by Cairo
Bottom line, she wasn’t a snitch.
So far, she had three years in and another nine years and ten months to go before she was eligible for parole. With her long blonde hair, milky-white complexion, and eyes a lucid greenish-blue that matched the color of a tropical island, the women on the unit referred to her as “White Chocolate” because she had a sweet tooth for tall, dark, chocolaty men. To her, size didn’t matter. Only that it was thick . . . and black. Her motto was: the darker the dick, the sweeter the nut.
And since being incarcerated, she’d already managed to screw at least two corrections officers thus far. And, from what Heaven gathered from her observations, Sabina had her sights set on, yet, another hard, black dick.
What a whore. She spent more time talking about all the fucking she’d done out on the streets that Heaven was convinced she was a horny, dick-crazed ho.
But she liked her.
“Lewis. You have a visit,” said a voice approaching her from the left. Without thought, she felt her toes curling in her shoes. It was Sergeant Braddock.
The sound of his deep, raspy voice made her nipples strain against the lace cups of her bra. She stuck her chest out further, allowing him to take in the view. He stood well over six feet, and, as she looked up at him, she tried to envision what he’d look like without his annoying crisp uniform shirt on. She imagined a smooth expanse of brown skin stretching over his torso, his broad shoulders, his—what she imagined to be—rippled abs.
She looked at him. A neatly trimmed goatee framed his mouth and chin, and, for some odd reason, she stared at his dimpled chin, and wanted to swipe her tongue over it.
He wasn’t someone she initially considered a potential mark, but standing here now, taking him in, in all of his manly delight, made her pause, and she almost forgot to breathe for a few seconds. Perhaps she would need to reconsider it as a possibility. It would be nice to have someone with a bit more rank—and pull—than a measly CO.
However, there’d been no rumors of him being shady or crooked. And she hadn’t heard of any gossip about him fraternizing with inmates.
He always came across strictly by the book, but not overly rigid. And he was also very engaging and respectful, but never too friendly. She liked that. He typically treated the inmates fairly. She wondered what he was like outside of these walls, and out of his uniform. She wondered if he had a feral wildness that hovered somewhere beneath the surface.
Oh how fun it would be to find out. But she knew cracking his shell would be a challenge; one she wasn’t so sure she was up for. Yet, by the way he was looking at her, with a simmering fascination, she had to wonder if he could be persuaded to step on over to the wild side with the right amount of mental foreplay. And, if she were able to find a crack in his chiseled armor, she’d happily oblige him in a night of forbidden sex, and gladly become a notch he could add to his pussy count.
“Who is it?” she asked, her forehead creasing. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Sure, she’d finally put in her visiting card once she’d gotten out of lockup, listing the few people—only six—she’d want to come see her. So far, no one had bothered to visit.
He shrugged. “Hell if I know. I’m not on visit patrol.”
But are you on pussy patrol?
His gaze locked on her breasts as he subconsciously licked his lips. In his mind’s eye, he saw her reaching for his dick, rubbing her fingers along the edge of his zipper until he grew under her touch, long and hard.
Shit. He felt a tingling in his balls as he held on to the intimate visual for a few seconds more, before clearing his throat, his eyes darting from her face to the tops of her breasts practically spilling out of her uniform. Alterations to a prison-issued uniform were a violation of prison policy, and could ultimately result in institutional charges, but he didn’t give a damn. He loved the view, as did almost every other male officer with a pulse.
But, fuck! He couldn’t get caught up in any shit. Braddock had never fucked an inmate. A few female COs over the years, though. But if he thought he could get away with it, he’d pound the shit out of her sexy ass. He’d heard from COs assigned to the Ad-Seg unit how she’d blatantly masturbate in front of whomever was on duty.
Lucky bastards.
He wished he—
Whoa. What the fuck? He had to shake himself out of the lusty fog that was slowly beginning to cloud his mind.
“Why you fuckin’ with me, Lewis?” he said in a voice so low that she barely heard him. He had to fight to keep his gaze from wandering over her body. And, despite the heat beginning to stir in his groin, he felt a shiver skid up his spine. Shit. Inmate Lewis was trouble. Feral, alluring, feminine trouble.
