All Chapters of Cellblock Heat : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

QuincyI’ll be honest—at first, I thought Jordan was joking.He had a habit of doing that: saying the most outrageous things with that smug curve on his lips that made it impossible to tell whether he was serious or not. But when I saw him on his knees in the corner of our cell, palms dusted with chalky plaster, taking out boards from the same patch of wall we both slept beside every night and setting them under the bunk… I knew this wasn’t one of his games.“Jordan,” I whispered sharply, glancing toward the door. “What the hell are you doing?”He didn’t even look up. Luckily, the noisy Cellblock was loud enough to drown out our voices—and his unlawful act. But that noise wouldn’t last forever.“Opening up a path, preppy.”I blinked. “Opening up a path?”“Yup.” He turned his head, like it would be possible for me to see the glint in his eyes in the faint light. So much for putting me in order. “You said you wanted somethin’ new. I’m just givin’ you that.”I let out a short, breathless

QuincyIt’s been a while.I mean, eight-years-ago kind of while.Back when I was that stunning — the golden boy with a nerd’s glasses and a devil’s grin. The one who carried a spotless GPA and a discreet filthy reputation. I had the echelon of women at my disposal, not because of my charm or my grades, but because I was blessed with a huge dick and a tongue to rizz those women---I tore a sheet from one of many King Solomon's journals, and learnt it to perfection.I kept my women entertained, body and soul. I’d flip them over, press their faces into their pillows, and trail my tongue up their trembling thighs until I reached their sweet center until they were nothing but shuddering, breathless messes of pleasure and surrender.Yeah, that was me.But somehow, without noticing when or how, that part of me—the reckless, pleasure-chasing barge I’d proudly captained—drifted away the moment I graduated from Oxford and saw real life blink in front of my eyes.My father didn’t congratulate me.

Quincy “Why’d you bring me flowers, Quincy?” Dr. Anaba’s voice came soft but steady — the kind of voice that could both heal and wound if it wanted to. It was the same tone she’d used the first day she saw me, when she spoke like I was something worth saving. We sat at the far corner of the general ward, the air thick with antiseptic and muffled sounds — squeaking soles, low murmurs, the faint rattle of a metal trolley rolling by. She didn’t sound angry. Not even cautious. Just… tired. I looked down at the daisies clutched in my hands — limp, white petals bruised from my grip. Their stems were wrapped in a rough napkin from the cafeteria, the only thing I could find. They weren’t pretty. They weren’t enough. But they were the closest thing to remorse I could afford. “I just… wanted to apologize,” I said quietly. “For everything.” Anaba leaned back in her chair, eyes soft but gleaming — the kind of glint that belonged to a woman who had outlived too many regrets. “Apology for

Quincy Back to the yard. Shirts off. The harsh sunlight's intended to turn my skin into barbecue. All the available shade I could shield myself from the sun was taken by inmates I don't fuck with. So I found a quiet patch near the bleachers, a place where no one tried to make conversation or disturb me. Push-ups helped me think—or stop thinking, if you know what I'm talking about. I’d been on my eighty-seventh rep when a shadow fell over me, cutting off the sunlight that had been burning through my back. He stopped few inches away, but I can still smell him. The faintest hint of wood and amber floods my nostrils and a string of memories follow. Nibbling, Groaning, Thrusting, writhing for his— Stop. Anyways, his boots were in my line of sight. “You're blocking my sunlight, Jordan,” I said, breathing between reps. “Yeah,” came his voice, smooth and cocky as ever. “Figured you’ve got enough shine for both of us.” I pushed up, elbows trembling, chest screaming. “D

Jordan A perfectly disoriented Quincy is worth trading grands to get in the front view row.His eyes are blown out in complete perplexity. They are electric, a charged mixture of amassed horniness. His silenced fractured gasp added to his pulchritude.“Jordan, the fuck are you up doing?”“Nothing much. Let's call this tête-à-tête.” I said with a shrug as I traced the outline of his shaft with my feet. I feel it grow against my feet—clear evidence that he's into this shit regardless of the death stare he has on me. What excites me the most is that he doesn't flinch. His face is as red as a fucking tomatoe, but his legs are spread apart like it was before I started on with this craft.“Are you crazy?!” His eyes snapped to the side, looking at the other inmates chatting and enjoying their dinner. “Stop this shit right now before we get caught!” he said in a gritted voice as he returned his gaze back to me.“Keep your chill, man. That's how we're not gonna get caught.” I gave his cock mo