Caught by the Convicts

by Jessa Kane

The man with the sharp, bloody object has almost reached me when I’m picked up and tossed over a large shoulder—and carted off into the fray.

“Please don’t kill me,” I whisper, an annoying tremble in my voice. “My name is Wendy. I’m a scent branding specialist. Like, hotels hire me to scent their rooms and lobbies? Sometimes casinos, too. I don’t…I don’t have any family, but I want one someday. Very badly. I have a hamster named George and he’s my family for now. I love old reruns of Gilligan’s Island and I’m very indecisive about the color of my living room accent wall. I’ve tried nine shades of green now and none of them are right—”

“Fuck me,” mutters Day, a hint of England in his tone. “She’s downright adorable. And quite reckless, apparently, marching into this den of vipers in that…” His gaze ticks lower, his voice dropping along with it. “Obscenely form-fitting skirt.”

Klay is Day. Ruger is Night.

“Any man who reached the age of thirty without sampling pussy would be a beast. Now you’ve got this tasty little thing at your mercy and you want your first ride. Badly. No one blames you.”

“Do it,” Ruger groans, stepping forward. He lifts a hand, hesitates, then drags a featherlight touch down the side of my face. “Soft.”

“Fucking hell,” Klay grits out, tearing my panties off with a twist of his fist, tossing them aside. “She wants it.” He wraps his now-free hand around my throat. “That changes everything, Wendy. Now you get two cocks. Mine and Ruger’s.”

“Fuck,” Klay rasps beside my ear. “Fuck, you’re right. I’ll wreck her. I don’t…I don’t want to.” He sounds almost shocked by his own revelation. “I don’t want to wreck her, Ruger. I want to…I need to…” “You need to keep her,” Ruger says gruffly, meeting his cell mate’s eyes over my head. “Me too. It’s like there’s no choice. She’s…ours.”

The last thing I see before disappearing around the corner is Klay, face down on the floor with his head turned, mouthing the words we’ll find you. The promise in his eyes makes me shiver. But in relief or trepidation? That’s the million-dollar question.

“When we find her,” I say, my breath running short. “I’m going to spread her legs and ride that damp little fuck hole while you watch. I’ll be covered in her wetness and sweat and bite marks by the time it’s over. And you’re going to clean me up afterward.”

“I know, baby, you’re ripe for fucking,” he rasps, trailing his mouth down her throat, back up to snare her lips. “Put my cock in, Ruger. Right where my fingers are.”

“Prison bars can’t hold a man when pussy this hot and tiny is waiting on the outside. You should have been expecting us.”

“But people could be in danger. I could be in danger—” “No,” Ruger growls. “My extra-large associate is correct. You’re not in danger. We’re here.”

I settle Wendy onto her feet and resume my post on her right side. Each of her hands holds one of ours, a slight tremor passing through her.

I turn around in Klay’s arms and cradle his rigid jaw in my hands. “My choice is both of you.” Leaning in, I kiss his mouth until he’s straining in his jeans, hoarse sounds coming from deep in his throat. “You’ll have me. And he’ll have you.”

My heart swims with love for both of them in that moment. For Klay and all his complications and potential. For Ruger with his big, beautiful heart. With a sense of immense purpose I’ve never experienced in my life, I take Ruger’s hand and guide it down to Klay’s erection. “Rub him while we kiss.”

Yes. Very slowly, he inhales and exhales, looking my square in the eye. Letting me share all of his anguish. And then he looks over at Ruger, granting him some of that pain as well. So we can help him carry it. Then Klay does something that I couldn’t have expected, but increases my love and affection for him tenfold. He leans over and captures Ruger’s mouth.

“Yes,” Klay says, struggling to inhale and exhale, his mouth unruly on my neck. “We’re here. We’ll always be here. You are ours.” “Ours,” Ruger growls. “Forever.” “We’re each other’s,” I whisper, falling replete to the table.

“Is it crazy that I already love you…” I say quietly, my chest packed with emotion. “Both of you? I love…this. I love us. It feels like we are exactly what was supposed to happen.” Ruger makes a sound. “You’re not crazy, Wendy. I love you, too.” He swallows hard. “Both of you.” Klay holds me closer. Tighter. “I love you,” he says, feeling packed into every word. It takes him a couple of extra ticks to look at Ruger, his throat working in patters. “Both. Both of you.”

I’m usually out there with them, reminding them to wear sunscreen, but today is a special day. My birthday. So they’re giving me the gift of a slow tease. Divine torture. I’ve been roped to this headboard for hours without a stitch of clothing on. A homemade sex tape featuring me, Klay and Wendy plays on the flatscreen. It’s been going for hours, the sounds of moaning and wet smacks filling the airy bedroom. My cock is like a monument pointing straight up from my lap and I’ve about reached my breaking point.

“Please,” I manage through my teeth. “Mmmm.” Klay picks up the remote and turns off the television, leaving the room quiet, except for the ocean waves and my labored breathing. “He said please, Wendy.” “I heard him,” she purrs, walking her fingertips up my inner thigh. “So polite.”

She breaks our kiss with a whimper. She’s trapped between her men. Impaled by us both. At our mercy, where we like her.

“I love you,” I manage around the emotion in my throat. “I love you both so much.” Klay and Wendy settle on either side of me, arms and legs wrapping around bodies to keep one another as close as possible. Forever. Forming one unit that will never be broken. “We love you, too,” they murmur at the same time, all three of us drifting off to the lulling rhythm of the ocean, our future brighter than the Mexican sun.