He swallowed, hard.
He’d need to keep his eye on this one, and deal with her with a long-handled spoon. He shoved his hands in his pockets as an attempt to keep himself from doing something reckless, like tracing a finger along her slender neck, then following it up with his lips and tongue.
His deep voice and his masculine, woodsy scent made her nipples tighten. “Oh, is that what I’m doing?” she asked coyly, pulling him from his thoughts.
He smirked, his gaze sweeping around the tier, before landing back on her. “Yeah, a’ight.” His lips curved into a crooked grin. “You know what you’re doing. Don’t have me write your ass up.”
Yeah, right. Lies.
Her gaze traced downward. To what appeared to be a bulge in his uniform pants that hung just right off his frame. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sir,” she replied innocently, batting her lashes. But then she gazed up at him, a smile hovering over her lush lips. She seductively licked over them, before pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. He eyed it hungrily.
“Yeah, okay.” He pointed to her uniform. “You might want to go change before you get down to visiting.”
She flashed him a sexy grin. “Anything for you, Sarge.”
“You’re a trip, Lewis.” He shook his head, but he couldn’t help giving her one last side-eyed glance as he resumed making his rounds through the unit.
THIRTEEN
Love Don’t Love Nobody . . .
After being patted and frisked, the metal doors slid open, and, finally, Heaven stepped out into the visiting area. This was her first time in visits since her incarceration, and she had no idea it was such an invasive ordeal. It felt almost like intake, when she’d had to be crammed inside a room with a dozen or so other women who’d gotten off the prison van with her, shackled and chained.
Along with the rest of them, they’d humiliated her by having her strip, bend over and spread open her ass, and cough, giving officers a back view of her pussy while they peered between her legs. Supposedly to check for any potential contraband, such as drugs, money, and weapons, being smuggled in inside someone’s anal and vaginal orifices.
Bitch, please. The only thing she would have been concealing inside her cunt was a hard damn dick. Or a long wet tongue. She’d wanted to tell them so at that moment, but had decided against it.
She’d even overheard one of the female COs comment on how fat her pussy lips were as she’d been bent over. She’d bit her tongue, but not before glancing back to get a glimpse of the officer’s face. Officer Banks.
The same sick bitch frisking inmates today. Though she hadn’t been the one to search Heaven, she still felt manhandled. Violated. Felt up on like some piece of ripe fruit. She swore the other freak-bitch, Officer Clemmons, who patted her down was trying to sniff her ass on the low, while trying to feel her up on the sly.
Mmph. She should have slammed her ass back in her damn face.
Nasty ho.
And when she’d asked her for the time, the officer responded in a huff, “What time is it? Bitch, do I look like a damn clock to you? Get the fuck on before I cancel your visit.” Again, she bit her tongue.
Fucking miserable bitch!
This place was crazy. She’d never been around so many so-called professionals who were simply downright inappropria
te and fucked up. Since being at Croydon Hill, she noticed how some of the female COs either leered at her, or rolled their eyes on the sly as she passed by. Those ghetto bitches were worse than some of the male officers. Grimier. Disrespectful. And damn right jealous.
But, oh, well.
They could all kiss her ass.
She glanced around the large visiting room, and when she spotted a brown-skinned woman with a wrist full of silver bangles standing up and waving her hand in the air to get her attention, she knew who’d come to visit.
Kareema Daniels.
She would never consider Kareema a good friend. However, she’d been a step above an associate, so Heaven had loosely deemed her a friend of sorts. When she was out on the streets, free, they had been “turn-up” and travel pals—with Heaven always footing the bill because Kareema’s money was always light, even after she’d started doing a little late-night tricking after a sweaty night at the club to keep a few coins in her purse.
Heaven made her way over to her, catching the eye of two male COs as she walked by. She overheard the chunky one say, “Man, look at that pretty bitch right there.”
“Yeah, and I heard she a freak,” his light-skinned counterpart replied.
She wasn’t familiar with the tall, light-skinned one with the big nose, but she’d encountered the stumpy brown-skinned one a few times during her time over in Ad-Seg. Officer Alvin. He could literally pass as the twin brother of Eddie Murphy’s character Rasputia in that hilarious movie Norbit.
