by Claire Kent
I only have a few seconds to be relieved by that conclusion before I become conscious of something else.
Travis is hard.
Really hard.
His erection is poking into my bottom.
He’s wearing the sweatpants I found for him, so it’s not just a bulge in his jeans. I can feel the length of him pressing against me. I’m wearing nothing but thin, stretchy leggings, so I can feel everything.
Everything.
And I like it.
The shape of him behind me makes arousal clench hard between my legs.
He’s holding me against him with one arm. His face is just behind my head. His breath fans over the back of my neck and my ear. I can smell him. Feel him.
My body keeps responding.
He shifts in his sleep, making a little thrust against my ass.
I have to bite back a moan of pleasure at the sensation.
I need to get away from him. I can’t let myself feel this way. Not when he’s asleep. Very gently I try to move the arm that’s holding me against him.
He mumbles and grips me tighter, thrusting against my bottom again.
My cheeks burn, and my breathing is uneven. I’m so turned on now that it’s a painful, throbbing ache between my legs.
I thought he was supposed to be a light sleeper. Why doesn’t he wake up and realize what he’s doing?
I know he doesn’t mean it. It’s an involuntary physical reaction in his sleep.
But still. He’s aroused, and he’s pressed up against me. My body doesn’t realize the difference.
I try to remove his arm again so I can roll off the bed, but he won’t let me. He mumbles some more, and even without words, it sounds like he’s gruffly objecting to my attempts to get away.
I wriggle a bit, and he rocks his hips against me with a low moan.
Oh God. It feels so good.
And it’s so incredibly wrong.
I try to move his arm again, not quite as gently, and his whole body tenses up. I feel the difference immediately, and I have sense enough to close my eyes and relax my body.
Travis is going to be mortified, waking up to discover what he’s doing.
It will be worse if he knows I’m awake too.
He grows still, holding the position. I breathe slow and deep and keep my eyes closed.
Then his arm slowly withdraws from around my waist. He rolls away from me with a muffled groan. I don’t like how cold and empty my back and ass feel without him pressing against them, but there’s nothing I can do about that.
I feel the weight on the mattress shifting and another soft groan from Travis.
I’m dying to know what his face looks like. What he’s doing. But I don’t dare to turn over and look.
I hear nothing for a minute. Then I hear his footsteps on the floor. Then the sound of a door.
He can’t be leaving the room. It’s still barricaded by the chest of drawers he pulled in front of it. But that was definitely the sound of a door.
The bathroom. He must have gone into the bathroom.
He can’t use it. The plumbing doesn’t work.
I have no idea what he’s doing in there.
I stay completely still and listen.
And soon I hear something new.
It’s soft, muffled, barely noticeable. But it’s something.
A weird, rhythmic slapping sound.
What the hell?
I blink and keep listening. It’s coming from the bathroom, and the closed door is keeping me from hearing it well.
But it’s something...
My eyes pop open wide as I realize what he’s doing in there.
Of course I know what he’s doing.
He was really aroused in bed. Now he’s taking care of it.
My own arousal twists and heats up as I imagine him in the bathroom, try to picture his face as he jerks off.
This is private. I shouldn’t be hearing it.
But I can’t help it.
And it’s making my body feel even more.
Without thinking, I slip a hand down under the waistband of my leggings until I can reach my clit. I rub it in fast, hard circles, hiding my heavy breathing in a pillow.
I can hear Travis. He’s still working away in there.
And so am I.
I haven’t quite gotten there when I hear a low, hoarse sound between a gasp and a moan. The slapping stops.
I go at it fast and hard so I can come before he walks back into the room.
My climax comes in a fast, hot rush, and I gasp into the pillow as my body relaxes.
I made it just in time. I hear the bathroom door opening.
My body is warm and relaxed from my orgasm, and I hide my face so he won’t be able to see how flushed I am. I can hear him moving around, collecting trash and reorganizing our supplies. Then I hear fabric rustling. He must be changing out of his sweats.
After a few minutes, I feel his hand on my shoulder.
“Layne. Layne. It’s mornin’.”
I make a snuffling sound and roll over to open my eyes. “Oh. Morning. Hi.”
“Hi.” He’s not smiling, but that’s normal.
He looks sober. Composed and natural. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t have the slightest clue what he just did in the bathroom.
He’s not going to know what I did under the covers either.
We’re always quiet in the morning, so everything is normal as I get up and change into my clothes and the clean underwear I took from the house yesterday. We split a can of fruit cocktail—Travis gives me all the cherries—and then we go outside to relieve ourselves and pack up.
We check a couple of houses nearby until we find a car with gas and top off the Jeep and our gasoline container.
Then we’re off.
THE DAY PASSES UNEVENTFULLY. We don’t encounter any occupied towns, but we also don’t make very good progress because the road is so torn up by the earthquakes in the area. We’re constantly having to drive off road and find a way beyond the trenches and debris.
It’s midafternoon when Travis says we should keep our eyes open for gas, and we soon run across an old farmhouse with a two-car detached garage that doesn’t look too damaged.
