by November Tuesday
After the Inquisition it hits me, that this woman, with her soft dark hair and her curves, has given me a hard on since day one and I don't feel one bit of remorse. Cheating on Chris? Be real. Granted, sticking my dick elsewhere was tantamount to fingering some poor motherfucker for death, but the idea of fidelity in Oz? It's laughable.
Fuck him. He told me to stay away from him, away from Cedar Junction. Fuck him. But the real reason I have no qualms is this: I can see it clear as day. Keller taking one look at Katherine, undressing her with his gaze, looking at those sweet tits and legs, then winking conspiratorially at me and drawling "go nail her, Toby."
Life in Oz shuts you down. Hope is not only obsolete, but hope will fuck you up. Still, when she looked at me and said "we're not finished, Tobias" my dick popped up and hope popped up and it hit me - outside. Outside of Oz. And I was edgy and wound up all week.
Walking into my parole hearing with a seven-inch boner probably didn't help.
That kiss. Oh my god. Her hands on my chest, tugging my tie, looking up at me with those soft wide eyes, and I was wooden and panicked and stupid, until I felt her breath on my face. But then, oh man, I kissed her. Then I was real and flesh and natural, and I felt right in my own skin. I smelled her perfume, coffee and vague mint, a minute slip of tongue, so sweet, and there were flashes of Chris in my mind, and Gen, but her mouth was so small and softly perfect, and fuck me, it was like being at the center of a giant vortex, her kissing me, that hack calling me, the waiting parole board and at the center of it all were her lips and my lips, so soft and-
Hard, he is so hard. Lips hard on my mouth and hands and tight in my hair, bending me backwards, dammnit, and god help me but I love it, love him, even after all of it, I want to kiss him. I want the world to go away, all the walls and the rules and the past, and everything but this complete brutality.
And I hate him, because I can't, because I have to push him away. I hate him for tearing me in two like this.
I push away, call for the CO. "Take him away." Try to steady my breath, my voice, my brain. But that night in bed I idly trace the edges of my lips and remember the feel of his mouth.
I haven't had a chance to answer his hardness with my own. This is what bothers me the most. He thinks I'm this angel, this soft, sweet healer. I want so fucking much to allow myself to respond. To show him I can be anything but, to savage him, brutalize him, fuck him. And it wouldn't be healing. At least not for him.
Under cover of dark and a new bed Preston never saw I indulge myself in it. Close my eyes against the night. These fantasies. My kiss would make his lips bleed. So hard, and totally -
I've been obsessed with his case from the beginning. He's a legend at the courthouse. He lost his wife, his kid, and his cherry. It's the stuff of rumor and legend. They tell fresh interns the story of Joe Lawyer, who could be any one of us. The guy who rebelled against his Nazi master, almost took out his eye, shat on his face. The guy who had every limb broken, then fell in love with the guy who did it.
I never met Chris Keller. The thought of them together intrigues me, disturbs me, arouses me all at once . What is it like when a man kisses a man?
The fascination galvanized when I saw him. The brute, cross-armed slouch of the convict, muscles latent, threatening, arousing under his tee shirt. Almost delicate high forehead, hair with a hint of gold. Sharp alert baby eyes that see too much, intelligence forged at Harvard. Holy shit, a lawyer, just like me. Broken down eyes. Sensual lips pulled into a weighty frown, lines on his face betraying a sorrow that couldn't quite swallow the hope in those blue eyes.
I wanted to break him, put tears in those eyes, pull him to my breast in a warm nest of comfort, all at once.
This, I didn't realize, analyze until later.
My immediate, sole, and overwhelming perception was this: I wanted to fuck Tobias Beecher to within an inch of his life.
I planned to kiss him, planned it from day one. I wanted his mouth on me, all over me. Tugged his silk tie to steady myself, for one horrific second I thought he would turn away. Then, he was kissing me, tasting me as I'd fantasized, and I felt the sweet alarming sensation of being explored, tasted-
Tasting those lips I've waited so long to kiss. Oh, Gloria, please kiss me, kiss me back. For one sweet second she gave in, on sweet perfect second, and I stretch it out in my mind as I touch myself, jerk myself.
Imagine us the fuck out of Oz, someplace in a home with a different universe, imagine her at a kitchen counter dropping a spoon or something, and kissing me back.
I can still taste her lips. Oh god. My dick pulses, squeezes precum to the tip. I close my eyes hard, pretend with all my might , taste her again. I'm jerking hard, and it is her hand. Close my eyes so hard, my face hurts hard enough to see her in front of me, those eyes, oh christ, those eyes.
Faster, I'm almost nailing it, oh yeah, and god, I'm coming, coming into her and kissing her all at once.
After, come all over my stomach, I come back to reality, I realize that that kiss will fucking kill me.
That I want him out of this so that he can kiss me everywhere, touch me, and it's not going to happen.
That I can't touch him, but I have to touch him.
That sweet hope is the death of me. Her fucking lips, damn her. Another fucking year, page and page and page.