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Chris is pissed as hell at Katherine, at Tobias fucking Beecher, at the whole goddamned world. What the fuck was Toby thinking, practically handing him over on a gold platter, so Katherine can — what, fucking pretend to represent him, then have some goddamned crisis of conscience? Toby hasn't smoothed out his edges for this bimbo sleaze yet? She doesn't believe him? No one who needs a lawyer in the first place is all that fucking honest. Admit it.
Sitting on the bunk, he fumes, kicking out at the side of the metal sink.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Howell throws open the door. "The fuck are you doing?"
Chris flatly ignores her, chin on his chest, hands clenched into fists by his sides. Swear to Christ, if she comes into his cell, he'll slap her across her fat mouth.
"Keller, goddamit! Shut the fuck up!"
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk-thunk.
Crashing noises, then Howell fills the doorway. She storms over, rounding behind him.
Chris rolls his eyes. Thunk.
Howell uses her nightstick to make her reply: a solid thunk of her own, shoving the stick through the bars and right into the middle of Chris' back.
"Fuck!" He bolts off the bed, turning to face her, flexing his arms. He wants to punch someone, and she's right there. "You bitch!"
"C'mon, big guy," Howell taunts, moving around to the front of the cell. "Big tough guy."
Smiling widely, she unlocks the cell door. Chris stomps toward her, not caring that she's armed. His only thought is making her hurt, so he doesn't have to. Howell waits until he's a pace or two away, then swings the nightstick back and puts some weight behind it when she throws it into Chris' stomach.
Twisting, frozen, breath knocked out, he crumples to the floor. When he can almost breathe again, he rolls over to find Howell standing over him, wearing her uniform slacks and a cotton tank top. Kneeling down, her hands latch onto the waist of his pants, unbuttoning and yanking down his zipper. Deftly, she pulls his cock out. He's unsurprised his dick is hard, moaning when her fingers hover over his erection.
His anger recedes as soon as her lips touch his skin. Arching off the floor, he reaches out, trying to touch her tits, but she pushes away his hands. Working him over with the light touch of her fingers and the hot slide of her mouth, he comes quickly, gasping at the intensity. Howell swallows, licking at him until he bats weakly at her shoulder. Uncurling her body, she stands gracefully, wiping her mouth and looking satisfied.
Chris lies prone on the cold concrete while she shrugs back into her uniform shirt and fixes the fake tie.
She smiles down at him, shark-like. "Thanks for the pick-me-up."
Whistling a jaunty tune, Howell locks him in, slamming the cell door.
Chris stares after her in disbelief. Last time, she nearly bit off his dick for not making sure she came first. Women.