I gripped the edges of the seat, suddenly oversensitive to his touch. “I don’t understand, I’m dripping wet for you.”
“You’re not having performance anxiety are you?” His grin made me relax.
“Maybe a little. I know this sounds weird, but it’s almost like it’s too much.”
“Don’t overthink it, Lizzy.” He glanced over the seat back. “Lube?”
Up on my elbows, I nodded. “There’s petroleum jelly in the medical kit.”
My body simmered under his spell, as he rummaged through the bag. He found the jar and spread the ointment over two fingers.
“This will take your mind off that sensitive clit.”
He lifted my ass and rested my feet on his shoulders. “You okay?”
I nodded, hot for a little anal stimulation.
His finger slipped between my buttock cheeks and circled slowly, gently pressing against the sphincter muscle. Faint twinges grew into ripples of pleasure. I had always found anal play stimulating, but this erogenous zone had otherwise remained virgin territory.
Chris had a way of making me want to explore.
He pressed into me—just the tip of a digit—and slowly retreated. With each tiny withdrawal of his finger, I experienced a ripple of sensation. He worked carefully, twisting and teasing, tickling my anus until the tight muscle relaxed and took two fingers. A simmering heat caught fire and arousal blazed through me.
So much for my over-stimulated clitoris. I wanted it cowboy rough and hard—cock, fingers, tongue—everywhere and anywhere. My entire body lusted for him.
“Fuck me, Chris.”
His wolfish gaze made him appear dangerous, as if he could barely control himself. “You need some hard fucking, Lizzy.”
In one slick move, he flipped me onto all fours. A deep spasm of pleasure ripped through my body as his tongue flicked lightly over my anus.
Up on his knees, he grabbed my hips and yanked my ass close. He slipped the head of his penis between my labia and lubricated the shaft. He hesitated, poised at my entrance. “Are you going to come when you’re told?”
“Yes,” I gasped.
He pushed in slowly, letting me adjust to his size.
And he advanced his anal play, gently stretching with two fingers as he pumped into me. The combination of his cock in my vagina and his fingers penetrating my ass caused a deep shudder of pleasure. With each thrust, I edged closer to orgasm.
“Pinch your nipples.”
I obeyed his husky command as a new kind of arousal engulfed me, one that sensed a master at work. “I’m going to come,” I cried.
He slapped my bottom. “Not until I say so.”
A strong spike of desire shot through me, and everything became a turn on. From the force and frequency of his thrusts to his balls slapping against my thighs. My core pulsed with desire for this man who was going to make me scream…any moment now.
He plunged both fingers into my anus and withdrew playfully, using jerky movements. Electric jolts of pleasure coursed through me.
His other hand slipped around my hip and circled my belly button. “Please,” I whispered, moving his hand lower.
“I’m not sure I should touch you there.” His breath warmed the back of my neck. “You might come.”
I tossed my head back. “Not until you say so.”
Finally, those talented digits slipped into moist flesh, exposing my swollen clitoris. He lightly stroked the bundle of nerves until I cried out.
“Now, baby.” He whispered.
I nearly convulsed from the explosive wave of pleasure. “God, yes.” Seconds of blissful euphoria rippled through my body. An anal-vaginal-clitoral orgasm. The kind of deep-down dirty climax a girl never forgets.
“Ahh, baby—your little cunt feels amazing.” He groaned, and thrust faster. I tightened my vaginal muscles and closed around him, deepening his pleasure.
“Fuck, I don’t believe this,” he growled. His hips jerked from his own release. I had to imagine his clenched jaw, eyes glazed over, as a hot rush of sperm shot into me. He lingered inside me, rocking gently, teasing out a second spasm of pleasure.
Chris nuzzled my shoulder blade with his scruff. The man fucked like he knew me. Understood what I needed most, as well as some of my darker desires. His gentle domination had pushed me beyond sensitive nerves to one of the most pleasurable orgasms of my life.
He kissed the back of my neck. “I haven’t fucked like that in…I can’t even remember…” His warm breath trailed down my spine as he withdrew his cock. I imagined the look of satisfaction on his face—relaxed, fully satiated, with maybe a hint of vulnerability.
