The Prison Project
Chapter 74 – Growing Heat
Coban’s POV
The sun was still baking down as we crossed the yard, Margot walking just ahead of me, jumper hanging awkwardly on her frame.
She tugged at the sleeves like she couldn’t stand the feel of it any longer, and I couldn’t blame her, not after how long I made her sit in the heat wearing that damn thing.
But it wasn’t about the jumper.
It was about control.
About watching her squirm a little.
About reminding her of why I was set on making her wear it in the first place.
She had made a big mistake…
So letting her sweat was the consequence of her actions yesterday in the gym. Simple as that. She would think twice next time before stripping herself off around this damn prison!
Leo’s dumbass question about the report shouldn’t have meant anything either, but the way she answered… “Of course…” Like it was a maybe…
Like I hadn’t protected her all week.
Like she hadn’t kissed me back last night with her little fingers twisted in my shirt like she wanted me to ruin her entirely.
Like she didn’t enjoy cuddling and sleeping next to me whenever I gave her the chance…
I was fair with her about the whole notes thing too, telling her to write a better list after I explained why most of her original points had been total bullshit…
I could have flipped out on her, dragged her across the damn room… spanked her bare ass with the leather of the pad, but I didn’t.
I had been fair.
Which was what pissed me off the most!
I even let her take the damn jumper off eventually, and that was more generous than what I’d planned on being to begin with.
And still… she looked at me like I might explode any second.
What the fuck was she scared of? My temper?
Because she hadn’t seen the half of it yet.
She had no idea how mild I’d been keeping things for her sake this week.
I clenched my jaw as we stepped back into the corridor that led to our cell. The air inside was cooler, and I noticed the way her shoulders relaxed the second we crossed into shade.
The tops of her shoulders had began to burn outside, I noticed.
That damn vest. Too thin. Too tight. Too exposed.
I narrowed my eyes as we walked inside, but said nothing.
Just watched the way her fingers played nervously with the hem of her jumper like she was waiting for permission to breathe again.
Good.
I wanted her like this.
Uneasy.
On edge.
Because if she was worried about what I might do, maybe she’d think twice tomorrow when the guards hand her that blank sheet and ask her to summarise her “progress” with me.
I was going to find out what she planned to say, one way or another…
Bribes always worked. The right food. The right pills. Enough cigarettes to buy loyalty for a week. The guards would tell me everything – what she put down, what she said.
If she gave me a glowing review, fine.
We’d move forward.
But if she so much as implied I was a threat to her, a danger…
She’d see my real temper then.
The second I closed the cell door behind us, her jumper was already halfway unzipped, as she tugged the rest of it off with a deep exhale, throwing it toward the corner of the room with more drama than necessary.
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
“Did I say you could take that off?” I asked, voice calm – too calm.
Testing her again.
She froze.
I watched her spine go stiff, watched the heat rise in her cheeks again as she turned halfway to look at me.
“But… we’re alone now,” she said, voice small, almost confused.
She was right.
I just liked keeping her unsure of it.
“That’s right…” I murmured, pushing off the wall and taking a slow step forward. “And I’m the only one allowed to see any extra skin on you, aren’t I?”
Her lips parted, breath catching as her eyes flicked down and then back up.
I saw the understanding dawn there.
Control. Ownership. That’s what I was reminding her of.
Everything she does in here belongs to me.
I stepped closer, slow, letting the silence stretch. She backed up a little on instinct maybe, until the backs of her legs touched the edge of the bed.
I reached out, dragged my fingers lightly along the edge of her shoulder where her skin had turned the darkest pink.
She sucked in a breath.
“You were burning…” I muttered, mostly to myself. “And so I brought you back inside.” I told her, expecting a thank you of some kind, but none came.
“I’m still glad you said I could take it off,” she whispered, clearly not regretting the burns in the slightest over cooking herself alive in the zipper.
My gaze snapped down to hers, my height always towering over her petite frame…
“I say a lot of things,” I said darkly. “You’re supposed to figure out which ones I mean and which ones I don’t.”
Her eyes flicked to my mouth. Just a second. Barely noticeable. But I caught it.
“So you wanted me to keep it on?” She tests, unsure, as I nodded slowly.
Of course I did.
Ignoring her, I move on quickly, my hand reaching up to grasp her chin in a firm grip.
“Tomorrow,” I said, voice dropping lower, more intimate, more dangerous. “You’re going to tell them what a good little prisoner I’ve been. Aren’t you?”
She hesitated again.
Not long. But enough to piss me off.
I grabbed her hip with my free hand suddenly, dragging her forward until she stumbled flush against me.
My hands slid down and around to her ass, gripping it firmly, forcing her body to arch slightly into mine.
She gasped, breath shallow, hands instinctively pressing against my chest for balance.
“I’ve protected you,” I said, my voice hot against her neck. “I haven’t hit you. Haven’t forced you in to anything you didn’t want. You think anyone else in here would’ve treated you this soft?”
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
I could feel her pulse fluttering at her throat like a scared rabbit.
“And last night…” I continued, brushing my lips just beneath her ear, “you kissed me back. Remember that?”
Her fingers gripped my shirt. Not pushing me away. Just holding on.
Good.
I pulled back just enough to look at her face.
She was flushed, confused, lips slightly parted like she was trying to figure out which part of her liked this and which part was terrified.
“You scared of me, Margot?” I asked quietly.
She blinked, and then, after a beat, nodded.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
I smirked.
“Good.”
I leaned in again, this time letting my mouth brush hers softly, barely a kiss, more like a warning dressed as affection.
“Because scared girls don’t write bad reports,” I said.
Before slamming my lips into hers, the heat growing between us in waves.