The worried expression gave way to ecstasy as she worked herself onto him. His lips parted and teeth clenched.
“Are you wet enough?” he asked and she nodded.
Wet and determined. The push of him into her pussy felt wonderful. Hard and fast was fun, too, but they’d been a bit out-of-control crazy last time. This time she could savor the experience, the feel of him stretching her, filling her until finally her body rested against his pelvis. In this position, every time she rocked back against him her clit rubbed against his body in the best way. Pressure could be the most amazing thing.
“Oh, that’s nice,” she murmured.
She kissed the side of his face and the bristle of his short beard. Talk about an intriguing sensation. Having him go down on her sometime hit the top of her to-do list. Capable hands smoothed over her sides and slid around to cup her breasts. He teased her nipples, rolling them between his fingers—and damn, sensation shot straight through her spine. Her inner muscles grabbed at him and they both moaned. But she kept the pace lazy, indolent. A struggle, but well worth it. Fucking him like this had to be the most pleasant indulgence ever, shitty motel room and end of the world be damned.
“Does it feel like we’re in a relationship now?”
He chuckled. “Yes. It does.”
“Good. It does for me too.”
She sat up higher, her hands braced on the mattress beside his head. Nice to give him room to maneuver, but even nicer to add a swivel to her hips and gauge his reaction. His eyes widened and his cock bumped against something awful good inside her. Holy hell. Pleasure flooded her until her eyes nearly rolled back into her head. They needed to do that again and again.
Oh, yeah. Everything in her tightened in anticipation. They were right where they needed to be. She was right where she need to be, with him.
She picked up the pace, taking him harder. Heavy breathing and the slap of flesh meeting flesh filled her ears. His hands seemed to be everywhere, all over her, working her into a fever. Fingers lightly pinched her nipples and stroked her thighs. Their bodies knew each other just fine, knew exactly how to get where they needed to go. Her movements grew frantic, faster and harder. He stared up at her and she stared right back, unwilling to break the spell.
Until she couldn’t see any longer.
Gray blurred her vision and her cunt clenched at him, waves of the most astonishing sensation washing through her. Hard hands gripped her hips, kept her moving when she faltered.
Her heart stopped; she could feel it. Her head fell forward and her body jerked atop him. Nick pounded into her, again and again, fingers sunk into her flesh. His cock surged into her and she felt him explode. The heat of his come filling her. He groaned and held her tightly, keeping her in place until he finished.
She lay down on his chest, or maybe she fell. The sweat on her back chilled as her body cooled. Her front stayed toasty warm, heated by him, but her spine was another matter. Pity she couldn’t bring herself to move.
Nick shifted a bit and drew up the covers. That was good. He reached over and pinched out the last candle on the bedside table.
His arms surrounded her.
Something moaned from out in the parking lot and she shivered.
“Fuck.” Nick pulled the pickup to the side of the road out of habit more than anything. It wasn’t like anyone would need to pass.
The front half of the huge plane sat embedded in a house, torn apart on impact. Bits of blackened metal were strewn across the road in front of them. Its ass was a burned-out husk in the garage across the road. Little remained of the actual brick and tile dwelling the Hercules had hit, the walls having caved in around the wreckage. The Humvee it had been carrying lay further down the street, smashed to smithereens. Bodies were scattered around, most of them too badly decomposed to be identifiable. But their equipment he recognized just fine. These boys had been Special Forces. The Minimis, M4s and other fancy toys confirmed it. All of it was the sort of stuff that would be useful for buying Roslyn’s way into Blackstone.
“There’s something you don’t see every day,” Roslyn said, gaping at the wreckage.
“This isn’t going to be pretty. But I’ll feel better if we have more weaponry.” He’d also feel better if she kept her lovely self in the car, but small chance of that.
Right on cue, the woman threw off her seatbelt. “Yeah, me too.”
Shit. He hated the idea of having her out in the open, but they needed those supplies. “Okay.”
A cold wind sent ice down his spine. Everything seemed calm, still. There were no signs of life nearby. Another perfect blue-sky day in a typical suburban street, near the edge of yet another country town.
Ros pushed her sunglasses further up her nose and held her gun in a good grip. She seemed to know what she was doing. Fuck, he hoped she did. In the years to come, her knowing how to handle herself would mean everything. She’d been having entirely too much fun when they’d been meant to be training last night. Not taking it seriously enough.
