by Elle Aycart
“You left me hanging, remember?”
“Sorry about that, Butterfly.” He increased the speed of his thrusts, nudging her clit with every stroke.
“Logan,” she choked out. “Your hands, please. I want to feel you inside me.”
“I got you.” He couldn’t deny her anything. Even if that meant spilling on himself at the sight. Releasing her, he shifted to her side and slipped his hand under her mangled panties.
“You’re dripping wet,” he growled, slowly sliding two fingers in, up to the second knuckle. Fucking hot and tight and inviting.
“Yes. Like that,” she breathed, nipping at his lower lip, then soothing it with her tongue. Her pussy was gripping his fingers so hard, he was going to come in his pants, pressing against her thigh like a fucking teenager. Not that the embarrassment would make him stop.
“More,” she demanded, thrusting against his hand and licking his mouth—his lips, his chin, the tip of his nose, again and again and again…
Logan woke up to a hellhound slobbering on his face. Oh, hell. He’d been dreaming.
“Aww, Arnie likes you,” Sky said.
Logan looked around, confused. It was daylight and he was on the sofa, wearing the hazmat suit and a monumental hard-on, the dog looming over him.
He pushed Arnie away and sat up. “No, he doesn’t. I was having the most amazing dream.”
“Really? What about?”
He glanced over his shoulder. They were alone. “You and I were exploring alternatives for our lack of goat intestines.”
“So that’s why you’re red and sweaty.” She looked down. “Oh, my. That’s impressive. You’re lucky Arnie didn’t confuse that with a chew toy.”
He grimaced, rearranging his erection. Wouldn’t that have been a blast, waking up to a beast castrating him.
“Fucking hot in here,” he grunted, pulling at the neck of the suit.
“You should get that outfit off. I don’t think that fabric breathes.” She brushed a hand over his cheek. “Jeez, you’re burning hot. I think you have a fever.”
It sure as hell felt like it. His throat was sore and his head was about to explode. His nose tickled, and he sneezed. “Shit.”
After helping him out of the hazmat suit, Sky went for the thermometer and handed it to him. “I’m afraid you got what I had.”
He threw his head back, resting it on the sofa. Probably.
“Yep. 102,” she said after it beeped. “You came down with the flu.”
“Fantastic,” he grumbled.
“On the plus side, the house is already taped shut. Carol won’t have to worry about containment.”
Every cloud had a silver lining.
“Why didn’t you come to me after the pandemic crew left?” she asked, sitting by his side. “Were you already feeling sick?”
Sick? Not at all. Horny as hell? Yes. His only thought had been getting back to Sky.
“I came to you, Butterfly. My recollection is a little fuzzy, but as I remember, you’d fallen asleep, and Cerberus growled at me when I tried to get close.”
The way Arnie had stared at him, it had been clear no one was to approach Sky unless she was awake and able to call the monster down.
“Pity,” she said, her voice mischievous.
“I meant what I said yesterday. About having no issues servicing you.”
She smiled. “You make me sound like a car.”
A car? She was a frigging Ferrari.
“Be that as it may, you’re sick,” she continued.
He didn’t give a flying flip. He could be delirious with malaria for all he or his cock cared. “I can get condoms in five minutes. You’ve already had what I’ve got, so you can’t catch it again.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she said, coming closer and kissing him softly on the lips. “Was I good in your dream?”
“You were fucking amazing.” Right up until he’d realized it was a dog smooching him.
“I’m much better in reality. I need you at your best when I let you in my pants. How was my pussy? Any particulars?”
He wasn’t following her. “What do you mean?”
“In your dream, was my pussy bare? Did it have a bush? Any special decoration or customization I should be aware of? What’s big around here? Oh, God, was I vajazzled?”
“Vajazzled? What the fuck is that?” Was that even a word?
“It’s a combination of vagina and bedazzle,” she explained. “Dolling up one’s lady bits with crystals. Swarovski, if you’re loaded. It was very much in fashion some years ago, but apparently it takes time for trends to reach the hinterlands. Although I doubt Barnie’s carries stick-on pussy crystals.”
