“Yes,” I say, over him.
“Nurrin,” he snarls.
I ignore him, focusing on the Black Priest. Whatever Finn wants to think, there is more at stake than my vengeance. “I won’t demand their deaths. And I will fight with you, in the East. In return, I want the Firsts released, and allowed to leave. Without being tailed—you let them go, free and clear. Safe passage to wherever the hell they want to go. And I’ll do whatever damned thing you want.”
The Priest’s eyes narrow speculatively, and I can feel Finn behind me, cursing softly. “Don’t do this,” he mutters. I ignore him. It’s already done. We both know it. The Priest does too.
“Agreed. Holly, let them go. Finn and I will get us an infect—a fresh one, if we can manage it.”
The little red priestess stares at her boss for a long moment, and then she leaves the room, silently.
I look at the two gray priests. “I want my brother’s ashes. Tomorrow morning.”
“Ma’am, we’re studying—“
“Do what the lady said,” Omar interrupts, and I allow a smile, bleak and unamused, to turn my lips. He nods at me once, and then turns his attention to Finn. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”
Then he straightens and leaves the lab.
Chapter 7. Silent Truth
WE DON’T TALK ON THE WAY BACK TO OUR ROOM. I can feel the anger coiled tight in him, growing with each step, but he doesn’t speak.
Finn O’Malley is furious but he won’t let it out in public.
I glance at the closed doors on the Firsts hall, as Finn opens the door to our room. Holly will be here, soon, to open them, and let the Firsts out. And then what? What kind of life will they live? I want to think they’ll find a way to be happy and to be safe—but I know my world. Too well.
And I think that I haven’t bought them a future. I’ve bought them a death sentence that might come sooner than they expected. I shove that thought aside as I step into our room and Finn enters behind me.
But at least it will be their choice, when and how they die.
And maybe that is all any of us can ask for. The right to die in the manner of our choosing.
“Nurrin,” Finn snaps, slamming our door, and it pulls me from my musing. I startle forward a step and my gaze collides with his.
Maybe—maybe it’s not about dying in the way we choose. Maybe it’s about living the life we want.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice tight.
I shrug. “You asked me what I wanted. This is my next move, Finn. I’m going to help Omar.”
“You don’t believe that the cure is real.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it? There are no choices here—we don’t live in a world that offers much in the way of opportunity. I stay in the West and get swallowed up in a Haven that will fall—and if it doesn’t, what then? I live a small, meaningless life. Maybe I marry a Walker and that’s how I remember the life I had. Or I can help the Black Priest, and I can live the way I want. Free. Meaningful. Not scared.”
“You won’t live,” he snarls.
I shrug. “It’s not your problem.”
His eyes widen. “Do you really believe that?”
Everything in my life is shaken. My brother is dead, and the Order is offering a cure that puts the East in reach, when we have always known it’s lost. Nothing makes sense.
But Finn—Finn has never liked me. Finn tolerates me for my brother’s sake. He protected me to keep me alive for Collin.
“I don’t know what to believe,” I say, honestly. “I don’t know why you’re still here. You hate Omar. Collin is dead, and I’m not your problem.”
He stares at me, and I shift. The whole conversation has ceased to make sense—and the air has shifted, turned dangerous in ways I don’t understand.
Finn carefully removes his weapons belt, and lays it aside. “Nurrin. What’s the only thing that matters?”
“You’ll keep me alive.”
I don’t finish the promise, because it doesn’t matter—not anymore. Finn tried but there are some promises that even he can’t keep.
His eyes darken, and he nods. “That hasn’t changed.”
I open my mouth, but he’s kissing me. His hands are in my hair, and I even though I know there’s a wall behind me, I can’t feel it. I can’t feel anything but the rough press of his lips, and the stubble he hasn’t had time to shave, the glide of his hot tongue against the seam of my lips, before his teeth catch and bite down, just enough to wring a gasp from me. Then his tongue is in my mouth and there’s nothing else. Not a fucking thing matters or exists beyond this—him and me, and where we touch. I make a noise, and he eats it up, his hands shifting from my hair to my ass, flexing on my hips and pulling me tight to him. It’s not enough, and I make a petulant noise against his lips, lost in the kiss.
