This is for you,his expression seemed to say,only for you.
My hips lurched forward, sinking into the heat of his hand, and he whispered right next to my ear, “Give it to me, Cipher. I want it so bad.”
My climax burned through me like a Roman candle, all hot blaze and fiery explosion, sparks of light and shivery thrills of excitement racing through me as I spurted long ropes of cum onto my chest. Kitten continued to milk me gently, using my ejaculate as lubricant, while his other hand jerked furiously on his cock, giving me dinneranda show.
I swiped my finger through my release and painted his bottom lip with it. His initial shock morphed into a heated stare as his sex noises rose to a fevered pitch. I placed one hand over his mouth to muffle the sound so our neighbors wouldn’t hear. He giggled and licked my hand, then smiled wide and blew his very impressive load on top of mine.
I was sweaty and covered in cum, the sexy little monster above me glowing with triumph. Leaning down until we were nose-to-nose, he said to me smugly, “Good job.”
* * *
Everyone wantedto pet the cat. Not Kitten but Little Miss Purrfect. They held court in the common area, the cat basking in her status of local god, and Kitten her human handler. No matter who passed through, the cat was down for pets, and Kitten charmed them all.
Was I jealous? Fuck yes. I wanted to whip out my dick and piss all over my boyfriend to mark him as my territory. I wanted to drag him, caveman style, into our bedroom and lock the door behind me. I wanted to shield him with my body and make everyone answer a riddle before speaking to him like a troll under a bridge, and then tell them all to go fuck off.
But no sane person would do that.
Meanwhile, I’d made zero headway with Operation Find Kitten’s Brother, though I had made progress in securing gunpowder to make my own bullets. Gizmo was fashioning me a press, and I already had a lead on a firing range that would sell me their empty casings. Only the police and local militia were allowed firearms within city limits, and the sale of ammo was banned as well, which was bullshit. Rabid attacks were still a thing, as was the need for self-defense.
The other good news was that Kitten’s inhaler had arrived, and we picked it up from the health department the very same day. I had Gizmo affix a little chain with a carabiner to hook to his belt loop, so it was always on him.
Which left me with a lot of time to read vampire novels and spy on my boyfriend.
“Why are you always lurking in doorways, weirdo?” Macon asked, shining with sweat and fresh from the fields or the court or wherever it was that he’d found a pick-up game involving a ball he could chase. His mission was to find out as much as he could about Promised Land–where it was located, what it took to get inside, and whether it was some creepy religious cult or just some good, old-fashioned prepper types. So far, all we had was: Alabama.
“I’m not lurking,” I told him. “I’m just keeping an eye on Kitten.”
“Well, why don’t you go in there and sit with him instead of spying on him like a pervy stalker.”
“I’m not interested in making friends.”
“But you’re so good at it,” he said and punched my shoulder. “Dinner is rice and beans tonight. Teresa keeps blowing our money on candy. Artemis had to have a talk with her today, so if you see her sneaking sweets, give a heads-up.”
I was far more concerned about the sweet-talking currently happening between Kitten and a strapping youth with a toothsome smile and all his limbs. Just to rub salt in the wound, the young man was clearly fascinated by Kitten’s pussy. It was only a cat for Chrissakes.
“At least pretend to watch television,” Macon said.
I took his advice and slouched to the opposite end of the couch from Kitten, not wanting to give the appearance of cramping his style, except that I definitely was because after a few menacing glares, his paramours scattered like Rabids in the light. Kitten immediately slid over and plastered himself to my side, so I reached my arm around him, not even minding when the cat rubbed up against me as well. Seat’s taken, as far as I was concerned.Forrest Gumphappened to be playing on the television. It was a ridiculous movie, but Kitten enjoyed it, so I endured.
“My family and I used to celebrate Hanksgiving,” Kitten said to me during a commercial break. The ad was a piece of military propaganda trying to recruit people to the United Forces by showing a couple of idiots cruising around in a Humvee wielding assault rifles, presumably to snipe Rabids like it was some kind of video game. Listen, I got that the Rabid population needed to be brought under control, but these were people’s mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers. These were people’s children, for Chrissakes. Maybe we could show just a little respect?
“What’s Hanksgiving?” I asked Kitten.
“We’d pick a Tom Hanks movie to watch after Thanksgiving dinner. This one was always my favorite. My brother likedCastaway, and my mom likedSleepless In SeattleorYou’ve Got Mail.”
“What about your dad?”
“He likedToy Story, but he usually just let the three of us battle it out. What’s your favorite Tom Hanks movie?”
“ProbablyA League of Their Own.”
“That’s a good one,” he agreed.
“There’s no crying in baseball,” I reminded him and chucked his chin.
We went back to watching the movie, but it was long as hell, especially with the commercials, and just when it was getting to the sad part–fuckingJenny–I reached up to find tears in my eyes and my goddamned nose was clogged, and this was why I didn’t watch Tom Hanks’ movies. They were the perfect blend of heart and bittersweetness. Like, you thought you were doing fine and holding it together and then it just hit you.
I glanced down to see Kitten had fallen asleep with his head in my lap, spared the turmoil of Jenny’s untimely departure. I swiped at my eyes. Ugh, these fucking feelings would be my undoing.
