by Kylie Scott
What was he going to do? So many possibilities. She waited.
When he hesitated, she raised her hand to move her boob. It didn’t feel right.
“Let me.” One of his hands held open a bra cup while the other slid down inside it. His palm brushed against her aching, tight nipple. Fingers cupped and lifted her breast, positioned it.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Hmm.”
“What would you do if I tried to leave again, Nick?”
“Why would you?” His hands did the same with her other breast, plumping it up within the confines of the cup. She let him. Hell, she liked it. The warmth of him at her back and the touch of his hands made blood rush to all her best bits. He made her feel alive. Her body responded amply, but her mind held back. Her heart was wary.
“You won’t survive out there on your own,” he said. “Didn’t you get that last night?”
He did up the last of her shirt buttons and reached for the simple black cotton underwear beside her. His hands skimmed down her sides as he dropped to his knees. The feel of him touching her was electric. Still, this wasn’t getting them anywhere.
“Here,” she said. “Give them to me.”
“No.” Fresh knickers were held before her and she stepped into them, a hand on the counter for balance. He drew them up her legs, onto her hips.
“Nick, I’m not a child.”
“I know. Hand me the jeans,” he said, his voice low.
“I can dress myself.”
He looked up and caught her gaze. His voice dropped to somewhere below ground level. “The jeans, Ros.”
Whoa.
The deep, no-nonsense tone really did something to her. Something she probably could have done without. Life was complicated enough. She swallowed hard and steadied her legs. Deliberated for about a second, then passed him the denim. Doing as she was told, for some reason. Because you had to pick your fights. And also, because some part of her wanted to give in to him. Something about it worked for her.
Maybe he was right. Maybe she did like him telling her to do sex things. But she sure as hell didn’t need him making all of her choices for her. Which was exactly what they’d been discussing before he started putting his hands on her and scrambling her wits.
“I need to know what you’re going to do,” she said.
“Lift your foot.”
She lifted first one foot, then the other. Slowly he pulled the jeans up her legs, stopping shy of her torso. The muscles in her thighs were taut and she had the worst feeling her new knickers were already damp. How bloody embarrassing. Having a serious conversation under these conditions was unfeasible.
“Ask me for something else,” he said. His breath heated her belly and his hands curved over her hips. He rubbed his face against her, beneath the hem of her shirt. She could feel the soft of his cheekbone then the scratch of his stubble. His facial hair was longer today. Not so sharp on her skin. “I know you want to.”
“Alright.” Her hands trembled as she gripped the counter behind her. “I want a gun. I want to be able to defend myself.”
“Why couldn’t you just ask me to give you head, hmm? It’s obvious you want me to.” He pressed his face against her covered mound, making her stomach dance. “You smell so good. You make my mouth water.” His hands slid beneath the cotton of her underwear, cupping her ass cheeks. He shredded her will, decimated it. “Ask me, Roslyn.”
“No.” Oh God, yes please. Her sex throbbed, needy and desperate. Her fingers itched to get grabby with his hair and make him deliver. But it was a battle of wills she couldn’t afford to lose. Let him off the hook now and he’d never take her seriously. “Give me the gun.”
“No.” He lifted his face and his eyes met hers. “You go off on your own, you’ll die. I won’t let that happen. I can’t.”
She could have kicked him, the stubborn bastard. “I need to know the choice to be with you is mine.”
“Bullshit,” he growled. “You want to be with me. You said so.”
“I need to know I’m with you of my own free will.”
He grunted and kept his eyes on her as he kneaded her butt cheeks, dug his fingers in and spread them just a little, enough to wake every last nerve in the area. God help her. Her toes curled into the scratchy carpet.
“Stop it,” she whispered.
“Let’s see who gives in first. Better hold onto the counter.”
Her fingers clutched at the smooth glass edges, hanging on for all she was worth. “Nick, this is not a game.”
“You said you chose me,” he said.
“We still have things to work out.”
“No. We don’t.” His tongue traced circles around her belly button then blew over the damp skin. Her breath hitched.
“You’re complicating something simple,” he said.
“Nothing is simple about this.”
He bit at the waist of her underwear and her stomach muscles quivered. The man bordered on feral. It was wildly exciting.
“Yesterday afternoon …?” he started.
“What about it?” she asked, her voice uneven. His lips were so damn close to where she needed them, and yet not there. It took all of her willpower not to just shove herself in his face.
“When I woke up and you were gone …”
“Mm?”
“Then seeing that thing about to bite you. Shit, Ros.”
“So give me the pistol. I know how to use it.”
He growled and kissed her mound, drew a deep breath. “Ask me. Put us both out of our misery.”
“Give me the gun.”
“I bet you taste perfect.” The heat in his eyes almost undid her.
“I-I’ll pick one up somewhere. You know I will.”
He nipped at her inner thigh. “Don’t you want to come on my face? Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Stop it, Nick.” Oh no, not a visual like that. Not fair. “This isn’t a game.”
He did something; something involving his tongue and the seam where her sex met her thigh and holy hell. Her whole body trembled.