He knows.
He's always known exactly what I mean, what I need. Even when I don’t know.
His grip shifts, cups my ass and lifts me, and my legs wrap around him, so that I’m rubbing against him, his hard to my soft, and there are three layers of clothing between us that infuriate me.
His mouth leaves mine, and I’m seeing stars, spots spinning in my vision as I gasp. Air. Oxygen is a good thing. His lips skim down my throat, finding the curve where my shoulder meets my neck. He places a kiss there, so soft I almost think I imagine it. And then his tongue, darting out and tasting the skin, followed by a soft hum of appreciation.
When his teeth close over the tender skin and bite down, pleasure flashes through me, mixing with the stab of pain, a white hot flare that has me shrieking and arching into him. Finn holds the skin between his teeth, drawing on it, and each tug of his mouth is a glancing blow that hits between my legs.
Finn lifts his head, and kisses me again, slower this time, his tongue flicking across my teeth, twisting with mine, licking into my mouth. He is all silk hair between my fingers and stubble against my lips, sharp teeth and warm lips and, god I want more.
I want him naked. Lower. I want his head between my thighs as his tongue works me, just like that. I groan, and arch into him and I don’t give a fuck how needy it sounds.
“What do you want, Nurrin?” he demands, biting down on my earlobe.
And even though I know—I want this—I can’t form the words. Can’t bring myself to be that honest with him.
He pulls back, and his eyes are blazing. He steps away, until I’m standing on shaking legs, and there is a foot of space between us. He pulls his shirt over his head, and I swallow hard. I’ve seen him naked before, but this is different.
No pretensions. No drunk fumbling or pills, no Order to fool—no president to make me forget. In this moment, all of that is stripped away, and there is only him. And me.
And this.
“What do you want?” he demands, his voice hoarse and harsh.
And because even that has me aching and desperate for his touch, I close my eyes, and whisper, “This.”
He makes a dissatisfied noise, and my eyes fly open, but it’s enough—he’s crowding me again, his hands on my waist, gripping me as he pulls me close, dipping down and forcing my head up for a kiss that makes every thought vanish and my fingers curl, in his hair. Then he pulls away, and drops kisses, so soft I wonder if I’m imagining them, along my jaw. “What do you want, Nurrin?”
“This,” I answer, breathless, and he shoves a knee between my thighs, and I groan at the friction, grinding against it as my sex clenches, tiny ripples. The barest-of-there orgasms. I whimper, riding his knee and then it’s gone, and he’s petting down my leg, soft, teasing fingers that drive me mad.
“What do you want?”
“Finn,” I almost sob, but he doesn’t move closer. Just hovers over me, his chest brushing mine when I breathe, his lips brushing mine as he repeats that infuriating question.
His fingers slip into my pants, working down, until his palm is flat against me, and his fingers curve, slipping through the wet heat.
>
Slipping, but not stroking. Teasing.
“Nurrin,” he almost purrs, “what do you want?”
I snarl. “I want you to quit screwing around and fuck me.”
Triumphant flares in his eyes, and his fingers plunge into me, the heel of his hand scraping against my clit. The orgasm slams into me, so strong I can’t scream, can’t breathe—can’t do anything but stand here, staring into nothing as Finn’s fingers fuck into me, pushing the climax up as it ebbs. When my muscles tighten again, and I’m scrambling against the door and him, desperate to hold onto something that resembles sanity, he unbuttons my pants with his free hand, and jerks them down.
He lifts me up with his free hand, his fingers rubbing in my pussy, and I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but feel. The bed hits my back, and I arch up, a shameless offering. Finn grabs me by the ass, one hand wet and sliding, and lifts me.
There’s no more warning than that.
