Starting Point (Doomsday Preppers)

by Elle Aycart

  “Happy?” he asked.

  “Are you reading my mind?”

  “No. Your eyes are sparkling so bright, it’s blinding. If that didn’t give you away, the ear-to-ear smile would.”

  “Thank you, Bonehead. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeated, kissing him all over his face while he chuckled. She hoped his feet were paddling under the water, or they were both going down.

  “How long did the Romans stay in freezing water, boss? I think I need to get out before I turn blue.”

  Alec let her go and, shivering, climbed up the stairs, steam rolling off him like smoke.

  “They b-better approve the construction of a s-sauna soon,” she joked. In spite of the neoprene, she was getting cold.

  “Come on. You’ve had enough,” he said, stretching his hand to her.

  As she came out of the water, he wrapped her in a towel. “You’re the one freezing, silly,” she complained. “I’m okay. You need the towel more.”

  He didn’t listen, much less comply. “Put dry clothes on. Fast,” he ordered once they made it to the truck.

  Getting the neoprene off was way more difficult than getting it on, but the air didn’t feel cold at all compared to the water, so it was okay. When she reemerged from behind the truck, Alec was fully clothed and shoving his wet boxers into a bag. “We are not doing this again.”

  She grinned. She knew he’d do it again if she asked him—which she wouldn’t, because when it came to ice swimming, once in a lifetime was enough, thank you very much. “Wait. Are you flying commando?” she asked, gesturing at his groin.

  “Don’t even think about it. I told you, I won’t find my balls for three days after this.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  They listened to her music in comfortable silence on the ride home. That is, to his cabin. He got a fire started in the fireplace and patted a spot near the hearth. “Get over here, boss.” He brought a fresh towel from the bathroom and dried her hair. “You feeling okay?”

  “Great, actually.”

  “I want to make sure you don’t catch a cold. You can’t have a respiratory illness when you start the clinical trial.”

  There he went again, true to his word. He wasn’t forcing her into treatment, but he hadn’t missed an opportunity to convince her in the last several days. “Alec, do you know what the chances of survival are among adults in their thirties when the cancer is as aggressive and extensive as mine? And do you know what the odds are of making it to forty once there’ve been more than two recurrences of said disease?”

  He looked at her, unfazed. “Do you know what the chances are of someone like me not ending up in jail?”

  As if that was comparable. “Come on, Bonehead. Deep down you were golden, even when you were a teenage thug.”

  “You were the only one who saw that. You and Heather. Statistically speaking, you should have been wrong,” he said, strolling to the kitchen.

  “Okay.” She followed. “Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that I take part in this clinical trial and they miraculously cure me. Then what?”

  He opened the fridge and took out cold cuts on a platter. “What do you mean, then what? We grow old together.” He grabbed a couple of beers and let the door swing closed. He motioned with his elbow for her to pick up a bag of sliced bread and headed back to the living room.

  “I’m barren now. Don’t you want children?” Alec was great with kids. She’d seen how they followed him around town, awestruck, like he was a hero. He’d be a spectacular dad. He deserved more than a wife who could drop dead at any second and had panic attacks every time a follow-up test had to be scheduled.

  “If you want them, we’ll adopt.”

  “I mean kids of your own,” she specified.

  They sat at the coffee table and started preparing sandwiches. “Overrated,” Alec pronounced. “When you grow up on the streets, you learn pretty fast that blood does not a family make. None of the meaningful relationships I forged in my life were based on blood.”

  “In that future of yours, what do I do for a living?” Because aside from being a professional sick person, she lacked experience in about every damn thing.

  “What was it about nursing school that attracted you?”

  She didn’t have to think that even for a moment. “I wanted to work in the maternity ward. I wanted to help deliver babies and care for the newborns. But that was before I developed my ‘allergy’ to hospitals.”

  “Okay.” He pondered for a second, taking a bite and chewing slowly. “Ever heard of doulas?”

  “Sort of midwives who help women during labor?”