He handed her an empty backpack, care of the country store yesterday, and shouldered one himself. “Collect anything of use.”
He gave her a hand up over the decimated concrete garden wall, helped her skirt a rose bush. The stupid thing was covered in more than flowers. Thorns cut into his hand when he held back a branch. It stung like shit.
“Damn it.” Blood dripped from a deep scratch on his palm and a slice across two fingers. It had gotten him good.
“Are you alright?” Ros leant over and tugged on his arm, trying to get a look.
“I’m fine. You concentrate on you.”
“Hold still.” She ignored him and pulled a clean tissue out of a pocket, pressed it into his hand. Her forehead furrowed. “We should put some antiseptic cream on that.”
“Later. Come on.”
He’d never admit it, but she’d been right about his being confused. Discombob-whatever. Things had changed too fast. Twice today she’d turned and caught him frowning at her. She’d given him hell when he refused to talk about it.
Women … you didn’t need to discuss everything. Besides, things would sort themselves out soon enough. Blackstone was now only three or four hours’ drive away at most. He hadn’t changed direction. Instead, he’d slowed them down, dragging out the time he had left with her. Tomorrow he’d give her up. One more day wouldn’t hurt anything.
“Come here.” He nudged the remains of a soldier, skin sunken and gray. “You check they’re properly dead, then grab everything off their belts. Any packs strapped to their legs or chests.”
“This is so craven.”
“No, Ros. This is survival.”
Her mouth pursed, but she nodded in understanding. “Yeah. We should bury them.”
“You could spend the rest of your life burying the dead. Just concentrate on keeping yourself alive.”
Her gaze moved between him and the dead soldier, a heavy frown on her face. He almost asked her what she was thinking. And then he spied it, tucked beneath the corpse’s foot. “Here we go. This is a H&K Tactical. It’s got all the bells and whistles.” He dusted off the dirt and ejected the clip. It all looked to be intact and the cylinder didn’t appear to be jammed. “I’ll clean it tonight and then it’ll be yours. Grab any ammunition.”
Obviously curious, she stepped closer. “That’s a silencer, right?”
“Right, and this is a flashlight. But it's the silencer that's crucial. Noise attracts infected. These boys came prepared.”
The Hercules had been torn in half, leaving the internal floor sitting almost at ground level. It was easy enough to walk in. Several chairs were still intact. So were several passengers. The stink of rotting bodies messed with him, even after this long. Every time he thought he’d gotten used to it, a corpse came along that proved him wrong.
Wiring and other assorted shit hung down. The nose of the beast lay in semi-darkness ahead of them, cockpit door open.
“Stay back,” he said.
Carefully he picked his way toward the front, watching his footing. Shit had been tossed everywhere, smashed laptops and other equipment, parts of the plane’s interior. A decapitated body hung over the back of a chair. Interestingly enough, it wore a skirt and a suit jacket. Several of the other corpses still buckled into their seats wore ties.
“They were moving VIPs. Politicians, probably. Getting them west, away from everything.”
“I thought they’d have a bunker or something,” she said.
“This might have been the back-up plan.”
Ros nodded and stopped beside the remains of a soldier sitting upright in a seat. She started stripping the equipment with her face screwed up. So long as she did it she could make as many funny looks as she liked. This was life now, scavenging for supplies amongst the dead. Doing what you had to, to survive. Dirty and horrible as it was, it wouldn’t be changing anytime soon.
A mass of cases and boxes sat piled at the front. It looked like medical gear and rations packs, probably dislodged during the crash. Supplies would have been packed in the rear. He picked his way around the debris, heading for the cockpit. Time to make sure they were totally alone. Inside the wreckage felt even colder than the air outside. He kept his gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
It was dark in the cockpit. The pilot was missing, the empty seat patchy with dark stains. Opposite, the co-pilot’s remains were still strapped into the seat. Its mouth stretched wide and teeth embedded in its shriveled forearm. Nothing much remained of its other arm. The white of bone gleamed in the light, almost intact with the exception of several fingers. Unable to escape, the infected had eaten its own flesh rather than starve.
It was a fucked-up thing, seriously disturbing. He turned away, his stomach pitching. His mouth tasted foul.
An infected lunged at him out of the shadows, catching him by surprise. He bounced off the metal hatch, jarring his shoulder and sending his gun flying.