Strong arms turned me onto my side. “I’m going to take a short nap.” He spooned up against me. “Then we’re going to do that again.”
I fell asleep wrapped in my lover’s warm embrace and awoke to a stranger snoring in my ear. I opened an eye and peered through the cracked windshield. Charcoal clouds glowed like coals in a pink sky.
Daybreak.
Every muscle in my body complained as I lifted a heavy masculine arm and sat up. I scanned the desert horizon. Dead bodies surrounded the truck. A few carrion birds picked at corpses. No animated zombies in sight. I shivered, more from the air temperature than the carnage.
The last several days had been unseasonably warm, but there was a definite chill in the air this morning. I reached under the seat for the water jug and got out my medical kit. I washed down a naproxen tablet and loaded a syringe with interferon. I checked Chris over.
His color was good, but that scratch on his neck made my skin crawl. I tore open an alcohol pad and wiped a spot on his ass. He barely stirred when I stuck him with the needle.
I covered my new fuck buddy with his combat shirt, grabbed my duffle bag and climbed out of the truck. I dressed quietly outside the cab.
The first few trips up the ridge were brutal before the pain reliever kicked in. I stuffed most of our gear into two backpacks, clipped the straps together and placed them over the bike like saddlebags. I used a bungee net from the truck’s cargo bay to fasten everything else down, including the medical kit and water jugs.
I stepped back to admire my packing job. Slightly lopsided—I tilted my head—but travel worthy. Shifting focus, my smile faded. Behind the Ducati, a huge grayish-brown cloud rose on the horizon. A shiver ran down my spine. Dust storm or zombie horde? Hard to tell from here.
The ridge road climbed for another half mile or so. From there, I would be able to see for miles around, maybe even as far as the Trebil crossing. According to my last GPS reading, I was somewhere near Ruwayshid, a good sixty or seventy kilometers from the Iraq border.
I ran downhill to the truck and searched Chris’s pockets. The storm was headed straight for us, and I needed to get a better look. After a frenzied search, I found the key in a zippered pocket. “Score.”
I scrambled back up the ridge, and straddled the bike. With the key in the ignition, I searched for the starter button. “Ah ha—there you are.”
A pleasant vibration hummed between my legs as the engine rumbled to life. This was a monster motorcycle. A lot more bike than my brother’s old Suzuki back home. I bit down on my lower lip and took hold of the handles.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Chapter Five
THIS LOOKED BAD. Like I was about to steal his road rocket and take off without him. And don’t get me wrong the thought had crossed my mind.
“I…was just going to ride up the hill to get a better look at the z-storm.” I nodded west and he tracked with my line of sight.
He stood there shirtless, resting the M4 on his shoulder. Chris was hot, and not just because his cheeks were flushed by a mild fever. Half-zipped commando fatigues hung low on his hips accentuating two sexy curves of groin muscle.
It was embarrassing the way I stared. I was a physician. I’d studied the human anatomy inside and out. I could describe in detail, the muscular structure of that torso do
wn to its most tenuous connecting tissues. I’d dated men with bodies almost this good. So what was it about this body?
Ice blue eyes scanned the surrounding desert and returned to me. “Get off the bike.”
“Why? I need the practice. What if you get too weak to drive?” His glare remained solidly primitive.
I killed the engine and dismounted.
He studied my packing job. “Christ, what a mess.”
I stared at him, open-mouthed. “What?”
“This is a fucking great bike. Now it’s a Subaru station wagon.” He lowered his weapon.
I planted both fists on my hips. “Damn, you won’t be able to impress zombie chicks.”
He squinted at me.
I snorted a laugh.
He reached out and yanked me close. “Quiet…you.” He silenced me with his mouth, and I nearly went weak-kneed in his arms. He released me just enough to catch my breath, then he kissed me again. Chapped lips aside, he was a world-class kisser.
He let me go. “You weren’t going to leave me?”
“Of course not.” I dug for the bandana in my jacket pocket. “I kind of like having a competent zombie slayer around. And, at the moment, you need a doctor.” I wiped his sweaty brow and held my wrist to his forehead. Cool and damp. “Your fever just broke. A good sign, Captain Oakley.”
