WastelandRogue

by Brenda Williamson

  Catches in her breath mesmerized him. The soft hum of approval, faint yet continuous, told him she knew what she wanted. The why eluded him as Rye guided his strokes back and forth. She pressed his middle finger between the lips of her cunt. Hard to keep his mind off his physical needs—his mental wants, he burrowed his free hand into her hair. He kissed her, aggressively diving into the sexual satisfaction of giving her pleasure.

  When her panting grew heavy and erratic, her mouth stopped moving with his. She turned her head against his shoulder and let out a trilling sound proclaiming the pinnacle of her arousal. She clutched at his wet shirt and trembled hard. A shiver raced up his back at the dusting of her panting breath on his jaw. Her insides repeatedly tightened on his knuckles, clenching and releasing. He continued sliding his finger back and forth, sloshing water into the opening of her cunt. Her stuttering breath ended with a replete whimper. Then she went limp against him, fainting from exhaustion.

  He slid his hand around her in several more passes, soothing the tension in her limbs, and then scooped an arm under her legs and lifted her as he stood. Crowned by pale areolas and pink-pebbled nipples, her jiggling breasts caught his attention.

  He glanced at her face, content to see a peaceful expression. He hated to think of what she had gone through before being dumped in a ditch and how vulnerable she was. Yet still she had put her trust in him. More than she should have. Not that he would do anything to hurt her.

  Rye was certainly someone special.

  Carrying her to the steam-trekker, Sevrin climbed up on the steel running board and sat her on the passenger seat. Her stillness concerned him. He had enough knowledge about a lamian’s regenerative ability to know she should have been better by now. Gently, he pushed his fingers beneath her left breast and checked her heartbeat again. The rapid pulsing was a good sign.

  Carefully, he put her in a balanced position so he could close the door. Once it was shut, she slumped against it. Her pretty face pressed against the thick glass, holding her mouth open. She was clean, beautiful and naked. That he might lie with a female made him ache with a primal need. It seemed a sick thing, desiring an injured and unconscious female, and there was certainly no avoiding that he was a man with a raging hard-on because of the potential availability.

  Soaked through, his clothes weighted him, making his movements laborious. Thinking to bathe in the pool before they left, he jumped down to the ground and stripped them off one layer at a time. His mind hovered on sexual release. He wrapped his fingers around his cock and stroked the moist skin of his throbbing erection several times. Fantasies filled his head. Rye could be the first lamian female he fucked.

  Since when had he not done as he pleased or taken what he wanted? As his scrotum tightened and a tingling sensation made a heated charge through his veins, his thoughts fell heavily on jumping back up onto the steam-trekker and climbing on Rye. How stupid would he have to be not to take advantage of a willing female, no, a female who had demanded that he fondle her?

  Chapter Three

  Rye woke lying in total darkness. Lethargically, she reached out and touched a rough wood surface above her. Feeling around to her sides, she discovered a confining enclosure surrounded her. Lamians burned their deceased—a practice once used to put to rest any doubt a thought-to-be dead lamian wasn’t in a coma. Humans buried their kind in coffins.

  Panic escalated immediately, heightening her energy. Not knowing where she was, why she was there and who put her in the box, she flung her arms up seeking escape. Her hands landed hard, splintering some of the wood. However, the sharp impact also flipped the lid completely off her coffin-like container. She took in a deep breath of relief.

  “You’re awake,” a man said.

  If not for his familiar voice putting forth an amazingly calming effect, she might have screamed. She rose slowly, yet remained wary. Muscles stiff, body aching aside, a low burning of euphoria swirled inside her. Aroused by the sated sensation, she turned her head to see the man who saved her.

  Her expectations never rose beyond what she had learned from past encounters. Men typically failed her. This man had exuded helpfulness without knowing anything about her, but why? What was in it for him? Was he biding his time in the hopes of sex? He certainly had showed his attraction.

  “How’d you sleep?” he asked.