“G-give it to me,” she said.
“I’d love to.”
Smug bastard. The fingers massaging her butt moved to soft strokes along the lower curve of her ass instead. Damn, he was good at this. She’d stick him next to The Joy of Sex. 613 or 618? She couldn’t remember. Shit, her mind was failing her.
“The gun, Nick. Give me the gun.” She squirmed in his hold.
With a snarly noise he got to his feet. His hands pulled her in against him and she grabbed hold of his shoulders for balance. “I can protect you if you’d stop fighting me for one bloody minute.”
“I need to be able to protect myself. You’re always saying I need to get a clue and adjust to how things are now, so let me. Help me.”
Slowly he withdrew his hands from her knickers. His face was lined with tension. Then he pulled his pistol from the back of his jeans and set it on the counter beside her. “Alright. You win.”
“I do?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Ah, thanks.”
“No problem. You fire that thing and you send every infected in the vicinity an invitation to come kill us. Keep that in mind.” Nick stepped back and her hands fell from his shoulders. “I’ll get cleaned up and we’ll hit the road. Grab whatever you’re going to need—a couple of changes of clothes at least.”
“Sure.” Her pulse pumped away in her privates. She could barely hear him. Her hand reached for him of its own volition, all yearning-like. “Nick?”
“No.” He turned his back on her and stripped off his shirt.
No?
Oh. No.
Alright. Fine. She didn’t need the jerk. She’d take care of it herself.
“Your hand goes any lower and you’re not going to like what happens.” He toed off his boots. Bare feet could be surprisingly sexy. All the planes and angles of his body were being gradually revealed for her viewing pleasure. She should put her tongue
back in her mouth. Soon. He dealt with the button and the fly of his jeans and shoved them down his legs with sharp movements. Her tongue nearly disappeared down her throat that time. There was nothing beneath but very aroused Nick. Damn him. The thick length of his cock rose from a tangle of dark hair and his sack hung heavy below.
Her hand, meanwhile, sat poised at her waistband, ready and willing, awaiting further orders. What would he do, really? He wasn’t even watching her. Instead, he wet a fresh cloth and rubbed it over himself. First his shoulders and neck, then his chest and beneath his arms. More water and he efficiently dealt with between his legs. Next he picked up the soap and got busy. The air was chill enough to deflate any man, but it made no noticeable difference. He had a beautiful body, with an athlete’s grace and a very hard cock.
And she wanted him bad, damn it.
Had she ever been quite so pathetically cock-struck? Doubtful.
After all of the horrible, something good had to come out of today.
He dealt her a sidelong glance dark enough to give her pause, her and her hand both. Probably best not to find out what he might do. Things were edgy enough between them as it was.
Roslyn ignored her aching breasts and groin and hitched up her jeans, fastened them resolutely. She picked up the gun and weighed it in her hand.
“You going to shoot me?” he asked. His didn’t even sound all that curious.
“No.” Though it was tempting. “Maybe later.”
The side of his mouth twitched and he returned to his washing with his big cock bouncing in front of him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nick concentrated on the road and not the woman crossing and uncrossing her legs beside him. She kept twisting about on the cracked leather seating like she couldn’t get comfortable. Good. He sure as hell wasn’t comfortable with stomach cramps. But better that than blue balls. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so stubborn.
But why couldn’t she have picked him instead of the gun? Why couldn’t she trust him to protect her? Damn it.
He’d steered them vaguely toward Blackstone, and what the hell it meant he didn’t know.
Roslyn frowned again behind the big black drugstore sunglasses taking up half her face. He could see her through the side. She stared out the window at the passing scenery, what little of it there was. Plains full of blade grass and barbed-wire fences. They’d driven for four to five hours, but they hadn’t gotten far. What with finding routes around road blocks and having to stop to siphon petrol, the pace was slow. Now it was getting late. In another hour the sun would set.
A crappy-looking motel sat on the outskirts of another small country town. It was a long, low white brick building with eight or nine rooms and an office with a restaurant attached. Sad-looking palm trees swayed above the murky green pool. A beat-up brown Holden sat beside a sporty coupé in the parking lot. Next came a big boss of a black pickup with a covered tray. Lots of trim, top of the line. It probably had some real horsepower under the hood. Probably chewed up petrol like crazy. Funny, he could have almost whatever he wanted these days. None of it much mattered now that money was gone. It was all just lying around, waiting. But older and simpler made more sense. He could have decked Ros out in diamonds and it wouldn’t mean a thing. It still wouldn’t have been enough.
“You look like you’re in love,” she said with a smile.
“Maybe.” The boss pickup would stay where it was. He grabbed his rifle and bowie knife. “I’ll check out inside. See if we’ve got any company. Wait here.”
“No.” She threw off her seatbelt and jumped out of the vehicle before he could grab her. “We do this sort of thing together from now on.”
“Ros, wait in the truck.”
“You’re not taking all the risks on your own, Nick.” She flicked off the safety on the gun and strode toward the nearest room like she was Clint Eastwood. “That’s not a partnership. Are you coming?”