He shook his head. “Don’t.”
“Why?”
He cocked his head and exhaled softly. “You’re making me like you.”
Not many men were capable of pulling off testy and flirty. In the morning light, I got the full effect of those sparkling eyes. Coronado Bay blue on a sunny day and deadly piercing.
I bit my lip and tried not to think about that amazing orgasm. Or my girl-parts, still very much aware of his cock visit last night. “I require doctor-patient check-ins several times a day.” The ugly scratch on his neck looked better in daylight. “Any flu-like symptoms besides the fever—dizziness—achy all over?”
“Nothing I can’t live with.” He turned toward the motorcycle. “Next time, let me do the packing.”
He removed the bungee net, pulled a tee shirt out of a backpack and rearranged cargo. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” He tossed me the spent ammo bag filled with snack items.
Perched on a rock precipice, we passed the water jug between us. I scarfed down Sun Chips and a Nutri-grain bar. He chewed on Jack Links Beef Jerky and a handful of CornNuts.
I didn’t say anything, but even if we managed to outrun the hordes and evade the drones, we were probably going to die of malnutrition. While we ate, Chris mapped out a simple strategy and did a little reconnaissance. The plan was to get to K1, the joint military airbase south of Kirkuk. From there, I could hitch a ride home.
Just before zombies flattened tent city, there were Internet rumors. The virus had spread west, into parts of Europe and the U.S.
Chris methodically scanned the southern desert.
“If we still have a homeland left to go home to, where is yours?” I asked.
“Kohala, Hawaii.”
I smiled. “You’re a surfer.”
He adjusted the binocular focus. “Grew up surfing Banyans and Honolii. My dad and his brother run a cattle operation and a dude ranch.”
“So you’re a cowboy surfer.”
A cute dimple appeared below the field glasses. It was easy to imagine him launching a surfboard into the air off the crest of a wave. Streaking ahead of the curl, cutting back, enveloped briefly by a glassy wall of water, before slipping out in front of the break.
The very thought made me homesick.
“I tried to get a hold of the old man before I left base.” Chris swept the desert horizon. “Rumors kept getting worse. Ten mainland cities overrun—then twenty. I humped it over to the Internet Cafe, but JSOC had us on blackout.” He lowered the binoculars and studied me, eyes warmer. “What about you, Elizabeth Davis, M.D.?”
“San Diego, California.”
His mouth tilted upward. “So you’re a surfer and a doctor.”
I laughed out loud. Something I hadn’t done in days. “I remember surfing lessons and ballet lessons. The only thing that really stuck was horseback riding. Maybe you could hire me as a hand around the ranch?”
“If there’s a ranch left to go home to.” He stared so long my heart fluttered. “The closest hospital is in Mona Kea. They could probably use another good doctor. What kind of surgeon are you?”
“Pediatric or trauma. I haven’t made up my mind. I figured a tour with Doctors Without Borders could help me decide. Give me a real world perspective.”
Ocean blue eyes retreated behind binocular lenses. “A world where people kill and mutilate each other.”
Heat swept over my cheeks. “Maybe I thought I could repair some of the damage. I know—clueless and naive, right?”
“Pretty much.” Hard to miss the cynical, combat-weary soldier in his voice.
I exhaled a sigh and changed the subject. “Can you see Ruwayshid?”
He adjusted focus. “We’re about seven or eight clicks from the center of town. I say we get in, fill up on water and petrol and get the hell out.” He passed the field glasses over.
Abandoned vehicles scattered the dusty highway. Further down the road, plain concrete block buildings lined the entrance into town. Nothing moved besides a few tumbleweeds. “Not a biter in sight.”
“Yeah, it’s too quiet.” He packed up our snack food stash.
I continued to scan for signs of civilization. Beyond the bombed-out city nothing but desert for miles.
An actual rainstorm loomed to the southeast. Not so distant anymore. I also checked the plateau behind us. Zombie dust billowed up from the horizon. “Jeezus, they’re fucking everywhere.”