  She didn’t think her unconscious state counted as sleeping. “Awful,” she answered, raising her hand to rub the throbbing ache in her temple.

  She turned her head to look at him. The memory of drinking his blood brought on cravings for more to heal her thoroughly. Then she saw him standing naked in the glow of a small campfire.

  Unaware of his stimulating effect on her and probably females before her, he didn’t show a need to conceal himself.

  “You’ve been out for a while.” He took a few steps into the firelight.

  Her stomach fluttered. She opened her mouth to speak but the air expelling from her lungs caught in her throat.

  “If you don’t remember, I saved you from death in a ditch.” He stirred the flaming wood.

  She nodded, watching the stretch of his body as he tended the fire. From his long, strong legs, leading to lean hips and a taut rippled abdomen, he had sexual appeal. His casualness around her purported a certain kind of trust. He didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable carrying on a conversation while she accessed the best of his gloriously exposed features. Most notably his lengthy cock dangling in view as he bent forward to keep his distance from the heat.

  “My name’s Sevrin Renault,” he said, righting himself and setting aside the thin pipe he used to poke the fire.

  His nudity left her in awe in a speechless sort of way.

  His muscular arms and bold shoulders had already proved capable of carrying her without effort. But it was his wide chest sprinkled with light-brown hair that captured her interest.

  Lamian males, just the same as lamian females, had no hair on their body other than what grew on their heads. This was the first she’d seen of a naked human. She hadn’t expected to find anything appealing about him, but from the whiskers on his face to the thick patch of hair circling the base of his cock, she was intrigued.

  Did this man epitomize what once was the perfect specimen of a male meant for breeding a superior race?

  Unfortunately, it didn’t matter how well designed or striking she thought he was. Humans weren’t able to reproduce. Still, she’d not mind coupling with him for fun. It wasn’t as if she was ready for babies.

  “You said your name was Rye, right?” he continued. “You didn’t give me more than that.”

  In the back of her mind, she plucked a memory of him holding her and carrying her, his firm, demanding mouth pressing against hers. The fragmented jumble of thoughts forced her to try to recall more. Had he already used her for his own pleasure? Did he take advantage without her consent?

  Anger flared.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “You don’t need to keep asking me that. I’m stronger than I look,” she snapped.

  “Got it. You’re all right.”

  She glanced at the fire, upset by her edginess. Sevrin hadn’t done anything outrageous except show concern. She hadn’t had that in a while, let alone from a man was alluring.

  She tried to distract herself from imagining him grunting and rutting on top of her. While she favored the image, another vision crept into place. Hamner’s filthy, scruffy face made her physically ill.

  “Rye?” Sevrin’s puzzle expression unnerved her.

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit dangerous to have an open flame in a mineshaft?” she asked, avoiding the topic of her disposition. “Explosive gases tend to flow through the tunnels.”

  He prodded a piece of wood back into the center of the fire pit. “This shaft hasn’t had a trace of gas in years. This isn’t the first time I’ve been here. I know most of its layout and it doesn’t have the depth to—”

  Rye closed her ey
es and let the sound of Sevrin’s voice restructure the memories of their meeting. She forced her mind to recall details—the sickness, his kindness, the strength of his arms, his gentleness.

  And the bath with his attentive care.

  The intimate moment sprang forefront. His hand cupping between her legs, rubbing briskly over and in her cunt. Perhaps he felt she had extended her permission for more than a washing. Then, remembering touching the back of his long thick fingers and pressing them into her, maybe she had given him permission.

  Opening her eyes, seeing him now, she had a hard time reasoning why she’d not want a man like him. He looked nice. Far less had attracted her in the past. What right did she have to be angry if he took his deserved repayment for saving her? Men often bartered for sexual favors.

  Sevrin casually strolled to a shakily constructed rack made of iron rods lashed together with wires. The crude frame held pieces of clothing near the fire—his laundry. He picked through them, turning some, tossing others aside. The domesticity gave her a warm, comforting feeling.

