****

When I take the small square dishes from the oven, the rich aroma of tomato, basil and parmesan drifts into the air, reminding me of home. Mamma’s eggs.

“Sit,” I bark at Suds, and lift my chin towards the dining table. Suds pours us each a coffee from the plunger that I’d filled about five minutes earlier, and takes the mugs to the table. Fuck, I need a decent hit of caffeine today.

“Sheesh, righto.” Suds parks her butt on a chair and watches me as I snatch some cutlery from the drawer and grab some dinner plates. Using a tea towel, I place a hot dish on each plate with some toasted ciabatta drizzled with olive oil on the side.

“So I have to say, you seemed pretty comfortable with your head between my legs this morning,” she says, with clear amusement in her tone.

I can’t help but laugh. I was pretty fucking comfortable. “Probably the closest to Heaven I’ll ever get.”

“Ha! Do chicks even buy shit like that?” she asks, and tilts her head to the side.

“I dunno. I’m not big on small talk. I prefer to let my actions speak for me instead. I find it’s pretty easy to convince a woman to do something when you’re lapping between their thighs.”

“You think women just roll over that easy, huh?”

You’d be surprised. “In my experience, yes.”

“Ha,” she scoffs.

“Can I ask you something, and feel free to slap me, but given your sway either side of the fence, who do you reckon eats pussy the best? Blokes or chicks?”

Suds starts coughing and her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink.

“Need some water there?”

She takes a sips of her coffee and then clears her throat. “Definitely chicks.”

I’d be kidding myself if ‘challenge accepted’ didn’t just flash in front of my eyes like a king-sized neon sign. “You don’t say.”

“In fact, I’d go so far as to say I’m pretty fucking good at it. Women know what they want; I know what I want, so I think I’m in a pretty good position to deliver on that.”

“You know I’m thinking about you goin’ down on a chick right now, don’t you?”

“You didn’t even have to say. I assumed.”

“You know I’d bet you every cent to my name that I could eat you out better than anyone—a chick or a dick.”

Colour rises to her cheeks and she squirms in her seat. “I’m not making that bet,” she says, and shovels in another mouthful of bread laden with tomato and eggs.

“You chicken shit,” I tease, and wink at her.

She dips the bread back into the dish, and then fills her mouth again. I try to avert my eyes from her lips and ignore the noises coming from her mouth, but it’s useless. I can’t think of anything else other than what she could do with that mouth.

“You probably wouldn’t know what to do with a dick then,” I tease. I can’t wait to see where she takes this. If I’m not careful, I might be wearing the rest of her breakfast.

Suds laughs and shakes her head, not taking her eyes from mine.

“That’s funny, is it?” I ask through a chuckle.

“There’s a lot more you can do with your mouth than simply stick a dick in it. That part isn’t rocket science. It’s all in the tongue. That muscle is a wondrous thing, and should never be underestimated. Trust me when I say that I know how to use mine … very well.”

I swallow hard. Pretty sure I nearly just came in my pants.

Suds chows down the rest of her eggs and then stands up. I’m still frozen, open-mouthed, dreaming up exactly how she’s gonna go about visiting every part of me with that dexterous oral muscle of hers.

“Thanks for breakfast. Best eggs I’ve had in a loooong time,” she says, and leaves me, with a sweet smile. Does she have any idea of how much blood she’s just directed to my cock, or how serious the case of blue balls is that I’ve got going on here?

“No dramas,” I say, with a shrug. I’d get up, but it’s tent city down south. I’m just gonna sit here, because there’s no way I can walk straight with the mother of a hard-on in these jeans.

She grumbles and then pouts. “S’pose I’d better leave for work. Thank God I have a late start today.”

“Do you even like your job?” I ask.

“It’s okay … keeps the bank off my back.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s pretty much it. What are you up to today?”

Let me see.

1. Jerk off.

2. Visit my brother in jail.

3. Go to the workshop and get my arse kicked.

“Just bike shit,” I tell her.

“Okay, well, have a good day. I’ll see you tonight.”

I lift my chin in her direction as she opens the door. “Yeah. Tonight.”

“I might even make a fresh batch of popcorn if you’re lucky.”

“Sounds good.”

The door clicks shut. With my right hand, I palm down the front of my jeans.

Time to get the first item off the list.

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ROCCO

He doesn’t like me to visit. He says it makes it harder for him, but I can’t stay away. Not when his birthday was yesterday. Twenty-five. I can’t fucking believe it.

The money I’ve been holding in trust for him since Mum passed can finally be his. When he gets out of here he can start a new life. I’ll have to get behind him and push him. I promised Mamma I’d take care of him. I’ve done a shitty job of it so far, but I’ll make things right even if I die trying.

My bag is searched. I turn out my pockets and am scanned. After the usual security rigmarole where I have to give them my Visitor Identification Number and ID and fill out the visitor information form, I’m finally led into the visitor room, a long narrow space filled with tables and stools, screwed to the floor. Half the tables are already occupied with inmates and their visitors. I can’t see V yet, so I grab us a couple of Cokes from the vending machine and take a seat in the far corner of the room. I kick the plastic bag containing stuff I bought for him under the table. A young boy, maybe three or four years old, runs past my table, hollering and carrying on after what looks like an older teenage brother. It’s fucking crazy in here.

I keep an eye on the guards near the door and wait. I bounce my knee up and down, the shaking distracting me from my trembling hands. Can’t they be more fucking organised in here? I don’t wanna waste a minute that I could spend with him. They make you go to all the trouble to confirm times and shit, yet they can’t stick to the schedule.

A heavy door squeaks in the distance. From the far corner of the room, I see him. He’s pale, white as a fucking sheet, and he’s skinny. My heart sinks in my chest. Look at you, V. Any other time, away from this fuckhole of a place, I’d tell him he looks like shit, but I can’t do it here as I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t do anything to improve the way he’s feeling.

A crooked smile pulls at his mouth when he lays eyes on me. Taking small, unhurried steps, he walks in my direction. Why the fuck is he limping? Is he hurt? Fuck!

Taking in deep breaths now, I stand up and move around the other side of the table and take a step towards him. He holds out a hand to halt me. I suppose he doesn’t want me to make a big deal in front of other people. I get that. I need to be cool.

My itchy fingers grab him when he finally stands in front of me.

“You look like shit, Roc,” he says, his voice gravelly.

A nervous laugh blurts from my mouth as I haul him into a hug. “Fuckin’ missed you,” I growl into his ear as I squeeze him like a vice. I bite down on my lip to stop it trembling and force myself to swallow the hurt and the anger that wants to transform into tears and a fit of rage. I’m not emotional at the best of times, but having him in my arms, having his wild, beating heart hammering against mine—if ever I’m gonna lose it, it’d be right now.

“Same,” he chokes out.

I sit down opposite him and pull up the bag from underneath the table. “Hey. I bought you some more socks and shit, and a couple of dirt-bike magazines. I put some more money in your account, too.”