Sinful Infatuation

Sinful Infatuation: Chapter 13

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Present Day: January 14

Rikers Island

New York, New York

12:00pm

She refused to look around. She refused to acknowledge the catcalls or the lascivious glances from the guards and male prisoners. She had a specific destination in mind, and she would get there with one click of her Jimmy Choo heels---one step at a time. Her outfit—a deep, plum knee-length pencil skirt that emphasized the curve of her hips, a white button up that revealed just the perfect amount of golden brown cleavage, dark emerald green snake skin heels and accenting gold jewelry—had all been chosen with a specific purpose in mind. Behind the lusty glare of the guards was smugness, a smug knowledge of who she was, whom she was married to. The guards and other law officials within the Tri-State, including her ex-fiancé Maxwell, were excessively happy to know that they finally got the man who was on their shit list for the longest. Seeing his “fine ass wife,” as someone had said so eloquently to his coworker, walk into Rikers in search of a man who was once so powerful on the streets gave them enough entertainment for the rest of their boring lives. Even as he sat in a cell, they envied him. They envied his life prior to being arrested, and they coveted his wife…and as a result, they presumably made her husband’s locked up life much harder than it needed to be (she was only assuming so, since her husband would never tell her shit, as usual). So she would give them something to hate on. She would flaunt her attractiveness, her designer fashion, and her wealth (well, whatever the Feds didn’t seize).

A guard barred her from opening the door that led to the visitation hallway. “You know the rules. One-hour visitation. No yelling, hitting the glass or otherwise disruptive behavior or you run the risk of losing all visitation rights in the future. Is that clear?” He asked gruffly.

Her full lips spread into a teasing grin. “Crystal clear,” she quickly looked at his nametag, “Ravinsky.”

He gave her the standard male look over. It was primitive, instinctual, as if men couldn’t help but at least briefly admire an attractive female. Ravinsky stepped aside and let her in. She walked past all the other men and women who were in the middle of their visits. She sat down at one of the empty “stations.” She hated these visits, where a thick glass stood between them, where she couldn’t touch him, or take comfort in the warm, spicy scent of his skin. All she had to comfort her was the sight of him, and the sound of his deep, bass voice through the dirty phone. She waited more or less patiently for him to arrive.

As if her impatient thoughts summoned him, she saw her husband being led into the room, on the other side of the glass. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, which signified his “status” in jail. He looked as good as ever though. His jet-black curly hair was gone; instead he had a nice buzz cut that suited him well. At first she had mourned the loss of his riotous curls, but the cut complimented his strong jawline and masculine features. The cut made you focus on his jade green eyes more, and the dark, trimmed beard that formed around shapely lips. Even in jail, he looked ready to step onto a photo shoot for GQ- Jail House Edition.

She allowed herself a brief moment of pride as she took in the broad smile he gave her when his eyes alighted on her curvy form. She enjoyed that look in his eyes, a look that hadn’t gone away in the three years they’ve been together. If anything, the look got more intense over the years. She saw it in his eyes often; during odd moments like when she was vacuuming the bedroom, working on a deposition for work, or when she was playing with their son. The look warned her that she was going to be underneath (or on top of) him soon and she better be ready. She hadn’t been ready for that look one time, and learned her lesson that same night. She shivered with the memory.