off the
bed. It felt so much better than she’d imagined, to bring someone pleasure with
her mouth, so much hotter. He’d almost lost himself, and she’d barely done
anything at all.
“Turn around,” he said, in a voice so hoarse it was
practically burned down to nothing. And when she did, when she twisted
awkwardly on the bed until he could get at the aching place between her legs,
he didn’t waste time. He didn’t even seem to care if she carried on sucking
him—though she found it a fairly simple task to do so.
It was less simple, however, when he slid a hand up over her
thigh and pressed two fingers over her slit, suddenly, firmly. Said two fingers
found it pretty easy, from there, to slither through her folds and find her
clit.
And then it was all just frantic stroking and even more
frantic sucking, and every scrap of greed in the world rattling through her,
too heady and strong to deny. She could feel her orgasm rising up already,
though she knew it had a lot to do with the shaky breaths he was taking, and
the moaning, and after a long, drawn-out moment he told her, “I’m close, don’t
stop. Oh God don’t stop.”
He actually said the words don’t stop . No resistance,
no worry. It was almost as though they were normal, a real and normal couple
just pleasuring each other with complete abandon, and if there was ever a time
for Tara or Commissioner Reddick or anyone at all to just walk into the ward
right then and there, this was it.
But nobody did. Instead, she bristled from head to toe with
that lovely, fizzing sensation, clit swelling beneath his busy fingers, body
releasing and contracting under the pressure of orgasm. And when he blurted
that he could feel her coming—shortly before flooding her mouth with hot,
slippery fluid—the sensation twisted deeper, went on longer.
It was blissful and impossibly perfect. And even better when
he pulled her up to lay beside him, as though maybe they could just drift off
to sleep now. Like real people.
Though in truth he looked better than real, when he turned
his head on the pillow and gazed at her. His eyes seemed a deeper color than
usual—almost a blue—and those lids still hung heavy over his smoky gaze. It
took her a moment to realize it, but then it came to her.
He seemed relaxed. Utterly, lazily relaxed, as though
nothing in the world could hurt or touch either of them.
And he backed her theory up too, when he ran the back of his
hand over the swell of her partially uncovered breast. Down over her side, so
soft and unhurried. A caress, rather than a frantic stroke or grab.
“Would you really leave here with me, if it came to it?” he
asked, and though the mood remained slow and easy, she could feel her heart
suddenly picking up the pace.
“Are you serious?”
He wouldn’t meet her gaze then. Just kept following the path
his hand was winding over every bit of bare flesh he could find.
“I don’t know. I’m just…talking. Idly.”
She propped herself up a little, on her elbows.
“So talk less idly. Ask me for real, and see what I say.”
“There’s nowhere to go—you know that right?”
She thought of the pictures some of the gunners had brought
back once. Of a great field filled with a roiling, squirming maze of fur and
teeth and blood. No wolf distinguishable from another one, everything
nightmarish and strange. She thought of her dreams, so filled with running,
endless running.
“I don’t care.”
“You would. Living in the shell of civilization up there,
eating only what we’d managed to hunt down. Always scared the wolves would
scent you out or worse…because you know the people here would look for you too.
Maybe, in time, I could make the wolves stay away. But I could never stop
whatever humans are left from shooting you down on sight.”
She wanted to say he was crazy—that people had too many
other concerns now. That time was running out and human beings were running
low, and why would they bother coming after
bed. It felt so much better than she’d imagined, to bring someone pleasure with
her mouth, so much hotter. He’d almost lost himself, and she’d barely done
anything at all.
“Turn around,” he said, in a voice so hoarse it was
practically burned down to nothing. And when she did, when she twisted
awkwardly on the bed until he could get at the aching place between her legs,
he didn’t waste time. He didn’t even seem to care if she carried on sucking
him—though she found it a fairly simple task to do so.
It was less simple, however, when he slid a hand up over her
thigh and pressed two fingers over her slit, suddenly, firmly. Said two fingers
found it pretty easy, from there, to slither through her folds and find her
clit.
And then it was all just frantic stroking and even more
frantic sucking, and every scrap of greed in the world rattling through her,
too heady and strong to deny. She could feel her orgasm rising up already,
though she knew it had a lot to do with the shaky breaths he was taking, and
the moaning, and after a long, drawn-out moment he told her, “I’m close, don’t
stop. Oh God don’t stop.”
He actually said the words don’t stop . No resistance,
no worry. It was almost as though they were normal, a real and normal couple
just pleasuring each other with complete abandon, and if there was ever a time
for Tara or Commissioner Reddick or anyone at all to just walk into the ward
right then and there, this was it.
But nobody did. Instead, she bristled from head to toe with
that lovely, fizzing sensation, clit swelling beneath his busy fingers, body
releasing and contracting under the pressure of orgasm. And when he blurted
that he could feel her coming—shortly before flooding her mouth with hot,
slippery fluid—the sensation twisted deeper, went on longer.
It was blissful and impossibly perfect. And even better when
he pulled her up to lay beside him, as though maybe they could just drift off
to sleep now. Like real people.
Though in truth he looked better than real, when he turned
his head on the pillow and gazed at her. His eyes seemed a deeper color than
usual—almost a blue—and those lids still hung heavy over his smoky gaze. It
took her a moment to realize it, but then it came to her.
He seemed relaxed. Utterly, lazily relaxed, as though
nothing in the world could hurt or touch either of them.
And he backed her theory up too, when he ran the back of his
hand over the swell of her partially uncovered breast. Down over her side, so
soft and unhurried. A caress, rather than a frantic stroke or grab.
“Would you really leave here with me, if it came to it?” he
asked, and though the mood remained slow and easy, she could feel her heart
suddenly picking up the pace.
“Are you serious?”
He wouldn’t meet her gaze then. Just kept following the path
his hand was winding over every bit of bare flesh he could find.
“I don’t know. I’m just…talking. Idly.”
She propped herself up a little, on her elbows.
“So talk less idly. Ask me for real, and see what I say.”
“There’s nowhere to go—you know that right?”
She thought of the pictures some of the gunners had brought
back once. Of a great field filled with a roiling, squirming maze of fur and
teeth and blood. No wolf distinguishable from another one, everything
nightmarish and strange. She thought of her dreams, so filled with running,
endless running.
“I don’t care.”
“You would. Living in the shell of civilization up there,
eating only what we’d managed to hunt down. Always scared the wolves would
scent you out or worse…because you know the people here would look for you too.
Maybe, in time, I could make the wolves stay away. But I could never stop
whatever humans are left from shooting you down on sight.”
She wanted to say he was crazy—that people had too many
other concerns now. That time was running out and human beings were running
low, and why would they bother coming after
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