“I don’t see preppers sticking anything on their bodies, unless it’s the coordinates of their hideout or some shit like that.” He brushed his lips over hers. “No crystals, just the sweetest, tightest, hottest, barest pussy I’ve ever had. Why?”
She winked. “Trying to figure out what I have to live up to. Just remember, I was going to Paris, France. Euro chicks are well known for their au naturel tendencies.”
“So I should expect crazy, unruly bush, 70s style?”
She laughed. “Not telling.”
“Hey, over here,” Shayna called, waving as Sky stepped into the bowling alley.
Sky picked up a pair of bowling shoes and made her way to the four girls wearing bright pink jackets with The Sisters of Doom written on the backs. They were in one of only two lanes that were occupied. How a town with such meager services sustained a bowling alley was mind-boggling. Although, given the rundown condition of the establishment, it had seen better times. The bar, however, was full.
“Everyone, this is Sky. Sky, these are Haley, Sierra, and Alberta, aka the Sisters of Doom, four-time state bowling champions.”
“Nice to meet you all.” Sky glanced at Sierra. The woman looked so familiar. Then it dawned on her. “Hey, you’re the one who won the 10K.”
Sierra nodded. “Guilty as charged.”
“She’s the town’s fitness guru,” Shayna explained. “Our own Chris Powell. Now, you ready to bowl?”
Sky grimaced. “I’m a bit rusty.” That was the mother of all understatements. Since discovering the beauty of fake nails, Sky had avoided any kind of sport that could damage them. Sticking her fingers in a damn heavy ball and throwing it around hadn’t been high on her to-do list. Now, though, she’d lost all the nails somewhere in the Minnesota countryside so when Shayna called and insisted she go bowling with the team, Sky had agreed. The fact that they had won the state championship four years in a row was something the sneak had omitted to mention.
“The lanes are kind of empty, aren’t they?” The equipment looked extremely old. She wouldn’t be surprised if they still hired kids to pick up the pins.
“People don’t come here for the bowling. They come for the smoky drinks,” Shayna said.
Smoky drinks? Maybe they served hot chocolate martinis. Or chocolate hot buttered rum. Smoky cocktails were so trendy nowadays. She was about to ask for more details when they got interrupted.
“Good evening, ladies. Training a new recruit?” asked a man wearing an Iron Man arc reactor on his black T-shirt. The design seemed to activate by sound, because it was blinking in time with his voice.
“Hi, Adam. This is Sky, better known as Patient Zero. Adam is the owner of this joint,” Shayna explained.
“Nice to finally meet you,” he said, shaking Sky’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All bad, I presume,” Sky said, grimacing.
Adam chuckled. “Apparently you’re spreading infection in the Land of Always Winter.”
“Doc cleared me. And it’s just the flu,” she grumbled. “Iron Man should be able to withstand it if anyone can.”
“You bet. So, what can I get for you ladies today?”
Shayna turned to Sky. “You like beer?”
When Sky nodded, the girls looked at Adam and said in unison, “B
atmans.”
“Batmans it is.”
“Batmans?” Sky asked as Adam left.
“Dark, smoky ale. Adam brews his own beer,” Shayna said. “He uses old bread. Apparently 20 percent of food waste is bread, so Adam is trying to make a dent in that.”
Right. No classy cocktails.
Some people recycled diapers and moldy bread. Others prepped for the end of the world and trained ravens to talk. God bless America.
“He’s a geek,” Haley added. “Has a kickass collection of superhero outfits and loves cons. He’s a nice guy, but people around here consider him a weirdo.”
Sure. The whole town hoarded toilet paper and ate seven-month-old eggs, and Adam was the weirdo?
“Geeks are still misunderstood creatures in this neck of the woods,” Shayna said. “His beer is the best thing that’s happened to this town since they brought in the mechanical bull.”