  She hadn’t indulged in the romanticism of a lover’s commitment for a long time. Happiness inundated her senses as buried longings to find the perfect someone surfaced. Most aspects of Sevrin’s character easily met the qualifications she had ascribed to the ideal mate, save one. He wasn’t lamian.

  “How long have I actually been asleep?” she asked, shaking off her attraction to the human.

  Besides, until she found Shay, she’d never completely be happy, so why think of soul-gratifying luxuries such as everlasting love?

  “All day.” Sevrin shook out pants, bent down and stepped into them. “You sleep like the dead.”

  She watched the clothing conceal the manliness of his lower half. With the light of the fire now behind him, she wasn’t able to see his body in detail anymore.

  Glad to be free of the distraction, she rose to her feet. “How did you know to put me in the dark?”

  Lamians kept certain aspects of their lives a secret from humans as a safeguard. Sleeping in a tight dark space was natural, as if a form of rebirth to them. It also had benefited them as a good hiding place when on the run from vigilantes.

  “You told me,” he answered.

  “I did?” She couldn’t remember.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered. I know a little about lamian physiology. It may not be much, but it’s proved to be enough to keep you from dying so far,” he added, fastening his pants.

  She noticed he shied away from staring at her. Feeling as if she were a deformed freak, she looked at her bare arms, her bare breasts and her belly. No evidence of her wounds remained. Was there something else he didn’t like? Was she too skinny, too tall, maybe too small in the breasts? She’d heard human men liked females well endowed in the bosom. It didn’t make sense since humans could no longer conceive. Without a baby to nurse, what point was there to big breasts?

  She raked her hands through her tangled hair. He had given her blood, cooled her dehydrated skin and washed her. Why had he not clothed her? There was a shirt. Why wasn’t it on her any longer? She glanced at the rack by the fire and saw it next to his, the reason now apparent. He had washed their clothes.

  His constant avoidance of looking at her made her self-conscious. She wanted to fold her arms up and conceal herself to break the awkwardness of the moment. Then he walked toward her.

  As he moved closer, she saw lust darkening his brown eyes. While unsettling, his now unwavering, radiant gaze prevented her from wanting to move at all.

  Her cheeks tingled with an unusually strange warmth radiating up from her neck.

  She changed her mind about her assumption he didn’t want to look at her. Maybe that was the reason she had no clothes on, so he could ogle her naked form or do more. How often had he lifted the lid to the crate and stared at her? Had he touched her? Fondled her nipples or thrummed his fingers between her legs? She ached from head to toe. Had he repeatedly raped her unconscious body?

  And now what?

  She contemplated where to run. Could she run? Her legs felt weak, so she doubted she’d get more than a few steps before he caught her.

  Rye tried turning her attention to the cavern of the mineshaft as a distraction. Darkness swallowed whatever lay beyond. The black hole offered nothing to prevent her from turning her gaze back to Sevrin’s stare.

  The prickling heat spread along her limbs, arousing her in the familiar way it had when he had washed her. Eager for his caresses fondling her and his kisses bathing her in passion, she couldn’t deny wanting him. She yearned to hear him grunting and feel him rutting atop her.

  “Here, it’s cleaner, even though it doesn’t look it, but now it’s dry.”

  Her unexpected desires confused her. “What?” She glanced down at the shirt she hadn’t noticed before in his hand. He wanted her covered up? Confusion turned to embarrassment and then sizzled into an infuriating slight upon her generosity. She never took kindly to any human’s indifference.

  She snatched the shirt from his hand, angered by what she perceived to be his prejudice against lamians. In her haste to quickly put on the item of clothing, her wobbly knees gave way and she toppled into Sevrin.

  He caught her. “Easy does it.”

  “Do you make a habit of helping strangers?” she asked sharply, flustered by her roiling emotions.

  “It’s not something I go looking for, but I don’t ignore things I can make right,” he answered with a serious tone and a subdued smile.