There are two cars in the garage—an old pickup and a sedan. We refuel, and I walk into the yard so I can go to the bathroom behind a tree.
I’m zipping up when I notice something at the bottom of the yard.
“Hey, Travis!”
I hear a grunt, so I know he’s listening.
“There’s a stream down there. We should check it out to see if the water is clean enough to boil and fill our bottles.”
He joins me with the plastic bag that holds our empty bottles, and we walk down to the stream, leaning over to cup our hands and check the water.
“Pretty good.” Travis takes more water in his hands and splashes it on his face. We fill the empty bottles. We’ll boil the water in them off later when we have time for a fire. Then Travis reaches over his shoulder, grabs his T-shirt—one of his new ones, a plain black crewneck—and pulls it over his head.
I watch as he gets on his knees and splashes water all over his face, arms, and chest, rubbing down his armpits and his forearms.
“That’s a good idea.” I have to tear my eyes away from the water streaming down his bare chest. “I can go get the soap and towels, and we can wash up for real—if you think we have time.”
Travis straightens up, watching me with a wet face and thoughtful expression. He looks up at the sky and then back at me. “Might as well call it quits for the day. We can stay here for the night.”
I try to hide my pleasure at his words. “Really? This early? We could probably go another hour before it gets dark.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, but this is a good house. Might not find another later on. And this one has the stream. We can clean up and then maybe make a fire out back here. We can boil water for our bottles and make us a good dinner and then spend the night inside
.”
I’m almost hugging myself now. “That sounds great. I’ll go drive the car over here instead of hauling everything down.”
“I can go get—”
“You’re all wet.” I’m already running up the hill toward the house where we parked the Jeep. “I’ll get it.”
“Take your gun out!” Travis calls to my back. The reminder sounds automatic—second nature—rather than urgent. He’s splashing himself with water again.
I slow down and do what he says. The vehicle is parked in front of the house, completely out of sight of the stream. We haven’t seen another person for hours, but there’s no reason to be foolish.
I am foolish.
I’m smiling and humming to myself as I reach the Jeep. I’m thinking about taking a bath and sitting by a fire and eating dinner with Travis. Maybe we can finally make the mac and cheese.
I’ve got shampoo now. I can really wash my hair.
I slide behind the steering wheel, putting my gun down in the passenger seat.
Then I notice that we left the back hatch open earlier, so I get out to close it.
“Lookee here. Told you I heard a girl talkin’.” The voice comes from behind me. Male. Rough. Unfamiliar.
I whirl around and see two dirty, bearded men approaching.
I have no idea where they came from. They weren’t around before. But they’re right here now. Only a few feet away from me.
I reach for my holster instinctively, but it’s empty so I grab my knife instead. “Stay back,” I rasp, my voice closing up with panic.
I’m used to dealing with hostile men, but these two surprised me. I’m not mentally prepared. I’m so shocked and frightened I can barely breathe.
The one who spoke before laughs. It’s a coarse, ugly sound. “She’s a li’l fighter. Love me a gal with some spirit.”
“I’m not alone here,” I manage to say, backing up as they approach. “And I’ll kill you if you try to touch me.”
The man laughs again. “Looks like you’re on your lonesome to me. I’ll keep you company. It’s been weeks since I had me some pussy. What d’you say, Hank?”
Hank is the second man, and I haven’t heard him speak yet. He looks at his friend doubtfully. “I dunno. If she doesn’t wanna—”
“Haven’t you heard? The world’s all fucked up now. Don’t matter anymore if a bitch wants it or not.”
They’ve got me trapped now against the back of the Jeep, one on either side. Travis isn’t far away. I know he’ll help me. I try to scream to let him know I need him.
My throat is so closed up that I can’t make more than a squeaking sound.
It makes the first man cackle.
I try again with no more success. It’s horrible. Terrifying. That I can’t even force a sound out.
I need to do something. Now. Since I can’t scream, I rush toward Hank and slash his arm with my knife.
He howls and stumbles backward, and I make a dash toward the passenger seat where I left my gun.
I almost reach it before the first man catches up with me, grabbing me from behind.
“Feisty one, ain’t you?” His breath is horrible, wafting over my shoulder.
“Come on, man. Let ’er go. She don’t want it, and I’m bleedin’ out over here.”
“She’s gonna get it whether she wants it or not.” One of his hands fumbles with the bottom of my shirt.
The block in my throat breaks open, and I’m finally able to scream.
What happens next is so fast I can barely track specific moves. I writhe desperately against his imprisoning arms. He adjusts them to get better control of me, bringing one of them up toward my neck.
His forearm is close enough now.
I sink my teeth into it as hard as I can, bucking wildly against his hold.
I draw blood.
He bellows furiously and releases me, but before I can scramble away, he swings a fist. If it had connected fully, it would have knocked me out, but it just glances against the side of my face. It still hurts. And it jars me so much I fall down.
Even as I do, I’m reaching up for my gun.
Then there’s another sound. One I don’t even recognize.
It’s like a growl. Like a wild animal.
But it isn’t.
It’s Travis.