“Roslyn,” he hissed.
Up onto the pavement and tugging on the door handle with a gun in her hand but no clue. The door didn’t open. He took a deep breath. It was locked, thank fuck. She’d give him a heart attack before she was through.
He fell in line beside her at the next room along, number three. “Alright. But we stick together.”
“Sure, Nick.” Her ready smile didn’t soothe.
“And you stay behind me. That’s the rule.”
She flashed him a frown, but moved back a step. Exactly how the hell he would keep her in one piece he did not know. That was what kept him up at night. Not her bad dreams and talking in her sleep, but his concerns for her safety, plus his fear of losing her. Combined, they were more than enough to give him cold sweats.
The next room’s door opened. Inside everything sat shadowy cool. On the far side of the room the curtains were open and dust particles filled the sunlit air. Nothing else moved. He lifted his rifle, just in case. Ros came up so close behind him she jostled his arm.
“It looks okay,” she said.
“Shh.” He held up a hand, motioned for her to stay put as he took a few steps inside. It was your standard motel room. Small table and chairs with a big bed and a built-in cupboard. He threw that door open, but there were only a few wire hangers and a neatly folded blanket inside. The bathroom waited down the end with its door ajar.
“Stay here,” he said.
White tiles and mold. He pushed back the gray shower curtain with the end of his rifle, half expecting trouble but happy to be let down.
“We’re clear,” he said.
“Okay. So, we do the next room?”
“No. We only ever look where we need to.”
Roslyn sat on the edge of the lime bedspread. “Well, we need food.”
A mini-bar sat beneath a side table. Inside were neat little bottles of alcohol, lined up. Tiny cups of long-life milk and a couple of individually packed chocolate chip cookies. In the drawer above were sachets of nuts and some small boxes of breakfast cereals. Fortunate, seeing as the couple of petrol stations and one small supermarket they’d passed had been picked over already.
He tossed her a cookie. “Here.”
It flew past her and she scrambled after it.
“We’re going to be living rough for a while,” he said. “Get used to it.”
“We could look in the restaurant.”
Yeah, they could. He probably should. But the chances of her agreeing to stay behind were shit. “We’ve got energy bars from the drugstore. That’ll do.”
She sat back on the edge of the bed and tore into the cookie.
“I’ve been thinking about what we should do next,” he said.
She nodded and munched away. A crumb sat at the corner of her mouth, messing with his thinking. The urge to lick it away was distractingly strong. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “As your former captive, I just wanted to say how much I like this use of the word we. Especially when you actually mean it. Go team.”
The pistol sat beside her on the bed, silently accusing him. “Ros…”
The smile she gave him turned him inside out and upside down. She’d clearly been a happy person before everything had gone to shit, you could tell. He’d never imagined ending up with a chirpy chatterbox. Nothing had worked out how he’d imagined. But to see her smiling despite everything and no matter the state of the world did something to him.
“So what are our choices?” she asked.
“There is somewhere to go.” Not a place he could go, but for her Blackstone would be perfect. The alternative would be to have her running amok in a world she couldn’t handle. A world likely to kill her if he didn’t watch her every second of every day. He didn’t trust himself that far, not now. What if he fucked up? What then? She died.
Nick stretched out his hand, splaying his fingers. All of his choices sucked. He hated each and every one of them. Her safety came first, but he didn’t know if he could do it. He didn’t know if he could give her up and he didn’t know if he could give her wha
t she needed.
Whatever the fuck that might be.
“Where can we go?” she asked, trust burning bright in her eyes.
Thought he’d had it all figured out, but he didn’t know shit. There was the truth. He had no business demanding she believe in him and rely on him. Not with the way he treated her.
“There are no bullets in the gun,” he said softly.
She paused. “What did you say?”
“The gun I gave you. It’s empty.”
Her words, when they came, were slow, careful. “Why would you do that, Nick?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. Was it some kind of test?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
She nodded and looked away, face carefully set. No surprise, though. That’s what was wrong with this picture. Shit.
“You knew?” he asked, voice incredulous.
She gave him a grim smile. “I told you I knew about guns. You emptied the clip when I was gathering clothes in the shop, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“This is never going to work, is it?” Her lips looked pinched and she stared at her hands for a long moment. “Of course it isn’t. I was so angry at you but now … I’m, um, I’m tired.”
“Roslyn.”
“You know, I wondered how long it would take you to admit it. How much guilt I’d have to heap on you till you cracked,” she said. “If you’d crack …”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She slipped the half-eaten cookie back into its plastic bag. “You always are, Nick. But things stay the same.” Her face turned away from him and she crawled onto the bed, placing the remains of the cookie on the bedside table. “You can’t possibly guarantee you’ll always be there for me, because accidents happen. You don’t know what the future will bring. But you won’t help me to protect myself. You say you want me, but what you really want is some pathetic doll, completely dependent on you and available to fuck at your convenience. That’s the truth.”
The quiet in the room was complete when she stopped speaking. She lay down on her side, facing away from him. A pretty obvious message that he chose to ignore.