  “In part. They’re trained to provide support to the mother during labor, but also to help women with the late stages of pregnancy and with adapting to life with a new baby. You don’t have to set foot in a hospital if you don’t want to. You can focus on home deliveries—plenty of those in prepper communities. What do you think? I’ll make sure this town survives the end of the world, and you’ll make sure there’s a next generation to succeed us.”

  Megan couldn’t stifle a laugh. “You don’t understand the term ‘casual relationship,’ do you?”

  He kissed her on the lips. “When it comes to you, there’s no way in hell I can do casual. Never. Nor would I want to.”

  Nope, he didn’t get it. He was living in a la-la land where she would get better. He still hadn’t realized there was no happy ending for them.

  Time for a hard-core reality check. “Do you know what happens when cancer reaches the brain? It fucks up the neurological system. Sometimes you can’t walk. Sometimes you can’t see. As the illness progresses, the humiliating periods become longer. You become totally incapacitated. You are also less aware of time, being unconscious for most of it, so I guess it balances out for the patient. For the family… I don’t think I need to describe how it feels to watch your loved one shitting and peeing and puking all over. Well, not so much puking by that stage; they’ve already stopped eating. Thank God for small favors, right?” And that was exactly what was going to happen during palliative care, so either way, they were screwed.

  He didn’t even flinch. “Are you trying to scare me away? Give it up. It won’t work.” He cut his sandwich in half and sat back. “Now, let’s eat while you take my virginity.”

  That totally sidetracked her. “You mean your ass?” she asked cautiously.

  “Hah! My K-drama virginity. What the fuck, boss? Do we need to have a talk?”

  She laughed, shaking her head vigorously. “You just caught me off guard! Did you pay for one of those K-drama cable channels?”

  “I did.” He clicked it open and scrolled over the options. “This one?”

  W, one of the most popular shows. “Sure. The hero has lips to die for.”

  “And the heroine?”

  “What can I tell you?” She scrunched her nose. “Korean actresses aren’t known for T&A. They’re very pretty though.”

  “You’re the first woman I’ve met who comments on other women’s boobs. I’m not sure if I should be disturbed or turned on.”

  She winked at him. “Turned on, of course.”

  They watched the first episode of W. She enjoyed it as much as the other several times she’d watched that show, commenting almost nonstop.

  Clearly, he didn’t share her enthusiasm, because by the end of the episode, he’d fallen asleep, the other half of his sandwich still on the tray. She should have rolled with Descendants of the Sun—at least he could have related to the military types. The heroines were still flat, but the heroes had some muscle on them.

  The music over the final credits woke Alec up. “Is it over? Sorry, boss. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I’ll go fetch a couple thumbscrews. I might make it through the second episode that way.”

  “If you need an instrument of torture to not fall asleep during K-dramas, I can already tell you our future is in doubt. As in, we will not make it past this afternoon,” she stated, pretending to be of
fended.

  He laughed, drew her into his arms, and kissed her. “I promise you I’ll get the hang of it. Baby steps.” He pushed aside the coffee table and lowered her onto the carpet.

  “You don’t have to humor me,” she said, cupping his face.

  “I like humoring you. I love seeing you happy.”

  He kissed her slowly, as if she were something precious he had to treasure, brushing the hair away from her face. He deepened his ministrations until she was squirming, and his erection was poking at her.

  “Didn’t you say your balls were going AWOL for a while?” she asked against his lips.

  “I was wrong, babe. I didn’t count on your influence. I’m yours for the taking. Whenever you want.”

  “However I want?” she asked, intrigued.

  His brow furrowed. “Am I back in the doghouse? Or should I say tied to the doghouse?”

  She laughed. “No, Bonehead. You aren’t back tied to the doghouse.” She craved his touch.

  “Good.” He moved his hand to the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head. Then the camisole. His eyes never leaving her, he lay on his side, leisurely tracing a finger up and down the center of her chest. “When did you get this tattoo?”

