WastelandRogue

by Brenda Williamson

  The tightening in his groin continued. His cock throbbed hard, fighting against the constraint of his pants. He thought of it loose, thrusting into the constrictions of Rye’s cunt. The beat of his heart quickened at the prospect of discovering her vagina a tight, welcoming passage.

  Then suddenly, his head went light, his mind dizzy. He forced his thoughts on the pain in his arm, the unnatural draining of his blood. It pried his attention away from the edge of his sexual fantasy and back to Rye feasting on him.

  “How much do you need?” he asked, attempting to force her free of his arm. “Rye, how much?”

  He thought of what she said, how she told him she’d need too much. Would she deplete him of blood if he let her?

  To see if her cuts were healing, he yanked the coat out from between them and chucked it to the back cargo area of the steam-trekker.

  Naked beneath him, Rye writhed with gluttonous delight. For a moment, he thought of her pride, her concerns of someone watching her in this state. He better understood her wish to hide this primal side of her lamian nature. But did she not realize humans were also mindless victims to the euphoria of a different pleasure?

  He examined her visible wounds. Their healing was the best indicator for setting a limit to her intake of his blood.

  “That’s enough,” he said when he saw the worst gashes in her belly had already healed shut.

  He tried pulling his arm from her mouth again but she had sunk her teeth into his flesh, using them as anchors.

  “You have to stop, Rye.” He tugged and twisted, struggling to get her unhooked.

  She fought his attempt and remained latched on.

  In a rise of panic, Sevrin grabbed a fistful of her dirty hair and wrenched her head back, ripping her teeth out of his arm.

  She hissed with infuriation.

  He had never seen a lamian look as feral and dangerous as she did or as intensely desirable. The crimson glow of her hypnotic eyes drew him to her. His body reacted just as ardently as it had before, tingling on the inside and hardening on the outside.

  Aroused by her heavy breathing, he released his hold on her hair and dropped his hand to her shoulder. His mind raced with needs he no longer wanted to control. With the back of his hand, he stroked her tense jaw, her taut neck and finally her heaving breast. Between thumb and forefinger, he fondled her rigid nipple, rolling the metal ring piercing up and down.

  A sensation of detachment left him in a dreamlike state. He knew what he was doing was wildly inappropriate, but he couldn’t stop. Leaning in farther, he aimed to taste her bloodstained lips, feel the softness of them pressed to his. He touched them lightly with a kiss.

  When a sigh of contentment slipped free from him as if he had found the true meaning of heaven, Rye suddenly thrust him away with unbelievable strength, ten times his own. The force sent him sailing over the center console of the steam-trekker. He hit his head on the roof before landing behind the steering wheel and colliding with the driver’s side door.

  “I told you I didn’t want your blood,” Rye protested in a harsh, adamant tone, which conveyed her remarkable recovery.

  Folding her arms up, she partially covered her breasts. However, the move didn’t conceal all of her nakedness. She sat somewhat sideways, her back against the steam-trekker’s door and her legs parted.

  Sevrin stared at the entry of her cunt. A glistening translucent wetness to the parted lips suggested she had experienced a stronger arousal then he had while she drank his blood.

  “I’m certainly not in any condition to be fucked,” she said, closing her legs and twisting forward in the seat.

  Aware of his feelings, his actions and his stare, Sevrin shifted around on his seat as well and faced the windshield.

  He shut his eyes and ran his hand over the top of his head, confused by what had happened and thoroughly frustrated by the lack of relief for his erection.

  “I just knew you’d not be grateful,” he said, wrongly irritable but unable to command his wayward emotions.

  “Grateful!” Her voice rose sharply.

  “I didn’t mean it the way you think,” he grumbled, realizing she thought he meant wanting sex for helping her instead of him giving her blood.

  Although sex hadn’t been far from his mind, nor was it going to be with Rye sitting naked within arm’s length. He twisted around and looked in the cargo area behind his seat. There he reached for his coat to cover her up again. His one and only spare shirt in the vehicle caught his attention and he grabbed that instead.

  “Put it on,” he demanded, flinging it toward her.

  It missed her lap and fell to the floorboards. She leaned to retrieve it.

  He sucked in a breath watching her graceful movements. His anger grew. He had lost control of himself. Every fiber in his body ached for release. Struggling to ignore Rye didn’t help and he let his exasperation deflect to her again. “Save a female’s life and do I get a thank-you? Not a chance. Do I leave her in the ditch like any other Wastelander? Of course not.”

  He flipped the fuel switch and then pushed the button to start the steam-trekker. Opening the pipe from the fuel tank to the heater coil, he watched the gauge for the rise of pressure.

  “Thank you.” Rye’s voice once again had the whispery undertone of a gentleness he’d heard when she had first spoken to him.

  “No thanks is necessary, it’s just a shirt,” he grunted, annoyed by the unexpected drain on his emotions.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was scared, and he was being an insensitive ass. He actually had thought to take advantage. But why? While under the dirt and blood she was the most beautiful female he had ever encountered, it wasn’t like him to have the kind of all-consuming sexual urges that he didn’t even want to try to resist.

