Page 29

Yet, I’d let him in.

Albeit under circumstances I’d made as safe as possible.

Yet, I was moving closer to him.

I kept my eyes on his face, pretending a nonchalance I was a long way from feeling. I wasn’t doing this because he’d promised payment. I was doing it because I was curious. Because I wanted to see Keaton’s cock, to touch it, to see his expression when he came.

And what better opportunity would I get to ensure I remained in the driver’s seat than when he was tied up? This way, I could satisfy my curiosity while remaining in control. He’d proved the previous night that his muscles weren’t just for show and that, in the right circumstances, overpowering me was easy.

“Suck it,” Keaton said when only a single step remained between the two of us.

Even his voice was different. Deeper and more gravelly. At least he still had one. There’d been a moment at the door when he refused to talk that I’d feared he’d turned, and I hadn’t known how to feel about it. Another man had immediately come to mind, that memory bringing with it so many complicated emotions that I refused to venture any farther down that path.

If he had turned, would there have been guilt for letting him go out when I could have done it myself? It surprised me to find that the answer might be yes. It would have been messy if I had gone out. Either the game would have been well and truly up, or I’d have been forced into a lengthy performance for an audience of one.

“Not happening,” I said in response to his demand for a blow job, my words clipped. “You get my hand and nothing more, and you’ll be grateful for it. It’s that or nothing.”

His murderous stare provoked the urge to laugh. Was I really going to give a hand job to a man who looked like he’d rather kill me? It seemed I was. It wasn’t like I’d never whored myself out before. I was far from ignorant about the effect my face had on people. Men. Women. Single. Married. Straight. Gay. Curious. Lust didn’t differentiate.

I was a master of getting what I wanted from people, and sometimes that required going above and beyond. According to the history books, sex as a bargaining tool went back centuries, and a little thing like an apocalypse wasn’t about to change that. If anything, it just raised the price.

Keaton still wore the fireman’s jacket I’d gifted him. Turns out it had done fuck-all to protect him from the effects of the rain. I pushed it off one shoulder so I could see his chest, the neck of his T-shirt misshapen and baggy enough to give me an eyeful. “Something for me to look at,” I said. “You know, to get me in the mood.”

“You don’t need to be in the mood.”

“Rude,” I said, only half joking. “My fingers are choosy. They need to see what they’re getting.”

“Whatever!” Keaton rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Not being watched suited me just fine. It meant I could drink in the sight of those sculpted pecs without him realizing. I hiked his T-shirt up under the guise of needing to get at the fastening of his jeans, shooting him a quick glance as I did so to check his eyes were still closed. Really, it was to examine the six-pack I’d known would be waiting for me.

The army had kept Keaton in tip-top condition when it came to his body. No doubt fewer calorific meals would have him slimming down in years to come—assuming he didn’t turn before that happened—but I’d appreciate it while I could.

I ran my fingers over the bulge in his jeans, Keaton keeping his eyes closed but letting out a hiss. “Looks like you’re quite the big boy,” I teased.

“Get it out.”

“All in good time. Do you want it to be over and done with in five seconds?” The tension in his body said he didn’t care how short an event it was as long as he got to come. The knowledge I could be anyone should have been insulting enough to bring a halt to proceedings.

It didn’t, because I remembered the expression on Keaton’s face when he’d watched me dance, the hunger in his eyes and how he’d lapped up every move I’d made. He’d been almost as hard as he was now, and he’d been in his right mind then.

I flicked open the button on his jeans and pulled the zipper down. No underwear. Either by design or because, like most things these days, what you didn’t have, you did without. A groan slipped from his lips as his engorged cock rose to slap against his abdomen. Not the groan of the infected, but the groan of an aroused man who knew he was a few seconds away from getting what he craved.

I allowed myself a few precious seconds to study Keaton’s cock and commit it to memory. Big. Thick. Angry looking. Flushed with color. This wasn’t going to take long, which was a shame. Maybe I could edge him a bit, make it last longer. How would that cock feel if I let him fuck me?

Not going to happen, my subconscious sing-songed. Because tomorrow, he finds out you’ve been leading him around by the nose and he won’t want to even look at you, never mind have sex with you.

I spat in my palm and wrapped it around his cock. Yeah, well, it wasn’t tomorrow, was it? It was now, and I was going to make the most of it. I’d been giving hand jobs since my teens, so I knew exactly how to wring maximum pleasure from the recipient. Keep things smooth. Extra spit accomplished that when I needed it. Mix it up. I did that, giving Keaton’s balls some attention as well. Introduce a twist. Find out what speed and rhythm he liked.

This might be a transactional arrangement in the middle of nowhere, with someone suffering from red rain induced blue balls, but I still gave it my all. Keaton’s eyes remained closed. Was he picturing someone else?

He lasted longer than I expected as I pumped him, abundant pre-cum solving the limitations of using spit as lube. The signs of his coming were there in the form of ragged pants that sounded like he was dying. He slumped forward, head coming to rest on my shoulder. It amused me until I felt teeth. I jerked back, the move savage enough for Keaton’s eyes to open. “Don’t you dare fucking bite me!”

He stared at me, his eyes all pupil with only the barest sliver of aquamarine to be seen. “I wasn’t…”

“Yeah, you were,” I argued. “It’s the rain. I get it. I’m just letting you know that it’s not happening. I’m getting you off, but I’m not volunteering myself as a tasty snack as well.”

The discarded jerky lying next to him gave me an idea. Picking it up, I shoved it in his mouth. “Here. Bite down on this.” If looks could kill, I would have shriveled up and died on the spot. It didn’t last long, my focus back on his cock ensuring that.

This time, he watched me with the look of a man who didn’t really know what was going on, but who appreciated it. “Time to come, big boy,” I announced. “My wrist is getting tired.”