And then there is his mouth, and I do scream. His lips cover my clit and he sucks, hard enough that I feel my world splinter, and then he’s gone, and his tongue is gliding over me, and he makes a noise I will hear every day—I will die, remembering that noise of satisfied pleasure as he tastes me. My hands are in his hair, and I moan, pulling him to where I want.
“Fuck me, O’Malley,” I groan, and he laughs, before he does. His tongue fucks me just like I imagined.
And I did. I’ve never been honest, because no one wants to want someone as dangerous and deadly as Finn O’Malley. A man who refuses to offer the basic courtesy of answering a question.
But what the fuck does it matter? I answer questions, and I lie. Everyone does. It’s the world we live in—maybe it was even before the infects. Finn doesn’t give a fuck about that. He cares about surviving and there is no place for lies in survival. There is only living.
And this—his hands on me, and his mouth fucking me, so slow and easy I want to sob—this is living. Fuck the zombies and the war and the Order, and every other thing that says life is fearing what might hurt you.
Finn could. I think that’s part of why I’ve run so hard from this. Because I knew, the day he came home with Collin, that he was different. That he was dangerous in a way none of the haven boys—boys like Dustin—could be. He could break me.
And it would be worth it.
His teeth scrape over my clit, and I scream, everything in me tightening viciously as I come. An orgasm that steals thought and breath and sight—everything but the pleasure, so sharp it almost hurts, and him, his tongue still working, pushing me. I make a noise that later I will hate myself for, a broken pleading noise as I pull him by the hair, and he laughs at me, two fingers thrusting into me. I’m wet, but tight from the orgasm, and his rough fingers rub against the sensitive walls of my pussy and just like that, I want him. Want more.
My hands twist in his hair, and I pull, yanking him away and up.
I’m not so stupid that I think I could force Finn to do anything. But he grins when I pull, crawling up my body, and I feel his erection, brushing against me though the rough material of his pants.
“Why the fuck are you dressed?” I demand.
He kisses me once, a fierce collision of teeth and lips and tongues, and I can taste myself on his lips, and it drives me fucking crazy.
He stands up abruptly, his hands at his belt, working his belt free. I get one glimpse of him as he shoves off his pants, and then he’s on me, the weight of him so perfect it stings tears to my eyes. He stares at me, and I don’t know what he sees, but it stills him, for a long moment. I whimper, and something in his gaze warms, a little.
He pushes into me, thrusting deep in one hard push. At the same time, his head drops down, and he kisses me, swallowing my low shriek as he fills me.
I’ve been with other men. Dustin, and others in the haven before him. Silly distractions.
They aren’t this.
His hips roll, a steady pull and push that has me moaning into his kiss as he pushes deeper, until his thick cock is fully inside me. For a moment, I can’t breathe, my eyes squeezing shut, and panic, irrational panic, swamps me, and then he breathes out, and my name is on his lips.
I stare up at him as he props himself above me, and I can feel the tension gathering in me, as he fucks me with long, strong strokes. Until I’m panting and arching to meet him and sweat is slipping over my skin, our bodies moving feverishly against each other.
“Finn,” I gasp, as he changes the angle of his thrust and hits a spot that makes me shudder. “Yes. Again,” I demand, digging my nails into his arms.
He grunts, and fucks me faster. His head back, eyes closed, hands tight on my hips. So gorgeous, so—
I scream, my grip on him tightening, and I come, harder than before, harder than I can ever remember, everything narrowing down to this—to pleasure, and him, and here.
Finn’s eyes open, and he stares at me, and his expression is raw and unguarded, open and heartbreaking as he comes, a silent wave of pleasure shaking his big body over mine. And even through the daze of my own orgasm, I know.
Things are different. I don’t know what the hell just happened here, between us. I don’t know why he let it.
I just know that it’s going to change everything.
Even more than Omar announcing a cure. Because that’s for the rest of the world. One more step in a twenty year apocalypse.