He caught her eye and slyly winked.
She frowned. She didn’t like his libidinous ass, but she’d love to learn his ass real good. She grinned as she envisioned the pudgy fuck stuffed in a black rubber suit with ass cutouts and a hole where his cock was supposed to go. She’d force him to bend over, then use a spiked paddle to whip his ass to shreds.
And if given a chance, she would. Hell. Maybe she’d stuff his ass with a gloved fist, too. Yeah, that’s what she’d do. Fist-fuck the shit out of that fat fucker.
She felt a smile forming at the corner of her lips. But then she frowned, and shot a dirty look at him. She dared not say anything back or she’d run the risk of having her visit terminated. And the last thing she wanted was having her visit cancelled before she got the chance to find out what Kareema had been up to since she hadn’t heard from her since her arrest. She’d written her three times, and the bitch had yet to write back. And, trust. The slight wouldn’t be forgiven.
“Ooh, girl, work,” Kareema squealed as she reached out and gave her a one-armed hug. The hug felt about as fake as her hair. Heaven cringed, but halfheartedly returned the gesture. Kareema stepped back and looked at her so-called friend. “Yes, hunty. Your face is beat for the gods.”
Heaven swiped her bang from out of her eye. All she was wearing was eyeliner and a fresh coat of lipgloss, and this ho was acting as if she’d poured on a batter of face paint.
She raised a brow. “You say that like you expected me to come out looking all busted or something.”
“Well, no. But I didn’t know they allowed y’all to wear makeup, either,” she said, taking a seat in one of the gray stackable chairs used in the visiting hall. She gave Heaven another once-over. “Mmph. You slay in that jumpsuit. Even in prison garb, you look runway ready.”
Heaven gave her a look. “Hon, I don’t care where I’m at, I’m going to always stay fly.”
Kareema laughed, running her hand up the nape of her neck, through her weave. Synthetic. Mmph. Cheap bitch couldn’t even spring for human hair.
“Girl, stop,” she said as she sat across from Heaven. “You know your ass can wear the shit out of a trash bag if you had to.” Kareema continued to assess Heaven’s attire. “Even in those knock-off Nikes, you look cute. Ooh, I hate you.”
Is this bitch throwing shade?
“Of course you do,” Heaven replied nonchalantly. “What else is new? Everyone is guilty of being jealous of me at some point. It’s inevitable. Cute weave, though.”
“Ooh. You tried it,” Kareema said. “Jealous, of who? You?” She snorted. “Honey, please. I’d never be jealous of you, especially now. Girl, your ass is locked up.”
Truth was, she did, in fact, secretly hate on her. Was it that obvious? Oh well. Fuck her. She was glad the bitch was locked up. Served her stuck-up ass right. Shooting her man in the back like that. She could have paralyzed him, or worse—killed him. So what if she’d caught him fucking some other bitch. She should have jumped on that bitch instead. Heaven was a stupid ho, Kareema thought.
So what if he fucked other bitches? It came with the territory. Fucking a baller came with rewards and consequences. And there were rules to being his woman. The stupid bitch should have played her position, then she wouldn’t be locked the hell up, missing out on all that good dick.
Yes, Lord. The man had amazing dick.
She’d fucked her man twice. And he’d made her come, hard, each time. Now she sucked out his tasty nut every chance she got.
And this bitch sitting here in prison garb was none the wiser.
Kareema smirked as Heaven eyed her, taking in her flawless makeup, perfectly threaded brows, and lush mink lashes. Kareema was an attractive, shapely female. However, Heaven wished she’d do something with that wide gap between her teeth and her obnoxious overbite. Her gaze dipped to the white-gold necklace, which hung around Kareema’s slender neck.
“Ooh, I’m loving the necklace,” Heaven cooed, feigning envy. “What type of stones are they?” she asked, baiting her. The oval cluster of white sapphires shimmered beneath the bright lights, giving off the illusion of being diamonds to the untrained eye. But Heaven knew better.
She knew diamonds. And she knew frauds. And this flat-ass bitch was a fake; from her scalp to her acrylic nails to the blue contact lenses in her eyes. If she was going for exotic, she’d failed terribly.
