Chapter Fourteen

Angelo strolled into the cafeteria, eyes scanning the crowded room until he found Rafael seated at one of the long tables with the other Los Lagos Latinos. A thin smile curled Angelo’s lips as he approached, clapping Rafael on the shoulder. “Rafael.”

Rafael looked up, his dark eyes glinting. “Angelo. Good to have you back, brother.” The two men exchanged a firm handshake.

“My bitch behave himself while I was gone?” Angelo asked, allowing a mocking edge to slide into his voice.

A laugh rumbled from Rafael’s broad chest. “He was a good boy. We made sure no one laid a finger on him.” He jerked his chin toward the line where Milo stood, tray in hand, carefully avoiding the eyes of the hardened convicts around him. One of the Latinos loitered behind him, acting like he wasn’t on babysitting duty. “Got him a work detail in the clinic to keep him out of trouble.”

Angelo nodded in approval. The medical center was probably the safest place for Milo, away from the rougher elements. “Smart move.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “So, what’s the word around here? Who’s been stirring up shit while I was in the hole?”

Rafael gestured with his fork. “Same old, same old. The Aryans are still beefing with the Brothers. Couple of the Latinos got into it with the bikers over cigarettes.” He shrugged, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Oh, and Gonzalez is up for parole next month.”

“No shit?” Angelo raised an eyebrow. “Lucky bastard.”

“Speaking of getting out,” Rafael said, his tone turning serious, “that brawl in the cafeteria…it’s not gonna fuck up your release date, is it?”

Angelo scoffed, stabbing at a limp green bean. “It better not. Not with what my lawyer’s getting paid.”

“La gordita?” Rafael lifted his eyebrows. “She as good as she is hot?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Angelo’s mouth. “Better. That woman could argue the devil into church.” He shook his head, remembering the way Isabeta had torn into him after the fight. “She’ll make sure I walk out of here on time, even if she has to drag me out by my balls.”

Rafael chuckled. “Good to hear it, man. Send me a postcard when you get there.”

Breakfast passed without incident. Afterwards, Angelo watched as one of the Latinos escorted Milo out of the cafeteria, heading toward the medical center for his work detail. As they walked away, Milo glanced back over his shoulder, his hazel eyes meeting Angelo’s with a look that could only be described as longing. Angelo’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, focusing intently on his tray.

Last night, after lights out, Milo had shown his gratitude for Angelo’s protection with enthusiasm. The memory of Milo’s soft, warm mouth wrapped around his cock sent a shiver down Angelo’s spine. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like that, with such clumsy eagerness. The way it had felt to have his pretty lips stretched around Angelo’s shaft…

Angelo shook his head, pushing the thought away. It didn’t mean anything. It was just a blow job, a transaction. Milo needed protection, and Angelo needed release. That was all there was to it.

Still, as Angelo dumped his tray and headed to the yard, he couldn’t quite shake the memory of how good it had felt to have Milo’s mouth on him, to tangle his fingers in that soft hair and guide Milo’s head up and down. It had been too long since Angelo had felt the touch of another person, too long since he’d had any kind of physical release with anyone by himself.

But that was all it was, Angelo told himself firmly. A physical need, nothing more. He couldn’t afford to get attached to Milo, couldn’t let himself feel anything beyond the most basic of urges. In here, feelings were a weakness, a liability.

No, he resolved, he wouldn’t think about it any further. Milo was just a means to an end, a way to pass the time until Angelo could get out of this hellhole and back to his life on the outside. Nothing more, nothing less.

Angelo followed Rafael into the yard, the hot sun beating down on their shoulders as they made their way to the rusted weight benches. “Spot me,” Angelo grunted, lying back on the bench and gripping the worn metal bar. Rafael stood behind him, his hands hovering near the bar as Angelo began to lift.

“So, did nothing exciting happen while I was in the hole?” Angelo asked between reps, his muscles straining against the weight.

Rafael shrugged, his eyes scanning the yard. “Nah, man. It’s been pretty quiet. But you know how it is in here. Calm before the storm and all that.”

Angelo sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I hear you. Sinclair been causing any trouble?”