But this—fucking Finn O’Malley, and the things I saw in his eyes—this is my own personal apocalypse.
And I can’t bring myself to regret a single minute of it.
Part 8.
A Private Devastation
Everyone has a story. Everyone alive is a survivor, and has face unimaginable devastation. We survive despite it
President Andrew Buchman-
Surviving isn’t living. Hiding isn’t living. I want to live.
Kelsey Buchman-
Chapter 1. What We Need
WE ALL NEED SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR.
This is the truth. The one truth that I find remains true no matter what happens.
A lot of shit has changed since Day One. So much more than hasn’t. The world we live in now—it’s a shadow of the world we had. We burned that world to the ground with dirty bombs in a southern city. Promises were made and broken, and nothing stayed the same. Nothing.
But there is still one truth. One thing that was true before, and remains true today, despite the razor wire and the zombies, and the general shit that is our life.
We all need something to live for. It doesn’t matter what it is. Family. A cure that will never be reality. A Haven you serve. A girl you love. An Order, mad as it may be.
We all need that.
I had it, once upon a lifetime ago. I had my reason, and I watched her die.
And I never wanted to give a fuck about anyone, after her. Being alone was easier. Lonely as fuck—but so much easier.
But we all need that one thing.
And lying naked in bed next to Nurrin, sweat still cooling on our bodies. I know it’s all been a fucking lie.
I’ve been lying to myself.
I found something to live for again, years ago.
And now that I have her, I’m terrified I’ll fuck it up again, and lose her.
Chapter 2. Aftermath
I’M LYING ON MY BACK, Nurrin a half-inch or so away. We’re both naked. I can feel her still—which makes the distance yawning between us so fucking disconcerting. She hasn’t spoken or moved since I slipped free of her and collapsed on my side of the bed.
She wanted this. I wouldn’t have touched her if she hadn’t. I heard it from her before I touched her.
“Why did you hate me?” she asks, and I blink, pushing up on my elbow to stare at her.
It’s very hard to not be distracted by her naked body. But I manage. Barely. Force my expression to take that smirk she hates so much. “Always with the fucking questions.” Her expression flattens with disbelief and I laugh, softly. “Because hating yo
u was easier than wanting this.” Her eyes widen, and I fall back on the bed, refusing to look at her. Saying this is hard enough without looking at her. “I can’t keep you safe if I’m too close to you. It’s what happened with Kelsey—I took my mind off keeping her safe, and started to worry about how much losing her would devastate me. And that’s when I lost her. I was stupid and young and I fucked up.”
And she’s dead. There’s that inescapable truth—and I’ve tried, so often, to escape it.
“I’m not her, O’Malley.”
My heart twists, and I hear Kelsey again, so confidant and young as she smirked and told me nothing would happen to her. Nurrin sounds like her, in this moment. Fear flashes through me, icy cold and waking me up.
I nod, and sit up. We need to get dressed—there is still a president to infect, and her people to take care of. I frown. “Are you serious about going with Omar to the East?”
She nods, and pulls a t-shirt on over her head. It musses her already tousled hair, and I can see the press of her nipples through the thin material.
I want her naked and panting, squirming under me as I drive her mad.
Which is fucking ridiculous, since I just finished fucking her. This should be out of my system by now. My lips twist—she’ll never be out of my system. I knew that a long time ago. It’s why I never did—why I’ve kept myself away from her all these years.
The best way for me to keep her safe and alive is to stay away.
I grab my clothes and tug them on, zipping my jeans up and reaching for a shirt. I can feel her watching me, and I ignore it. I ignore her. I’ve become so very good at ignoring her—but this is different.
“Finn?” she says, softly. A question in her voice that pulls at me.
I know what she wants. Me to tell her that everything is fine, that we’re fine, that I’m not pushing her away—that this will change things.
But I can’t tell her that. I can’t lie to her—nothing will change. I can’t let it.
The Future Without Hope (The World Without End Book 3) Page 11
