“Shit… I need to pull out or…” he says, breathless.
I get a hold of the back of his head and pull him into a kiss.
“Don’t,” I whisper close to his lips. “Keep going until I forget my fucking name.”
Jude turns his face and sucks on my thumb before biting it. Pleasure and pain mix in an explosive combination. He reaches for my cock and jerks me off in sync with his movements. My head hits the wall of the bus repetitively, and I’m pretty sure we’re waking up the entire camp. I don’t care.
In a heartbeat, I’m coming in generous spurts over my chest. Jude keeps going for a while longer, and my eyes roll in their orbits. I’ve already orgasmed, but the sensation deep inside me is overwhelming. I hang on to him for dear life as he takes his pleasure.
I could spend my life here, under him.
At last, Jude digs his nails into my waist as he comes. Warmth spreads inside me and between my legs. We kiss deeply.
He relaxes on top of me and buries his face in my neck. I can read the electric current going through our bodies. The energy we create together has a different flavor; one I’m already addicted to.
I trail my fingers through his sweaty hair, which has already grown longer. He asked Jess to buzz the sides with clippers. There is a beginning of lush ginger locks. He’ll be unstoppable once it’s back to his favorite haircut. The most beautiful man to ever walk the wastelands.
Jude rolls his hips. Once, twice. Until there is no mistaking what he’s doing. He hasn’t even pulled out yet, but he’s already going again. I can feel him harden inside me.
“You still haven’t forgotten your name,” he tells me as our eyes meet. A wicked smile pulls at his lips.
One more hip thrust, and my cock is leaking lubricant again. I drag him down for a kiss.
After thoroughly ravaging me, Jude cleans us with a wet rag, and we lie in bed. I caress his elegant shoulders, tracing the fern-like scars with my fingertips.
“I’m sorry about the burns,” I say, recalling that fateful night when I almost killed him.
I would have if Helios hadn’t stopped me. I shudder just thinking about it. I almost killed Jude before our story even began. I would be dead now, buried under the ruins of my underground city. Maybe it would have been a mercy.
“I love them,” he says. “They’re cool, don’t you think?”
I frown and kiss him. “You’re impossible.”
When we finally say goodbye to our friends the next day—I’m still marveling at the fact that I can call them my friends—a month has passed since our fight with Maeve.
As we sit in the cockpit, Jude offers me his hand.
“Where to?” he asks.
“Wherever you want,” I say. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll follow you.” I drop a kiss on top of his hand.
Jude offers the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, and I thank life for being so sweet.
17
The Beetle.
“In our new world, myths walk the earth and cross oceans. So, it’s not a surprise that new legends are born from rumors and whispers shared over campfires. They travel great distances thanks to the songs and reports of explorers and survivors alike. That’s how the stories of the Devil of the Wastes and his giant Beetle came to be. Different names and stories, all originating from the same mutant. A man with horns and red eyes. But, surprisingly, all those tales don’t speak of the kind of devil that strikes fear into the hearts of the people he encounters. Quite the contrary. The Devil of the Wastes is known to appear out of nowhere and provide help in life-threatening situations. I would know. I met him a few years ago on a fateful day when I found myself dying from thirst in Colorado after my truck had broken down. By then, the dehydration had made me hallucinate. So, when the Devil walked up to me with a cup of water, I thought him a creation of my raving mind. But the water that he poured down my parched throat was real. I would have cried if I could. He nursed me back to health for a day and gave me enough supplies to keep going. Then he climbed back into his giant beetle machine and they both disappeared, as if swallowed by the wastelands.
Weary travelers, do not fear the Devil of the Wastes and his machine, for if you come to cross paths with him when in need, you’re one of the lucky ones.”
Extract ofTales of the Traveling Merchant, by Megan Stoaks, 2059.
Five months later.
“I see them,” says Jude.
My hands shake as he offers me the binoculars. I’ve been expecting and yet dreading this moment for months. The Bug is standing on a small mountaintop, a good distance away. We noticed the giant beetle from the sky and landed on the desert’s ground.