“Not yet,” Rafael said, taking his place on the bench. “But I got a feeling he’s up to something. He’s been too quiet lately.”

Angelo nodded, standing behind Rafael as he began to lift. “Keep an eye on him for me, will you? I don’t trust that skinhead motherfucker as far as I can throw him.”

Rafael grunted in agreement, his muscles bulging as he pressed the bar above his chest. “You got it, boss.”

They continued to work out in silence for a while, the sun beating down on them as they moved from one piece of equipment to the next. Around them, the other inmates did the same, their bodies glistening with sweat as they strained against the weights.

As they rested between sets, Angelo’s thoughts drifted to Milo. He wondered how the kid was doing in the clinic, if he was staying out of trouble. Angelo knew he couldn’t be there to protect him forever, especially with his release date coming up.

As if in answer to this thought, Angelo turned to see Sinclair only a few yards away, leering at him with that manic grin.

“Heard you’re getting out soon,” Sinclair said cheerfully. “Don’t worry. Your boyfriend won’t miss you at all.”

Angelo’s jaw clenched. He leaned towards Sinclair, his voice low and dangerous. “The fuck you say?”

Sinclair’s smirk widened. “Just saying that once you’re gone, that pretty boy of yours is gonna get a whole new experience of prison life. Might even let him suck my dick, see how he likes the taste of a real man.”

Rage boiled up inside Angelo like a volcano, threatening to erupt. The thought of Sinclair putting his filthy hands on Milo, forcing himself on him…it made Angelo see red. He knew exactly what Sinclair would do to Milo given half a chance—beat him, pass him around like a party favor to his Aryan brothers.

The fury surging through Angelo’s veins made his skin feel too tight for his body. He was on his feet, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you,” he growled, his voice a low rumble of barely contained rage.

Sinclair’s pale eyes glittered with malice as he pushed off the wall, squaring up to Angelo. The other inmates had gone deathly silent, the yard holding its collective breath as the two men faced off.

“What’s the matter, Torres?” Sinclair taunted, a cruel smirk twisting his thin lips. “You that possessive over your little bitch? Must mean his ass is real nice and tight for you.”

Angelo’s lip curled in a sneer of disgust. Reaching down, he gripped the bulge in his prison overalls, giving it a crude squeeze.

“Milo’s tighter than your scrawny fist could ever dream of being,” he spat. “And you’re just jealous none of your pasty-ass little boy toys got holes that snug around your sad excuse for a dick.”

Sinclair’s eyes flared with rage, his face mottling an ugly red. Angelo’s smirk deepened as he gave his crotch another lewd squeeze.

“What’s the matter? Truth hurt? You mad ’cause you know I’m packin’ way more heat than your pathetic pecker?” He let out a harsh bark of laughter, turning his back on Sinclair in a blatant show of disdain. “Go fuck yourself, Sinclair,” he called over his shoulder, his voice dripping with contempt.

Even with his back turned, Angelo could feel the heat of Sinclair’s anger radiating off him like a physical force. He tensed, ready to whirl around and fight if necessary, but Sinclair just stalked off, shouldering one of the Latinos aside as he went.

Angelo dropped back onto the weight bench, steaming mad, and put his hands on the bar. “Sinclair’s a real piece of shit,” he grunted to Rafael.

Rafael nodded in agreement, but he was frowning. “No arguments here, brother. But you know he’s out for blood. Yours and that pretty boy of yours.”

Angelo grunted as he lifted the weight, his muscles straining. “I got it under control,” he said between reps. “But you got my back if anything goes down, right?”

“Always, hermano. You know that.”

Angelo breathed out, relief coming over him. It was good to know he had Rafael in his corner. In a place like this, loyalty was everything.

***

Dinner was a lackluster affair, the shriveled chicken and soggy green beans doing little to satiate Angelo’s appetite. He sat at the table, his eyes scanning the cafeteria until they landed on Milo. The kid was hunched over his tray, picking at his food with a look of disgust on his face.

