I march up and down the hallways, my stomach pitching. It’s been mere days since I had Shaye in my bed and I want her back. Giving her a handjob after she visited that inmate in solitary isn’t enough. She’s more addictive than ambrosia mixed with crack. Being able to touch her, kiss her, and bury myself inside her is my weakness. There is an overwhelming urge to go find her and drag her back to my room. Make her mine all over again.

She’s a dangerous addiction and I want her.

I can't get her out of my head.

My god-power flares underneath my skin, reminding me who I...