Page 62 of Sweet Prison

She’s safe and sound. You’re just looking for another excuse to head back down, to be close to her. Go to sleep.

I can’t.

It’s bad enough she found out you’ve been spending your nights at her door. Not only is it ludicrous, it probably freaked her the hell out.

But what if she needs me? The unknown threat is still out there.

We still haven’t figured out who planted that damn bug on my car, the one that led the shooter at the mall straight to me.Salvo thinks it might have been the feds. I don’t agree, since McBride picked the vehicle up directly from the dealership and drove it straight to the prison.

Whoever has been plotting against you, wantsyoudead. If, somehow, they manage to get inside, they’ll come for you. Not Zahara. You need to stay put.

As I roll over to my side, my eyes zero in on the door.

Still… What if someone does get into the house? What if Zahara comes face-to-face with a killer and the asshole decides to take her out? She might be struggling for her life while I’m lounging here, a full floor away!

Fuck.

Leaping out of bed, I rush out of the room and down the stairs, cursing myself the entire way. Only once I reach the second floor and plant my butt in front of Zahara’s door, can I finally draw a full breath. If anyone dares to go near her, they’ll have to come through me. And I might actually get some shut-eye tonight after all.

What happened to the promise you made to yourself to never sleep outside her door again?

I tried, okay?

I swore I wouldn’t do it. Even knowing that staying away from her meant sleep wouldn’t come. It’s not as if I’m not used to going without.

Even before she found me sleeping by her door, the temptation had been seeping into my bones, getting harder and harder to fight. Knowing she was right there, with only a wooden surface separating us, had been driving me insane. I kept imagining myself walking into her room, simply to watch her sleep. Just so I could be near her. Just so I could feel the peace that onlyshebrings to me. When she’s by my side, I don’t feellike the stark raving mad asshole two decades in prison made me.

That hasn’t changed. Being the crazy asshole.

At least I’ve managed to keep my dirty thoughts in check. Mostly. I’ve given myself a mental slap whenever reality wanted to slip away. If Zahara had even an inkling of what I’d been thinking, she’d be disgusted. How could she not be?

My thoughts… Lustful, mouthwatering thoughts. Where my hands are on her goddess-like body, tracing every soft curve with my aching palms. Holding her in my arms, her face tucked into the crook of my neck. It’s the only place where she’d be completely safe. With my lips, grazing hers, just as I’d fantasized doing since the first moment I saw her.

The moment when she was a bright ray of light, surrounded by so many dark shadows. An angel among a crowd of devils huddled at her father’s grave. The only person in this world who didn’t feel like a stranger to me.

The only woman who has ever captured my interest. Because of how she saw therealme. The one I tried to hide, yet she wouldn’t let me, burrowing her way under my skin. I should have known then…

I shouldn’t have even…

But like the asshole I am, I still did.

Remembered, what I once told her in a letter. The one where she asked what I would do when I was set free.I’d fuck my way through a whorehouse, is what I told her. After almost twenty years without getting laid, a fucking frenzy should’ve been a piece of cake. Should’ve easily wiped the daydreams of making love to Zahara from my mind. Something I desperately needed. So, that’s exactly where I headed. Had McBride drive me directlyfrom the prison’s gate to a Cosa Nostra strip club, where they serve pussy dessert on the side. A goddamned sugar buffet.

And I couldn’t get my dick up.

Blonde. Dark-haired. Tall and short. Scantily dressed. Naked. The manager kept bringing girl after girl into the VIP room, and my damn cock didn’t even twitch. Not once.

I figured the prison messed me up more than I ever thought, so I left, my broken cock the least of my worries.

That’s one problem I no longer need to solve, though. My cock is stone-hard whenever I picture Zahara in my arms. It works just fine every time I imagine her with me. Her delicate skin. Her jasmine scent. Her… honeyed taste.

Jesus fucking Christ. What am I doing? The combative voice in my head is right. I’m turning forty in two months—she’s half my miserable age. And if that’s not bad enough, she’s mystepsister! I should feel nothing more than a brotherly affection toward her. Yet there’s nothing remotelybrotherlyabout my feelings.

I close my eyes, trying to fall asleep, but sleep doesn’t come. Tonight, the twenty feet separating us is nineteen too many. Feeling like the sickest creep on earth, I rise from my spot on the floor and slowly turn the doorknob to Zahara’s room.

The goddamned door opens.

I fucking told her to keep it locked!