Chapter 15: Drugged Devotion

Their plates from last night sat half-eaten, cold and congealed—laced with a hidden venom that gnawed at Jaime’s vows and stoked Reggie’s relentless hunger, slipped into their meals by Captain Torres from the start. The two young prisoners had consumed enough for it to sear into their marrow, blind to the chemical fire fueling their restless heat. Torres eyed Jaime’s pale, naked form sprawled across her Black cellmate, limbs entwined in a post-coital snarl. Her smooth skin gleamed against Reggie’s dark frame, a vivid clash of light and shadow, a tableau of violation he’d orchestrated.

He watched her sleep, draped over Reggie’s torso, serene in oblivion—an unseen spark forging a bond Torres now relished. He pictured the crescendo—weeks of buried fire erupting into a steamy, profitable digital feed—and itched to scour last night’s video, a treasure trove of her degradation.

“Okay, lovebirds, it is feeding time. Rise and shine,” Torres called, his flawless English edged with a faint Spanish accent, a cold summons piercing the cell’s dank air.

Jaime’s hand twitched, drifting over Reggie’s swollen pecs as if they were lovers, not predator and prey. Still dazed, her fingers grazed his carved muscle—firm yet yielding—a strange heat flaring in her touch. For a fleeting moment before waking, she sank into a phantom echo of the love Steve once gave her, sleep’s haze blotting out her chains.

Sleep peeled away slowly, leaving her groggy—then jolted as she registered Reggie beneath her, her arm slung across his bulk, hand stroking his chest. She wasn’t holding him, wasn’t caressing him! The bed was too small, she insisted to herself, senses clawing through a thick fog she couldn’t name. Bolting upright, she scanned the cell for cover. Reggie lay sprawled on their sheet, so she scrambled for the prison clothes he’d stripped from her yesterday, strewn across the floor, as Torres leered at her bare skin—her wedding band and engagement ring glinting on her finger, mute witnesses to her fall.

“Hurry and eat—all of it this time. Do not waste more food, or you will get none. Shower in an hour,” Torres barked, voice flat and pitiless, before stalking off to other tasks.

Reggie slid off the bed, his sleek, chiseled muscles rippling as he stood. Jaime’s eyes betrayed her, lingering on the broad sweep of his back, his deep ebony skin catching the cell’s faint light with a quiet sheen. Her gaze dipped to his heavy, striking manhood swaying between his thighs—a rush of memories crashing in: his flesh pressed against hers, his taste flooding her mouth, the way he’d filled her utterly. Could she feel something for this young Black man, despite the horror binding them? He bent to grab his prison uniform, flashing his carved abs before pulling it on with a casual swagger.