Chapter 1: Virginity Claimed
The air in the cell was always thick. It smelled of sweat, of cheap bleach from the mopped halls, and underneath it all, the faint, coppery tinge of rust from the bars. Lucia lay on the bottom bunk, the rough gray blanket pushed down to her waist. The flickering bulb overhead stuttered, throwing the shadows of the bars across her body in a moving cage.
She was wet. Soaking, actually. A slow, throbbing ache had started low in her belly an hour ago, a familiar pull that ignored place and time. Her uniform pants were a rough, ugly green, but her hand was beneath the waistband now, her fingers sliding through the slick heat she found there. She bit her lip, stifling a moan into the stale quiet. Her other hand crept under her shirt, pinching a nipple that was already hard and aching. She thought of him. Of Dom. Of his hands, which were like scarred granite, and the way he looked at her—like she was something to be consumed, not cherished.
A floorboard creaked above her.
She stilled her hand, her breath catching. The entire bunk frame, a skeleton of welded steel, groaned as weight shifted. She saw his bare feet first, then the thick, tattooed calves, descending the ladder. He filled the space between the bunks, his silhouette blocking the sickly light. He didn’t speak. He never did, not at first.
His eyes were black in the dimness, fixed on where her hand was still tucked inside her pants. The corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction. He knew.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Lucia whispered, the words sounding stupid and small.
Dom grunted. He reached down, his calloused fingers wrapping around her wrist. He pulled her hand free, bringing her glistening fingers to his own face. He looked at them, then sucked two of them into his mouth, his tongue circling her fingertips slowly. A jolt went straight to her core. He released her hand with a wet pop.
“You’re dripping,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the cramped space.
“It’s you,” she breathed, spreading her legs wider in invitation. “Always you.”
He knelt on the concrete floor, the muscles in his back and shoulders rolling under his tight grey t-shirt. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her pants and underwear and peeled them down in one rough motion. The cold air hit her exposed skin, but it was chased away immediately by the heat of his breath. He didn’t kiss her there. He just looked, for a long, tense moment, watching the evidence of her desire gleam on her curls.
“Beg for it,” he commanded, his voice barely audible.
“Please, Dom.” It tumbled out of her. “I need it. I need you inside. Right now.”
He unbuttoned his own pants, freeing his cock. It was already fully hard, thick and heavy-looking in the uneven light. He stroked himself once, twice, his gaze never leaving hers. He leaned over her, one hand braced on the wall above the bunk, the other guiding himself to her entrance. The blunt head pressed against her, and she gasped, arching up.
“You’re tight,” he observed, a hint of a dark thrill in his tone. “Tighter than usual.”
“It’s… it’s different tonight,” she confessed, her cheeks flushing. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer. “Just… do it. Please. I want to feel you tear it.”
He understood. A feral gleam lit his eyes. He pushed forward, not with a slow, careful stroke, but with a single, devastating thrust of his hips that buried him to the hilt.
Lucia cried out, a sharp, strangled sound of pain and profound relief. Her nails dug into the hard slabs of his biceps as a searing stretch burned through her, a brief, bright barrier giving way. He didn’t pause. He held himself there, deep, as she panted, her body clenching and fluttering around the sudden, massive invasion.
“Fuck,” he growled, the word shuddering out of him. He dropped his forehead to hers. “That’s it. That’s all of it.”
He began to move. Withdrawing almost all the way, then surging back in, a relentless, pounding rhythm that shook the bunk frame, the metal joints squealing in protest. Each thrust chased the last echo of pain away, replacing it with a building, blinding friction. Lucia’s moans were swallowed by the pillow and by his shoulder when she buried her face there. The world narrowed to the slam of his body into hers, the sweat-slick slide of skin on skin, the raw, slapping sounds that seemed obscenely loud in the concrete box.
“You feel that?” he grunted into her ear, his pace becoming frantic, brutal. “You feel how deep I am? This cunt is mine. This is where I put my kid. Right here.”
His words tipped her over the edge. Her orgasm ripped through her, a silent, convulsing wave that locked every muscle and stole the air from her lungs. He felt her clamping down on him and swore again, a raw, filthy string of words as his own control shattered. He drove in one last, punishing time and held, his body rigid above her. She felt the hot, pulsing rush of his release flooding into her, a claiming that was more psychological than physical.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the distant echo of a slamming metal door from down the tier. He finally collapsed onto her, his weight immense and comforting. They were both slick with sweat. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, biting the tender skin there lightly.
“You’re gonna be swollen tomorrow,” he muttered, a trace of satisfaction in his exhaustion.
“Good,” she said, tracing the ink on his shoulder. Her body hummed, utterly spent and completely alive. The dull, ever-present fear of the place was gone, burned away for now. She felt marked. Owned. Safe in the most dangerous way possible.
A heavy set of footsteps clanged down the walkway outside their cell, slowing. A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, sweeping across the floor and over the rumpled blanket on the lower bunk. Dom didn’t move off her. He simply turned his head, his eyes meeting the guard’s through the bars. A silent challenge.
The guard, a man named Griggs, shook his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. He tapped his flashlight against a bar twice—clang, clang—a sound that meant nothing and everything. Then he moved on, his footsteps fading.
Lucia let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Dom shifted, pulling out of her. A trickle of their combined release leaked onto the thin mattress. He lay beside her on the narrow bunk, pulling her back against his chest, his hand splayed possessively over her lower belly.
“Sleep,” he ordered.
And she did, while outside the cell, in the endless concrete night, the machinery of the prison ground on.