  “While this shirt is…um, nice,” she smoothed her hands over the thin garment she clutched to her chest, “I was actually thanking you for the blood.”

  “Oh?”

  “I am grateful and if I hurt—”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But you cut yourself to feed me, and then…You hit the door awfully hard. You have every right to be angry with me.”

  “No, I don’t.” Feeling less irritated, he looked over at her. “I haven’t eaten today, so don’t mind me. I get cranky when I’m hungry.”

  Her brow furrowed, showing she didn’t understand.

  “Was it enough blood?” he asked.

  “Apparently.” She sounded surprised, unsure.

  She’d be the one to know. He had never encountered allium. Strictly a poison to lamians, the flower wasn’t in abundance in the desert-dry wastelands, although he had heard that villainous men and marauders had access to the stuff.

  “The allium must have lost its potency,” Rye continued. “You took a big risk in doing what you did by giving me your blood. I might not have been able to stop drinking.”

  As he saw it she didn’t really stop on her own, rather he’d forced her.

  She stared at him again with her mesmerizing blood-filled eyes. Penetrating his senses and reconnecting with his lustful urges, her gaze seized his thoughts. His cock hard and ready, he imagined ramming the length of it deep into her moist, tight cunt. How he craved the relief of discharging his semen to ease the pressure in his balls.

  Sevrin recalled the firmness to Rye’s toned body from when he had carried her. He yearned to touch the softer, fleshy areas—her breasts and buttocks.

  Then he shook his head, stopping the wayward thought. What was wrong with him? Why did Rye have such an influence over his desires? He just met her.

  When Rye began working her arms into the sleeves of the shirt, she did so with blind awkwardness. Did the red in her eyes make seeing hard or impossible?

  “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned. “Your eyes are—”

  “It’s temporary,” she said, leaning her head back.

  She put the back of her hand against her mouth and bit into her kn
uckle. He saw a trickle of blood spiral around her wrist and drop, spotting red on the shirt.

  “What are you doing?” He reached to stop her.

  With a swift and succinct motion, she grabbed his wrist, preventing him from stopping her. She sucked at the laceration on her finger. Her intense stare remained steadfast on him. He gazed into her bedeviling eyes, the sexual draw lessened but the danger remained evident.

  Sevrin sifted through the bits and pieces of knowledge he had about Rye’s mental strength as a lamian. He came up empty on an explanation for the power she seemed to have over him. Was it true what they said of lamian females? Had she vamped him—used mind control to make it easier to feed off a human? Was it possible? He should have known more about the species.

  As if drawing back a canvas hiding a treasure from sight, the red in her eyes receded. Once again, her irises glistened as blue as a lovely summer sky.

  “Is that better?” she asked coldly.

  Was it embarrassment that had chilled her tone?

  “Much,” he answered, not questioning why or how the coloring changed.

  He recalled her previously voiced abhorrence to bloodletting in front of him. Obviously, she guarded her lamian abilities very closely and for that, he could not fault her. It was always better to be wary of what others knew about you. Every day he faced one danger or another, never with the foolish abandon he had with Rye—letting her drink his blood. What was he thinking?

  Rye’s unwavering gaze no longer had a hold on his free will. However, his heart continued pounding faster than normal. He turned his attention back to the grime-covered dashboard and spun the black knob to divert the built-up steam to the engine. The steam-trekker lurched as he pushed down on the brake pedal.

  “Is there somewhere I can take you?” he asked, feeling it would be better to be rid of the lamian as soon as possible.

  “Do you know of any accessible mining shafts or sub-stations close by? I need more rest to finish healing. It’s best accomplished in the dark.”

  Calm, composed, she spoke of getting some sleep as she might talk about taking a pebble out of her shoe. Was death that meaningless to her?

  “I know of one.” He took his foot off the brake and let the vehicle ramble forward.

  Several quiet moments passed with only the hiss and sputter of steam as the steam-trekker rumbled along the rough terrain. In the mirror overhead, he stared at the miasma of dust in their wake.

  He glanced several times at Rye propped against the door, her eyes closed. Was she asleep or just resting? The steady rise and fall of her chest satisfied his concerns about death claiming her. His every intention was to take her anywhere but home and yet there he was, aimed for one of the special places in the wasteland that he called his.

  “Do you have something you want to ask me?” She made her awareness of his staring known.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to bathe before I take you to that dark den in the ground. I know of a nearby watering hole. It might help you recover quicker if you weren’t such a mess.”

  “While I’m aware I smell like a carcass. I don’t have the strength for the task.” She shifted her position against the door and quieted.

  Sevrin didn’t ask again. He saw the fuel gauge drop lower. The engine of the steam-trekker needed water, so the watering hole had to be their next destination.

  It was a short walk to reach the small but clean wasteland pool. Barren land surrounded the basin, making it easy to see they were alone.

  “Rye?” He reached over and touched her neck when she didn’t respond. “You’re still feverish.”

  He got out of the steam-trekker and walked around to the passenger side. Putting his foot up on the running board, he stepped up and opened the door. Rye fell out.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded when he caught her.

  “Something that needs doing.” He scooped her up and climbed down.

  “Don’t go getting any ideas,” she murmured, putting an arm around his neck.