The Batmans arrived: black beer with smoke coming from it. Sky took a sip. “Not bad. Where’s the smoke coming from?” She couldn’t see any dry ice or smoldering herbs.
Shayna shrugged. “We don’t ask. They don’t tell. Better for everyone. Let’s get bowling, girls. How’s Patient One, by the way?”
“Grumpy,” Sky answered.
“Men are such babies when they’re sick,” Sierra said.
In all honesty, Logan was sick as a dog, coughing and sneezing and running a steady fever. Under the circumstances, he hadn’t complained much.
In spite of their botched attempt at sex, things hadn’t gone weird between them. On the contrary. Logan seemed very comfortable around her, always finding an opportunity to joke. Rough appearances aside, he was easygoing. Goofy, even.
And it had been rather enjoyable to take care of him. The choice of evening television viewing was still a point of contention, but arguing with him was kind of satisfying.
“How’s NoName treating you?” Alberta asked, handing her a ball. “You ready to shoot yourself yet?”
“Not so far, no.” She’d gotten back to her morning routine, waking up early and primping, regardless of the shitty weather. Having Arnie by her side helped a lot. She’d been taking him for walks into town for coffee every morning. Adjusting her habits to the limitations of a place like NoName had been challenging, but she was managing. Had to, really. Discipline was important. A regimented life was a productive one. Rules made a good safeguard.
The classes had been fun too. Logan’s students were doing great, not afraid to talk or make mistakes anymore. And they’d eaten all the food she prepared, unappetizing-looking ceviche included.
Sky, predictably, got her ass kicked to kingdom come. As she trudged back from yet another gutter ball, Shayna asked, “Remember when you did my makeup the other day? It was a huge success, so I promised a couple of friends I’d speak to you. What do you think of getting together some afternoon and you giving us a few tips?”
“Sure.”
“How about a week from Thursday?”
“Fine, I guess.” She wasn’t sure Logan would be up for having a giggly show-and-tell at home by then, but they could meet at Shayna’s tea shack.
“Great. I’ve already reserved the AV room at the community center.”
Oh, boy. “I thought you said a couple of friends?”
“Did I mention your makeup was a huge success? Everyone asked about it. Even the pandemic squad is ready to brave infection to come.”
“They could check my YouTube channel.”
“These people prefer face-to-face encounters. Off-the-grid enthusiasts and all.”
“I don’t know,” Sky said hesitantly. The community center wasn’t very big, but the potential crowd was still a far cry from showing beauty tricks to a handful of people over beers. Besides, it was the face-to-face encounters that worried her. Addressing thousands of strangers through her YouTube channel was a piece of cake. Heck, she could handle internet trolls without a problem. But personally showing her cheap-ass tricks was a bit more difficult.
“Come on, come on,” Shayna pleaded. “Say yes. It’s only an afternoon.”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin.” Her YouTube channel was targeted at people like her, with similar interests. She had very little in common with rural Minnesota folks who hoarded food and ran 10Ks through the snow.
“Basic stuff, like what you told me about refreshing hair dye or making my lips bigger. Think of it as a crash course for preppers without access to the brand-name products.”
Oh, God. This was sounding more difficult by the moment. “I don’t know the first thing about prepping.”
“You don’t have to. Just take a look around Barnie’s. Those are the ingredients at our disposal. Teach us how to use them to maximum benefit. We don’t care about a super-duper expensive moisturizer launched by some high-end designer. Barnie’s will never carry that, and we wouldn’t be able to afford it anyway.”
“You’ll owe me big time,” Sky muttered.
“Yay! In exchange, you can have a spot in my self-defense class for women.”
“No, thank you. I’ve got a pepper spray for that. And by the way, the best deep-skin moisturizer ever is coconut oil and aloe vera gel whisked together. You can grow your own aloe vera. Coconut oil is a multipurpose product, good for everything from wood and metal polish to makeup remover to toothpaste, if you add baking soda. Barnie’s ought to be interested in carrying it for its antibacterial properties, if nothing else.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. You got this. Just think prepper!”