Angelo felt a rush of arousal at the sight of him, his body responding to the memory of Milo’s submission the night before. He let his gaze linger on Milo, watching as he squirmed in his seat under Angelo’s scrutiny. He could see the blush spreading across Milo’s cheeks, the way his eyes darted around nervously. Angelo knew that Milo was desperate for release, that he hadn’t been able to come last night. The thought of Milo squirming, unfulfilled, begging for release was almost too much to bear.

Back in their cell, Angelo waited impatiently for lights out. He could feel the tension building in his body, the anticipation of having Milo at his mercy again. Milo seemed to sense something was up, but he sat quietly on his bunk with a book, pretending to be absorbed.

The cell finally went dark.

“Come here,” Angelo said, lying back against his pillow.

He heard Milo slither down, and then felt him scrambling onto the bottom bunk. Angelo caught him and rolled him over, pinning Milo beneath him, groping him roughly. The feel of Milo’s soft skin beneath his hands was intoxicating, the way he squirmed and writhed an intoxicant.

He listened to Milo’s shallow, needy breathing, feeling his own heart race in response. Milo’s cock pressed against his thigh, already hard, his body trembling. It made Angelo feel powerful, in control. He yanked down Milo’s pants, shoving his hands inside to grope his ass.

Angelo imagined fucking Milo, of what it would feel like to get his dick in him and fuck him full of come.

He growled this fantasy into Milo’s ear, telling him he was going to fuck him hard and make Milo take every inch of his cock. Milo whimpered beneath him, his body trembling with emotion.

Angelo enjoyed Milo’s surrender, the way he rolled facedown when Angelo ordered him, and spread his legs as if he thought Angelo was going to fuck him dry right now. Angelo rubbed his cock between Milo’s cheeks, pressed the head of his cock to Milo’s asshole, enjoying the way Milo’s body tensed in response.

“You want it, don’t you?” Angelo murmured, his voice low and husky. “You want me to fuck you, to make you come.”

Milo whimpered, his body trembling with need. Angelo could feel his own arousal building, the need to dominate Milo, to make him submit. He pressed his cock harder against Milo’s asshole, enjoying the way he squirmed beneath him.

“Please,” Milo begged. “Please, Torres. Please, sir.”

Angelo chuckled, enjoying the way Milo’s body trembled beneath him. He knew he had him right where he wanted him, that Milo would do anything he asked. And the thought of that, of having Milo at his mercy, was almost too much to bear.

He spat on Milo’s thighs to get them wet. Then he gripped his cock in his hand, guiding it between Milo’s legs. The warmth of Milo’s thighs enveloped him, the slickness of his skin making it easy for Angelo to slide back and forth.

Milo moaned beneath him, his body trembling with each thrust. Angelo could feel the pressure building in his cock, the need for release growing stronger with each passing moment. He fucked Milo’s thighs harder, the sound of their skin slapping together filling the small cell.

Angelo could feel Milo’s balls pressed against his cock, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine. He loved the feeling of domination that came with mounting Milo like this, the way he could make him submit to his every whim.

Milo’s moans grew louder, his body writhing beneath Angelo. Angelo could feel his orgasm building, the pressure in his cock growing unbearable. He fucked Milo’s thighs harder, his hips slamming into him with each thrust.

With a grunt, Angelo came, his cock spasming as he spilled his seed between Milo’s thighs. He collapsed on top of Milo, his body spent. For a moment, they lay there in silence, their breathing heavy in the still air.

Angelo rolled off of Milo, his body slick with sweat. He looked down at the younger man, taking in the sight of his come-splattered thighs. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re a good little puta,” he said, his voice low and husky.

Milo made a wet sound, like a sob. Angelo felt a twinge of guilt. He ran his hand over Milo’s back, feeling him shudder under it. “Good boy,” he said.

This seemed to ease the tension in Milo’s shoulders a little. Angelo stroked him again, feeling his muscles relax and go limp.

“Did you like that?” he asked quietly.

It took a long time for Milo to answer. When he did, it was muffled, his head barely turned aside from the pillow. “Yes, sir,” he said, so low down it was barely audible. But he still said it, and Angelo believed him.