  She lethargically wilted against him and he adjusted her weight in his arms and cradled her against his chest.

  Her face rested on her arm near his face. The strong metallic odor of blood floated under his nose, triggering his desires for her again. Wary of falling under a spell, he held his breath as he carried her to the water’s edge. Dusty, stiff from sweat and now stained with blood, his clothes needed washed. He didn’t think twice about wading into the pool fully dressed.

  “I don’t have the energy to do this,” Rye weakly informed him.

  “But I do.” He sat down in a shallow area with her on his lap.

  “This isn’t necessary.” Her protest came with a feeble attempt at pushing him away.

  “I think it is. Your temperature is unstable.” He pulled the shirt over her head, baring her. “Why aren’t you stronger?”

  “I’m not sure. Residual effects of the allium, I presume.”

  He dipped the shirt in the water, wetting it to wash her. “But I gave you blood.” He wiped the cool water over her shoulder and across her collarbone. He soaked the cloth again and rubbed it over her shoulder and down her side.

  “Apparently, it was only enough for a temporary burst of energy to further heal my wounds.”

  He lingered at her belly, brushing the faint traces of cut marks. “Tell me if anything hurts.”

  She shuddered when he swabbed the cloth in her cleavage. “Admit it. You’re doing this just to fondle my breasts again.” She gave a feeble laugh.

  “And you’re not fighting it, so do I assume you’re enjoying it?” he teased, pleased by her ability to joke.

  For the first time since they got out of the steam-trekker, she opened her eyes. The gripping blue of her irises held his attention without stopping him from washing her. He pushed his hand up and cupped her breast, touching the small steel rings piercing her hard nipples. The pliant flesh molded to his palm. He kneaded gently, swirling his fingers around the dainty hoops, cleaning off dried blood.

  She continued staring without speaking. He took her silence as permission to continue and moved on, sliding his hand up and down her back. Her gaze flickered over his face briefly and then returned to his eyes.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, her breath coming heavier.

  Her lips remained slightly parted. The warmth of her soft breath washed over his face.

  “Because you’re letting me.” He tried to joke again.

  A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I meant helping me.”

  He rubbed her hips and thighs, enjoying the slick softness of her skin. “I have what my brother calls an empathetic personally. Believe or not, I have a compulsion to assist those in need of help.”

  Not a hint of skepticism tainted her laugh. “Strangely, I do believe you.”

  “Yeah?” He leaned her back in the sling of his arm and splashed water over her hair. “Must be my calming temperament.”

  She closed her eyes but her alluring smile remained.

  It took a lot of rinsing and scrubbing to remove the buildup of dirt and the caked-on blood but he managed to get her hair clean. Water droplets glistened on the tips of her curls.

  “There, that looks much better,” he said, combing through the silky wet strands with his fingers.

  She slid an arm around his neck and pulled herself upright on his lap.

  Along the water’s edge, a lone clump of vegetation grew. Sevrin recognized it as a dandelion plant. Wastelanders of the human breed used the flowers to make a potent drink. It had been a long time since he had tasted the inebriating wine.

  He plucked the lone flower from the nest of green leaves and tucked it behind Rye’s ear. “Yellow brightens the blue of your eyes.”

  He imagined her leaning closer, brushing her lips against his. How well he remembered the way she drank blood from his mouth, sucking on his tongue with a voracious thirst.

  He brushed the top of her thighs and rubbed what traces of filth h
e imagined still clung there. In truth, he didn’t believe anything remained. He just wanted to touch her, feel her excitement in the way she shivered against his fingertips.

  Rye’s unwavering gaze remained on him. Then she leaned closer or maybe he did. Desire flickered in her eyes. The warmth of her breath caught his as she pressed her mouth to his. Her lips moved gently, as if she sampled and savored his. Then she slipped her tongue into his mouth. Her sweet invasion briefly hinted of innocence and then seductively turned to domination.

  He didn’t care.

  It had been a long time since he had been intimate with a female. He missed the softness of feminine flesh molding to his, her core moist and accommodating. Thoughts of plunging into the supple heaven made him tense. His cock throbbed, eager to experience a female’s virtues—particularly this female’s intrinsic appeal.

  The urgency in her scratching fingers against the back of his neck had him on the brink of exploding. Then her low moan disrupted his thoughts and his movements. He came aware of having his hand cupped against her cunt and his fingers nestled inside it.

  What was he thinking? He had found her cut up pretty badly. For all he knew she had been raped as well. And there he was treating her without much more consideration than the low-life scum who had hurt her.

  He expected her expression to change from peaceful to outraged.

  She slid her hand over his as he attempted to pull away. “Finish,” she whispered as she pushed his fingers back in place.

  “Rye.” He jerked his hand out from under hers and grabbed her face by the jaw. “You don’t have to pretend to want this.”

  She twisted her head and caught his thumb between her teeth. Sucking it into her mouth, she teased him with her movements. Then she released and turned her head to rub her cheek against his palm.

  “Finish,” she murmured, guiding his hand down between her legs again.

  He tried to think of the situation as some clinical exam, a cleansing she needed to wash away the ordeal she escaped.