The sun dipped behind gray clouds and the sky darkened. “I’d like to cross the border before nightfall.” Chris stood and offered a hand-up. “Come on, Lizzy, before we get overrun by the z-storm.”
The contagion had spread so fast it brought new meaning to the words pandemic infestation. I pictured a team of CDC epidemiologists, hunkered down in some secure laboratory in Atlanta. Even if they did come up with a vaccine or cocktail of drugs to treat the infected, how would we ever be able to distribute the medicine? And who would receive the cure and who wouldn’t?
I shuddered.
“Hey…hey…come back to me.” I concentrated on the husky sound of his voice as he zipped up my jacket. Chris had easily read my momentary lapse into terror. He held onto my shoulders. “As long as we can outrun and outthink them, we’ve got a chance.”
I stared at him. “Could you set that bar any lower?”
He didn’t laugh, but I caught an upturn at the edge of his mouth. “Grab the helmet, and climb on.” He swung a leg over the bike. “Rest your feet on the pegs and hold onto me.”
The engine rumbled to life. He reached back, grabbed both my hands and placed them around his waist. “Tight, Lizzy, and lean into me.”
He accelerated smoothly, increasing our speed on good stretches of road, slowing to maneuver around blast holes and abandoned vehicles.
For a few glorious kilometers, I surrendered to the sheer joy of being on the road again. The growl of the engine. The incredible surge of speed and wind on my face. And I was not alone anymore. I was on the run from undead boogeymen with a wicked handsome z-wrangler.
This had to be as thrilling as a zombie apocalypse gets, right? I hugged the solid torso in front of me, and he reached back and pressed my knee to his sinewy thigh. Protective and sexy—the man oozed hotness on so many levels.
Up ahead, lightning flashed, followed by the soft rumble of distant thunder.
In the best and worst sense of the word, I was living the very definition of a nightmare. The kind you wake up from electrified, heart thumping, gasping for air. Your body keeps insisting—holy shit, that was real! But your brain knows better.
Even now, there were moments when the undead still seemed unreal. Mo
nsters created to entertain us as we sat in the dark, scarfing popcorn. A part of me still wanted to believe that. But here’s the saddest part: Unreal was beginning to feel normal.
As we entered the outskirts of the city, a squadron of small flying creatures dive-bombed the bike. Why not? Unreal was the new normal.
“What the fuck are these things?” I shouted over a roar of beating wings.
“Zombie bats.” Chris yelled.
I unsheathed my machete and waved the critters off. Entirely by accident, I managed to smack one down and the creepy thing fell to the ground with a shrill cheep. The rest retreated into a sky filled with storm clouds.
“There’s a swarm of them directly overhead,” I warned Chris.
They strafed us again, zooming down—screeching and clawing—needle-like teeth gnashing. Whenever a flying fuzz ball dipped close, I slashed at the hovering rodent, all the while trying to process the idea of zombie bats.
Chris shifted into high gear, and I hung on tight as a massive burst of speed thrust us into the city. Doing a hundred miles an hour on any road in the Syrian desert is a risky proposition. First, there’s the IEDs and the potholes—deadly at this speed. And if that wasn’t terrifying enough, we were dealing with an obstacle course of junked-out vehicles and decaying bodies. It was as if we were playing the real life version of Need for Speed, Zombie Edition. Difficulty level: Eat-my-dust.
And Chris handled the motorcycle like he had some real experience. Until he suddenly lost his mind and pointed the bike into a pile of rubble. A large flat slab of concrete angled upward. “Hold on tight, Lizzy.”
I closed my eyes when the bike went airborne. Barely felt the landing, but then we were skidding, squealing, and braking until the Ducati came to a stop.
I opened my eyes and scrambled off the bike. I could barely breathe, or maybe I’d just forgotten to how to breathe. I tried to figure out where we were—empty cavernous space, corrugated roof, skylights—some kind of vacant warehouse.
For the past two days, I’d survived on adrenaline. After you’ve been subjected to terror on a daily basis, fear becomes transient and unpredictable. Sometimes you forget to be afraid at all. A shiver brought all the fear back.
EAT, SLAY, LUZT: A sexy wild ride through the dark heart of the zombie apocalypse. Page 4