  She cleared her throat. “After I was told I was in remission.”

  “And the inscription?”

  “I got it at the same time.” It had been an impulse, but getting the DNR tattoo had felt right. “I guess I had a hunch?” It was her experience that the longer one battled illness, the less the chance of making it out alive. Crisis after crisis, one grew weary—physically and emotionally exhausted. She’d seen it coming.

  He brought his mouth to her chest and started kissing and licking her tattoo, careful not to touch the scars. “Do the scars hurt, baby?”

  She shook her head, afraid if she made a sound, it would reveal how shaky she felt. Nobody had touched her there. She hadn’t allowed it. Until now, Alec had been true to his word and hadn’t pushed her. Much. It looked like he was done making concessions, though.

  Alec moved slowly, brushing his lips over the scarred skin. He nuzzled her. Caressed her. She’d thought she’d lost feeling in the area, but that wasn’t true. She’d thought she couldn’t stand being touched there, but that wasn’t true either. This was Alec; everything felt right with him.

  “I love having your callused hands on my skin.” He had such a soft touch for such hard hands.

  “Are they too rough?”

  She shook her head. “They’re perfect. Please don’t stop.”

  And he didn’t. He kissed and caressed her whole chest. After a while she was squirming like hell, especially once he slipped a hand inside her pants. “You’re so fucking wet,” he said, looking up at her as he continued his ministrations. “You want me, right?”

  She arched her back, moaning a needy yes. He slid his fingers out of her and painted her lips with her own moisture before taking them in a hard, deep kiss.

  Enough games. Without breaking the contact, she fumbled with his zipper, got rid of his shirt and urged him over on his back. She straddled him, his cock pulsing between her already swollen pussy folds. If she didn’t get him inside her, she was going to combust.

  But it was not to be. As if reading her, he laughed and grabbed her by the waist, moving her up until she was almost sitting on his face.

  “I want you inside me,” she complained with a pout.

  “And I want you coming in my mouth, boss.”

  “But—”

  He encircled her thighs, and, opening her pussy with his hands, proceeded to eat the daylights out of her.

  Her legs almost gave way, but she held on to the arm of the sofa. What the man could do with his mouth ought to be illegal. It probably was in some countries. Leaning back, she reached for his dick, already crowned with pearls of precome. The second she grabbed his shaft, he tensed, but he didn’t stop licking her pussy and playing with her clit.

  The closer she came to orgasm, the harder she pressed his cock against her palm, roughly massaging. He dropped his head back on the carpet long enough to say, “Stop, baby, you’ll make me spill in your hand.”

  But she didn’t listen. What was the fun in listening? “Shut up and make me come.”

  He chuckled and redoubled his efforts. Fuck, she wasn’t going to last a minute.

  So she did the same to him, jacking him hard while offering more of herself to him. She could feel him groaning and thrashing as he ate her and tried not to come himself.

  And then she orgasmed, long and hard, her convulsions taking her breath away.

  Alec’s cursing brought her back. He was so tense, the cords at either side of his thick neck had popped out. The vein at his temple looked like it was about to explode. “Get on my dick now.”

  It was her turn to chuckle. It was fun to have such a big, strong man in the palm of her hand.

  She slid onto his huge erection. Even after coming as explosively as she had and being as drenched as she was, getting all of him inside took some giggling. Alec didn’t take well to giggling. He groaned and, apparently out of patience, gripped her waist and, with a long, continuous stroke, entered her. Surprisingly enough, there was no pain, just pleasure. She loved getting her pussy licked, but nothing was better than having his cock inside her. A cock that was becoming huger by the second.

  “Sorry. Too far gone,” he growled, lifting his ass and ramming against her.

  “Don’t dare slow down on my account.”