  Even though the shirt she held was between them, it didn’t fully prevent the contact of her breasts against his firm body. The hair on his bare chest tickled her nipples. Heat flamed in the pit of her belly. The campfire had made his skin warm, inviting her touch. She spread out her fingers, fanning them over one of his taut nipples.

  Pride be damned. Her desires prompted forwardness.

  She swept her hand over his hard pectoral muscles, caressing the fine soft hairs. Tingling threads of stimuli flowed from her fingertips into all parts of her body.

  He placed his hand against her cheek and she closed her eyes, absorbing the comforting feel of his touch. Vulnerable to the attention, she savored the glide of his fingertips over her cool skin. As if guided by the invisible tug on her senses, she leaned and felt strands of her hair fall forward.

  With one finger, he swept the lock from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

  Half-mindless with desire pooling in her loins, she licked her parched lips and lifted her lashes. She stared into his beautiful brown eyes with a thirst for his kiss. Immediately, her reflection in his pupils made her aware of her too-desperate need of affection. Tears bubbled to the rims of her lower eyelids.

  She feared him seeing her as weak as a human woman and she shouldn’t have cared, and yet, she did.

  Tension thickened the air as they each stood hesitant. She gasped for a breath.

  Sevrin broke the spellbound connection first, pulling back from her.

  It severed both her sexual hunger pangs and her growing emotional bond.

  “Take your time, no rush to move too much,” he advised, sliding his hand down her arm and around her elbow.

  His fingers tightly gripping her arm gave a steadying reassurance he’d not let her fall. It brought back a vivid memory of his long, thick fingers inside her. His gentle caresses washing between her legs had lulled her beyond relaxation. She had fought sleep to enjoy both his touch and the euphoria of her orgasm. Wanting to relive that moment of tranquility, she lifted her gaze to his. All she needed was one glimmer of weakness in him to see her as desirable. But he no longer showed any indication of wanting her now.

  She decided it was for the best. She didn’t have the strength to play the seesawing game that had her emotions in turmoil. Begrudgingly thankful for his help, she stepped out of the rickety crate.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  His question reminded her he was human. Quickly, she snatched her hand out of his. What wa
s she thinking, trying to seduce him? She had never been intimate with a human before.

  “I’m sure you know we don’t eat.” She put on the long-sleeved, dingy white shirt.

  Her hands shook as she attempted to fasten the laces and the task became pointless. Holding the garment closed, she took a step. This time her knees buckled and she collapsed, falling to a heap on the ground.

  Sevrin immediately came to her assistance, grabbing her at the waist and raising her up. “You need a drink.” He guided her to a wood chair.

  “I don’t want any blood,” she snapped, recalling him straddling her in the steam-trekker and forcing her to feed from his arm. It was humiliating to know he had seen her rapacious hunger.

  “I meant water.” He squatted in front of her and picked up a lizard-skin flask. “You’re still dehydrated. That’s why you feel woozy.”

  “How do you know how I feel?” She took the flask and gulped down every drop of the cool liquid.

  “It’s just an assumption since you weren’t jumping around after waking.” He carried the flask to a pipe that went through a crack in the ceiling of the cave.

  “I have a barrel up top that catches rain,” he explained when he saw her looking at it and the spigot he turned to let the water flow into the flask.

  “This is your place, then, and not just an abandoned mineshaft you squat in?” She glanced around, working at the laces on the shirt when she didn’t think he watched.

  “I call it mine, as I do several others in the wasteland,” he answered, taking the flask and going back to the spigot.

  By the crate she had slept in sat a pile of stuff, an obvious indication he had emptied the wooden box to put her in it. Besides a few chairs, the small dugout cave didn’t appear inhabited very often.

  “I should go.” She stood too fast.

  Sevrin wasn’t close enough to catch her before she crashed into the chair and tumbled to the dirt floor again. He came to her as she pushed to sit up. Without speaking, he lifted her in the cradle of his arms, proving his strength once again by the ease of his movements.