Make You Mine by K.T. Quinn
4
Jayce
Charlotte was a hot little thing. Twenty pounds of attitude in a ten-pound bag. She marched into her cell in heels and a skirt like she owned the place, raven hair plastered wetly to her head and her chin held high. My cock stood up and started paying attention the moment I laid eyes on her.
If she were in a bar, I’d pick a fight with the biggest asshole in the joint just to get her attention. Something told me she wouldn’t be impressed by that, though. But that just made me wonder what would impress her.
Stop it.
The voice was soft in the back of my head, but it was firm. I couldn’t start thinking about this girl, because then I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about her. And that would give Sid something to use against me.
Still, as I closed my eyes I couldn’t help but imagine the way this girl looked before getting dragged in the rain by the sheriff. Deep-black hair cascading down her shoulders like flawless silk. Thick eyelashes above those round, innocent eyes. She was probably going out on a date with some preppy dude in a button-down. Someone who didn’t appreciate her the way she deserved.
The pain in my ribs made my mind wander, and I fantasized about what I would do if the doors to our cells were open. I’d cup her neck with one hand and her ass with the other, pulling her in to crush my lips against hers, a rough kiss that would make her toes curl inside those pretty red heels. I pictured the way her ass would look as I slid her skirt up, a thong hidden in the depths of those round orbs. I’d lower her to the edge of the jail bench and bury my face between those gorgeous thighs. Get her nice and wet, making her buck and thrust against my tongue, before I really gave her what I wanted.
I would make her mine.
Enough of that. Forget about her.
There was that voice again. The voice of reason. It didn’t matter what I wanted, because the sheriff was right: I was a dead man.
But even dead men could dream a little.
She sighed over in her cell. I thought about sitting up and talking to her some more. She looked like she needed to get some shit off her chest.
That would be a bad idea, though. Talking led to flirting. Flirting led to other stuff. Other stuff led to other stuff, which couldn’t be undone.
It’s a good thing she’s not sticking around, I thought while closing my eyes. She’ll be out of this town the moment the sun comes up, and then I’ll never see her again.
As disappointing as that seemed, it was probably for the best.
Boy, was I wrong.