He’s moving at a dead run, and he barrels into the man who attacked me, tackling him so hard that he flies a few feet backward.
There’s a quick, ugly fight. I can barely see it through my bleary eyes. Travis is on top of the other man. At first he’s just using his hands, but then the other guy draws a knife and slashes out with it. Somehow Travis gets it from him.
Then there’s blood.
A lot of blood.
Travis has sunk the hunting knife into the side of the man’s neck.
He’s dead in seconds.
Travis stands up and picks up his shotgun from the ground, hoisting it to his shoulder and aiming it at Hank.
Hank has been watching in a stunned daze, but now he raises both hands and takes a step back. “Weren’t me. It weren’t me!”
“It wasn’t,” I croak from the ground. “It wasn’t him. He told the other guy to stop.”
Travis fires the gun above the man’s head. The sound cracks loudly in the quiet afternoon. “Start runnin’. Start runnin’ now.”
Hank whirls around, still bleeding from the arm where I stabbed him, and runs. He doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t look back.
Travis waits until he’s out of sight. Then he lowers his gun and comes over to me. He kneels down and tries to gently uncurl my body. “Shit. Oh shit, Layne. Are you okay?”
I try to tell him I am, but it comes out as a whimper.
He makes a wordless sound in his throat, his face twisting briefly.
My head is pounding and I’m jarred from the blow, but I can tell there’s been no real damage done. I try to make my throat work again. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
He’s inspecting the place on the side of my head where the man hit me.
“Am I bleeding?”
Travis bites his lip. “Just a little.”
“I want to wash up. He got his sweat... his sweat all over...”
Travis murmurs something I can’t hear and stands up, helping me to my feet. When my knees buckle, he swings me up in his arms and carries me to the passenger seat of the Jeep. I reach down to move my gun out of the way—why the hell had I ever left it there?—and he places me gently in the seat.
He drives us down to the stream and then gets out to carry me to the bank.
I can walk. I know I can walk.
I just don’t have the will to argue with him right now.
He digs in our stuff for the soap and a towel and then sinks to the ground beside me. I’m already leaning down to cup the water and splash it on my face.
I’m well beyond any sort of self-consciousness. I just want to get the smell and the sweat of that horrible man off me. I pull off my shirt, dropping it on the ground, and I splash water all over my chest and arms.
I take the soap Travis offers me and lather up and rinse off, scrubbing my skin until I can no longer smell the man. I bury my face in the damp towel and shake for a minute, finally letting go of the tension.
Travis gets up, and I don’t know why, but when he returns he has another towel. He submerges one side of it in the water and then uses it to wipe down my back. I’m shaking some more as he soaps up the same area and then cleans it off with the towel.
His hands are so careful. So soft.
“Do you need...” His voice cracks as if he’s forgotten how to use it.
I lower the towel and see him gesture toward my jeans. “No. He didn’t touch me there.”
I can see that register on his face.
He reaches up to brush back some hair that’s escaped my braids, but then he drops his hand back to his lap. “Can I... can I take care of... of where he hit you?”
I nod wordlessly and watch as he get
s up and then returns with antiseptic ointment and bandages.
He gently cleans off the blood and then applies one large bandage. “It’s not a very big cut,” he murmurs. “It’ll mostly be the bruise.”
I’m still aching where the man’s fist connected. It could have been so much worse.
I can’t seem to stop shaking. I feel sick to my stomach.
“Thank you,” I rasp.
His face twists again.
“For this. And for coming.”
“I shoulda come sooner. I’m sorry. I knew you were takin’ too long. I shoulda...” His accent always gets stronger when he’s upset.
“You came in time. Thank you. I’m the stupid one. I wasn’t on guard. I—”
“You weren’t stupid. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. It was him. It was all him.” His voice is rough and almost fierce again, but he’s still gently stroking my hair back from my face.
“I was stupid. I know better than to lower my guard like that. I put my gun down. I was... I was enjoying myself. And I put my gun down.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself. It was all him.”
I wrap my arms around my stomach in an attempt to stop shaking. “I remembered what you taught me. I bit him really hard. I got out of his hold.”
“You did real good. You did so good.”
“Thank you for helping me.” A tear streams down my face. I feel it fall.
Travis makes a helpless sound in his throat. His hand goes out and drops down again without touching me. I know he wants to do something but doesn’t know what to do.
I’m still hunched over by the stream. Shirtless. Holding my damp towel in front of my chest. “Can you get that other shirt from my bag? The blue one?”
He gets up immediately and brings it to me. When I pull it on, Travis stands, staring down at me. “You need water or anythin’?”
I shake my head. “Not now. Do you mind... do you mind if we go somewhere else for the night? I don’t want to stay here.”
That man’s body is still lying on blood-soaked dirt near the house. It’s possible he has friends. What if Hank tells them what happened?
“Course we can.” Travis helps me to my feet, collects our stuff, and drives us away from the stream, away from the farmhouse.
We find another small group of abandoned houses about twenty minutes away. Most of them are collapsed from earthquake damage, but one is intact. It has two floors, so it suits our needs.