Right.
Logan knew the second Sky arrived home, because Arnie’s ears perked up and he went to the door. The monster was a softie where his owner was concerned. Wherever Sky went, he followed. If there were stairs involved, he cried and yelped and attempted to climb until he got stuck and looked so miserable that she came to rescue him. If she went to the bathroom, he’d wait outside, scratching the door to check on her every couple of minutes.
Sky opened the front door, carrying two pizza boxes and two big cups. “Hi, sweetie! Did you miss me?” she asked, going on her knees and kissing the beast.
“He was fine,” Logan grumbled. “I took him to the greenhouse.”
She pursed her sexy lips reprovingly. “I hope you put that cream under his nose.”
“You know he’s a dog, don’t you?”
At that moment, one of Logan’s students knocked on the window.
“Hi guys,” Sky greeted them as she let them in. “I didn’t have time to cook, so I brought supper. I got soup for us,” she said to Logan. “Well, soup for you. Chicken and steamed veggies for me.”
He would have loved to pig out on pizza, but being unable to taste sucked all the fun out of it. Plus his throat hurt like a motherfucker when he swallowed.
“No problem,” Miguel said, smiling. Then he turned to Logan. “Maybe we should eat in our cabin tonight?”
“I’d appreciate it, guys.” Logan couldn’t smell much, but the sight of pizza alone made him salivate.
“Ha! It’s a bitch when fate turns around and bites you in the ass, huh?” Sky said, sitting by Logan on the sofa, both cups in her hands. She handed one to him and then addressed Myrat. “I haven’t forgotten about you. We’ll do ishlykly next.”
Myrat gave her a high-five. “You got it.”
Logan couldn’t believe these were the same guys who’d been like ghosts in his lab before Sky’s lessons. She’d really gotten them out of their shells.
“Ishlykly?” Logan asked after his crew left.
“It’s similar to pizza but covered with a layer of dough. A typical Turkmen dish.”
“Well, I hope it turns better than your phò.”
She smacked him on the arm. “Hey. They ate it. And liked it.”
“They like you too much to tell you it was shitty.”
He’d never been so glad to be sick as he was that evening. Even being unable to taste wouldn’t have protected him from the awful-looking lumps in that
soup, he was sure.
“Keep trashing my cooking and you’ll be in deep trouble. Do I have to remind you that you’re in quarantine? I’m your safe line to the exterior, buddy. Besides, if you suddenly die, no one will wonder. The internet connection is back, and Google searches are very helpful when it comes to finding untraceable poisons.”
“The pandemic squad would find it when they dissected me. I have faith in them.” He blew on the soup. “How did it go with Shayna and the Sisters of Doom?”
“Apparently Shayna’s makeup was a huge success. She told everyone I was responsible for it, and now they’re organizing some sort of crash course at the community center with yours truly as the teacher.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Beware, doomsday preppers! The Antichrist of fashion and vanity is in town and collecting souls.”
He took a sip of broth. “You’re nuts.”
“Me? I’m by far the most stable person in this town, thank you very much. I’m not even the one with the weirdest pet.”
True, and a beast afraid of climbing stairs was difficult to beat.
“What about me?” he asked. “I’m stable.”
“You have a hazmat suit at home—one you went to the trouble of customizing to tick off your neighbors—and you collect dirty diapers to grow mushrooms. Enough said.”
True again. “Thanks for bringing supper.”
“I know how you can repay me,” she said mischievously.
He grimaced. “What do you want? Control of the remote?” She’d been complaining about his movies and lobbying for fashion reality shows. He couldn’t care less about stupid makeovers. His crew, star-struck as they were with her, still feared him enough to side with him on the matter, but those days were numbered, he could tell.
She shook her head. “I want to trim your beard.”
Shit. That was even worse. “Sure you don’t want to watch, what was it called, Project Runway?”
The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Tempting, but no. Come on. That beard’s gone past Unabomber and into ZZ Top territory. Mountain men got nothing on you.”