  She was on top, but she was not the one directing this show. Not by a long shot. The speed got so fast and the ride so rough that she almost fell over twice. She clutched his hard chest, her body glowing. He was reaching a place deep inside her, a spot she hadn’t known existed, full of hot pleasure. With every thrust, he slammed against her womb and his groin pushed against her clit. Too much. She was losing it. She wanted to warn Alec, but no word came out before she tensed, and her body went off like the Fourth of July.

  Alec was there with her, screaming. His hips jerked, trying to drive him deeper, filling her with his come.

  She collapsed on top of him. Maybe she fainted—she wasn’t sure.

  They stayed like that for a while. It could have been a couple minutes or a couple hours. She didn’t know, and frankly she didn’t care. She had what she needed most.

  At some point Alec’s cellphone started ringing. “Forget it,” he said, caressing her back, drawing patterns on it.

  The cell was in his pants, and the pants were close by, so Megan reached for them and gave the cell to Alec. He groaned in exasperation as he saw the screen.

  But he took the call. After several “yeahs,” “rights,” and a final “do not disturb me any more today,” he cut the connection. “They want to run survival drills for winter, so they’re asking about the provisions in the bunker.”

  She chuckled against his chest. “You have a bunker?”

  “I told you we did.”

  Yes, he did. She’d thought he was kidding. “I’m going to miss NoName so much when I leave.”

  Alec stilled. “Hmm… Do you have a destination in mind?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then you could stay a little longer.”

  “So you can convince me to get treatment?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said, his voice deceptively serious.

  “You do understand that I can take off at any moment?” she asked, keeping her tone playful.

  “That’s a good idea.”

  That surprised her. Before, whenever she’d mentioned leaving, he either interrupted her or bluntly said she was staying. This time he continued, “I got nothing to do. Heather can manage the cabins, and Sean can guide his own damn survival trips. I’m free. I’ll go with you.”

  Ah, there it was. It was just a change of tactics. “Are you saying I can’t run away from you?”

  “Exactly, boss. You can’t. I’ll find you wherever you go. Tracking is one of t
he things I’m best at.”

  And then it dawned on her. There was no running away from Alec. He wouldn’t give up. He’d follow and find her. If by some miracle she managed to give him the slip, he’d always wonder and worry. That was unacceptable.

  Whether she caved in and accepted treatment—which was a big if—or continued as she was, she would end up in palliative care. She’d be a weapon of mass destruction against those who loved her. She’d seen it countless of times: cancer was merciless, especially for relatives and those who had to live with the loss. She had to spare Alec that kind of pain. She’d watched the devastation firsthand. The patient died, her suffering ending with her. For better or for worse, she didn’t get to witness the wreckage left behind. The family was devastated or relieved—and ridden with guilt because they felt relieved. Either way they were a mess for a very long time, if they ever got over it. She didn’t want that for Alec. It would be better if he hated her.

  She needed to make sure Alec wouldn’t follow her, wouldn’t even spare a thought for her. She knew what had to be done.

  Chapter 12

  Alec looked at Megan from the corner of his eye. She was humming to the music she’d paired with his car. “You are gorgeous tonight.”

  She looked up at him. Man, she wasn’t gorgeous, she was blinding. Dressed to kill in skinny jeans and a peekaboo blouse knotted above her belly button. Her high heels made her already long legs seem even longer. Her platinum hair shone. She’d tamed it with gel and had a black bandanna tied on top of her head, fifties-style. To top it all off, she was wearing make-up—cherry-red lipstick, heavy eyeliner, and shadows around her smoky eyes.

  Alec was of the opinion that his boss didn’t need dolling up to be spectacular. Megan left him breathless in her pajamas. Dressed like a calendar girl, she was a heartstopper.

  “I pulled out all the stops,” she confirmed happily.

  After constantly insisting on staying in NoName, now she said she wanted to go to a city. To a nightclub. She was bored, she said. There was something wrong with her. He couldn’t pinpoint what, though. She’d been a bit off the past few days, but she’d laughed at him when he asked about it, alleging he was being paranoid. Hell, maybe he was. He was new at this relationship stuff.