Kareema’s hand went to her neck, and her fingertips gently caressed her glittery necklet. “Diamonds, hon.” She puckered her lips, then tilted her head. “You do know they’re a girl’s best friend.”
Uh-huh. Something you’d never be.
Still, she smiled, her gaze quickly sliding over the rest of Kareema’s attire. Cinched above her waist was a red Gucci belt over a black True Religion short-sleeved V-neck paired with a denim ankle-length skirt. She wore a cute pair of red Gucci pumps on her feet.
Kareema flipped her weave. “But, anywhooo. I didn’t come to compare hair tips, or talk about my jewels. You ready to catch this tea, girl?” She tilted her head, and waited for Heaven’s response.
“No. Not particularly,” Heaven said dryly as their gazes locked. “But how about you tell me what’s good with you, instead. Pour some hot tea on that.”
“Ooh, girl. Shade.”
Heaven tossed her hair again. “Well?”
Kareema waved her on. “Girl, I’m doing me. Just got back from South Beach with bae. And got wined and dined, then fucked down real right.”
Heaven’s eyelids fluttered. Bae? Since when did she start calling some man her bae? She gave Kareema a questioning look.
“Yassss, hunty,” she continued. “And my young boy puts it down.” She fanned herself. “All he fucks with is older women.”
“So, your old-ass is out there robbing cradles now,” Heaven said sarcastically. “How romantic. So where’d y’all meet? The playground?”
“No, bitch. Down at The Crack House,” Kareema said.
Heaven frowned. Of course she’d find her true love down at some ratchet hood club where all the local thugs and wannabe ballers hung. Typical Kareema.
Heaven slowly nodded. “Oh, okay. So you’ve retired from the block now?”
Kareema frowned. “The block? Ho, you tried it. I ain’t never been on no damn block.”
“Mm-hmm, okay. So how old is this new boo of yours?”
Kareema tossed her weave. “Twenty-four, but he’ll be twenty-five in a few months.”
“Twenty-four?” Heaven frow
ned. “Girl, are you that damn desperate for a hard dick? You must be one lonely-ass bitch, fucking some boy that damn young.”
Kareema snorted. “Yeah, okay. Says the bitch in prison. Don’t judge me. Age ain’t nothing but a number.”
Heaven stared at her and wondered why she ever let this ho in her life. It was apparent they never had anything in common. “And what type of work does bae do? He is working, right?”
Kareema shifted in her seat. “Well, no. Not right now. He just got out of the county for child support, I think. Plus, he’s on probation, I believe.”
“Oh, so you think and you believe? Mmph. Great way to start a relationship.”
“Heaven, get over yourself,” Kareema snapped defensively. “Everyone falls on hard times at some point. So stop being so damn self-righteous. If I’m not bothered by it, you shouldn’t be, either. All I care about is how Jah’Mel—my man—treats me. He knows how to handle his . . .”
Heaven fought the urge to yawn. She tried to pay attention to her prattling on about her unemployed boy-toy with the big dick and child support, who made her pussy cream all night.
Still, she smiled again, and tried to pretend to be interested, but—against her will—her mind kept drifting back to that night she’d caught Freedom in their bed giving some other bitch his dick.
“Mmmm, yes, Freedom . . . mmm, fuck me!”
“You like this dick, baby . . .?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Hmmph. Uh. Oooh. It’s so fucking big . . .”
“Yeah, baby . . . Gushy-ass pussy. Take all this dick.”
Why couldn’t he have fucked her at some seedy motel, like he tended to do with all the others? What had been so special about that bitch for him to fuck her down in their bed?
“Girl, are you listening to me?” Kareema’s voice had derailed her train of thought, pulling her back into the moment.
“Huh?”
Kareema rolled her eyes, and said, “I asked you how you’re doing in here?”
“I’m doing ten years, Kareema,” she snapped, glancing around the visiting area. “I’m wearing some raggedy-ass state jumper, and sleeping on some cheap, wafer-thin mattress. And I’m sharing a cell with a white girl who snores like a damn man, and thinks she’s black.”