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Ellswood’s chuckle had me reluctantly dragging my gaze away from Keaton and back to him. “And it just keeps getting more interesting.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He scratched his chin, stubble rasping beneath his fingernails. “I bet you don’t. Of course, I told you this would happen one day. I just didn’t think that day would come so soon.” Despite having spent only a couple of minutes at the table, he got up. “Enjoy it. In a world like this, you need to cling onto whatever joy you can find.”

“I don’t… I haven’t…”

But he’d already gone.

“One room,” I said when Keaton pushed the door open and gave a mocking bow. It was standard fare: a bed, chest of drawers, wardrobe, and the world’s tiniest bathroom, which only included running water between certain hours. Those hours had long since passed. Instead, a couple of buckets had been provided. One with soapy water, one without. A large sponge floated on top of the soapy one.

It was a toss-up what happened first—Keaton shrugging off the fireman’s jacket and letting it fall to the floor, or the door closing. A millisecond after that and he already had his T-shirt halfway over his head, his response coming from within its folds. “I need to keep an eye on you.” The T-shirt joined the jacket on the floor, and he started on the fastening of his jeans.

“Oh, you do, do you?” It was the first time I’d seen him without his shirt, the angry scar on his shoulder snagging my attention. “Is that where you got bitten?”

He followed my gaze. “Yeah.”

I stepped forward and, when he didn’t protest, touched it, the skin raised beneath my fingertips. “I’m sorry it ended your career in the army.”

He shrugged. “I’m over it.”

He wasn’t, but I didn’t think it wise to point that out.

His boots came next. Once he’d pulled those off, he removed his socks and stepped out of his jeans, leaving him naked. The barely there smile on his lips said he knew he was being scrutinized. Picking up the wet sponge, he dragged it over his chest, making bulky muscles glisten. “Have you ever been bitten?”

I took a seat on the end of the bed to watch the show. “How would I know I was immune if I had never been bitten?”

“The rain.”

“I suppose.”

Keaton slid the sponge lower, down over ridged abdominals and then between his legs to soap his balls. His cock got the soapy treatment next, and then his thighs. And what magnificent thighs they were. He glanced up. “Are you enjoying the show?”

“Very much so.”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

“What question?” It was hard to concentrate when my eyes were busy feasting.

He let out a sigh. “Have you ever been bitten?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“My thigh.”

“Show me.”

Though I laughed at the thinly veiled attempt to get me out of my clothes, I obediently stood and unbuttoned my jeans, tugging them down just enough to reveal the circular scar on my inner thigh.

Keaton’s movements stilled. “What were you doing? Trying to get a blow job from one? How the hell did it get you there?”

“It’s a long story. Want to hear it now?”

Keaton’s expression showed his inner conflict. “No.”

“Didn’t think so.” I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it over my head. Three days on the road without washing had left me none too fresh. Keaton returned the favor in letting his gaze rove all over me as I shed the rest of my clothes. They lingered on my semi-hard cock, my smile unseen because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from my crotch.