Page 98 of Too Many Beds
“That was naughty,” he growls. “Go on. Try it again.”
Brash arousal pulls my lips to a smirk. I lunge, but instead of catching Tarrant’s earlobe in my teeth, he catchesmein a searing kiss. His commanding tongue forces its way into my mouth and I melt—whimper—at the long-forgotten pleasure burning through my body until he pulls away.
I slip back to earth. Rejection chills me like ice. I’m about to beg an apology for my boldness when I see him retrieve something from beneath the mattress—lotion or oil or something.
He grabs my wrist and slings me onto the bed like a rag. I land face first into the pillow and am immediately consumed by the heady scent of him. Our bed in the slums stopped smelling like this months ago.
Tarrant swipes a swathe of cold gel across my entrance before mounting me, his hard, slick cock pushing in deep. I moan and grab fistfuls of the sheets. My toes curl and clench.
We lose ourselves in the rhythm of grinding hips and breathy pants. Tarrant’s head comes to rest on my spine, right between my shoulder blades where I’m most sensitive, as he thrusts wildly, pounding me into the mattress with every thrust. OhGod,it feels so fucking good; I suck my lower lip between my teeth to catch a moan.
“T-Tar—” My body clamps hard around Tarrant’s cock as I take hold of my own, pumping in time with his thrusts. “—rant.”
He pulls my wrist away and replaces my grip with his own. Oh fuck, I’m so close. I don’t want it to end, but it feels too good and Tarrant’s so lust-sick he keeps pumping and ramming and pumping and—fuck.
I come, violent but silent with my lower lip between my teeth. Jesus fucking Christ. My body ripples as Tarrant fills me, his dying thrusts pushing deeper despite his fading strength. We collapse to the bed, sweat-soaked and spent, Tarrant coating me like a sheet—like a shield against the world. Everything about this moment is perfect.
“Oh, fuck,” I gasp, my eyes cracking open to a growing stain, red and sticky, on the bed by my hand. My wrist is bleeding; Tarrant must have popped the stitches when he grabbed me.
“What happened?” he asks, slightly panicked as he rolls off me, bringing my hand close to his face for inspection. “They took your device already?” Lips press against the wound in a tender kiss.
I nod, lightheaded and breathless as Tarrant’s finger traces over the incision.
“Christ, Ede, what’d you do?”
I could have done anything—stolen rations, taken unauthorised leave from work, read a book—but I neededsomething that would put me away for a while. Something that would assure me of a reunion with Tarrant. I didn’t think getting locked up would mean immediate removal of my implant. Most infractions saw the device deactivated for a day or two, maybe a week—a temporary disconnect as means of rehabilitation towards acceptable social practices. Guess I never do things by half.
“I got caught dealing,” I say, surprisingly sheepish. “Or rather, got myself implicated in yourallegedoperation. The guys helped pin?—”
“Youwhat?” Tarrant’s hand curls around my throat, fire in his eyes.
“I couldn’t be out there without you!” I snap, pushing back against him. “The runners aren’t loyal to me, not really. I had no authority, no friends—nothing. Just the lost little pup you left behind. So when I heard Henly was planning a way to get your sentence reduced, I offered to take the fall. They pinned the moonshine tabs on me. Now the Authority’s case against you is weak. You won’t get life. And in the meantime …” I run my hand up Tarrant’s thigh. “I get to be with you.”
Tarrant’s grip relaxes. “When did you get so clever?” he asks, stroking my neck instead.
“I learnt from the best.” I lean forward to steal a kiss.
“Hmm,” Tarrant muses as we part, fingers twirling the hair at my nape. “Let’s hope you’re as useful to me in here.”
Tarrant wasn’t exaggerating when he said he owns the prison. As top dog, nothing happens without his approval and if it did, well, there’s hell to pay. Even the guards defer to him. Let him handle minor insurrections so long as it upholdsthe overall ‘peace.’ I learn quickly that if you aren’t with Tarrant, you’re against him—and that’s a very dangerous place to be.
“Keven’s dealing,” Kon, a short bald man with a limp, mutters in Tarrant’s ear during the morning work order. We’d all been assigned to Podz production—a deal Tarrant most likely arranged with the guards to ensure his crew are at hand if he needs them. From what I can glean, Kon is some sort of deputy—a 2-I-C to Tarrant’s command.
“I put some pressure on that runt, Percy,” Kon continues. “Boy bent easier than a bloody sheet of paper. Sold Keven out almost immediately. He’s having dissolvable tabs of moonshine and phets brought in under your very nose and he’s not even using our runners to do so.”
“So howishe doing it?” Tarrant asks, eyes never leaving the production belt he’s supervising.
“Dunno, boss,” Kon admits sheepishly. “Might require some more pressure. On Keven himself.”
Tarrant clicks his tongue. “That’ll take more than some finger-twisting in the showers,” he mutters. He punches the large red button below the conveyer, bringing the whole line to a screeching halt.
“What are you doing?” the guard shouts. “Still two hours left on this work order.”
“Labeller’s jammed,” Tarrant calls casually. “Need to show the new kid how to fix it. Eden, with me.”
He swings an arm around my shoulder and guides me away from the others. We stop in front of the large machine in the back of the room responsible for labelling and sealing the NourishPodz ready to be rationed. My heart hammers, half expecting Tarrant to ravish me as he so often does when we’re alone. Not that I mind. My lips part in anticipation.
“How much do you love me?” Tarrant asks huskily, his breath hot on my cheek.