when I got back to my hotel room and again in the shower when I rubbed one out.

  I had finally found a sound that was almost as good as the screams.

  Layla’s eyes connected with mine for just a second before she looked down. Then, she released the banister and pulled at her dress, letting it drop to the floor to cover herself up. Her face was flushed. I knew it was from more than just the orgasm.<
br />
  She was embarrassed.

  She had no reason to be. What I had just watched was one of the sexiest things I’d seen in a long time.

  “Get over here,” I said to the stripper, who had just gotten off her knees.

  When she reached me, she tried to put her hands on my chest. I stopped her by grabbing her wrists. I then dipped my head forward and sucked her fingers into my mouth—the ones that had been inside Layla’s pussy.

  “How does she taste?” the stripper asked.

  I felt Layla’s eyes on me. I heard her breathing speed up as I sucked the cum off the stripper’s fingers, and I saw the flush on her face turn to a feral heat.

  “She’s sweet.” I pulled her fingers out to lick my lips, and then I put them right back in for a second dip.

  “Isn’t she?” the stripper asked. “Just like sweet tea.”

  I wasn’t much of a tea drinker. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even had some, but the description was dead-on.

  “Thank you, Beard,” the stripper said.

  “For what?”

  “For getting my girlfriend off. If your tongue is anything like your orders, I know you’d have me squirting in seconds. But, Layla? She’s just a screamer.”

  The stripper was a squirter. That didn’t surprise me at all.

  But hearing that Layla was a screamer made my dick even harder.

  “She can have my tongue anytime,” I said.

  The red on Layla’s face deepened.

  We were talking about her like she wasn’t even in the room.

  I liked that.

  Something told me they both did.

  The stripper stretched up to reach me and kissed my beard. Her lips were still wet, and I could smell Layla all over them.

  “For you,” she said. “So you can take a little with you.”

  I should have been the one thanking her.

  She was giving me a piece of Layla, and I needed to make sure it lasted.

  If only she were into cock, I’d have even more to take home with me. But the only thing she was into was our investment. Our relationship ended there.

  Maybe it was better that way.

  I dropped the stripper’s hand and walked to the sliding glass door. “I’ll text you.”

  “I hope you do,” Layla answered.