Chapter Nine
Everett
Maisie disappears into the tent, and it’s like the moon has disappeared behind the clouds, made all the worse by Chicken’s abandonment, too.
Even my cat thinks I’m an asshole now. The night is darker, colder, and now when the iced tree limbs grate against one another in the wind, there’s no poetry in it at all.
Even the zillions of stars above feel distant and snobbish, like they’re sitting in judgment of my behavior and finding me lacking.
Who do you think you are? a particularly sparkly one snorts. She’s Buffy the goddamn Zombie Slayer, and you tell her you’ll think about it?!
“She’s really more of an Anya,” I mutter to the fire. Outsider mentality, hilariously direct, and completely hot without knowing it. Ergo, Anya.
Does that make me Xander? The thought makes me recoil.
You acted like a Xander tonight, you ungrateful bastard. She’s your gorgeous savior! You should suck each of her toes clean every night and beg for more! an even brighter one snaps, because now the planets are getting in on it. But you’ll “think about it”?
I inwardly moan. I didn’t know what to say. Yes, let’s start now? Pretty please, sit on my face?
So you did know what to say, the entire Seven Sisters constellation chirps into my brain. Idiot.
I start to reply, but it’s only one day into this apocalypse. Maybe I should reserve arguing with distant balls of gas for further into my insanity. I’m not even sure why I told her I needed to think about it. I would do anything Maisie asked me to right now.
But I won’t do that, Meat Loaf warbles into my ear.
Oh, god. Insanity is here.
A thick, jumbled pudding of feelings churns inside of me.
There’s want, that one shines clearest. I want to touch Maisie again.
I want to pull her onto my lap, elicit her breathy gasps with swipes of my tongue against her neck, nip the lobe of her ear until her pretty pale skin blushes for me.
Plaster my hands against her ribs until I feel her heartbeat pulsing beneath my fingers, holding her firm against the column of my hard cock while it swells beneath her parted legs.
Grinding against her there, I’d teach her all the ways I could make her come.
I breathe out a long, slow exhale, my cold skin prickling, and glance at my lap and the erection there that could break glass.
The base layer and insulated tech pants Maisie made me change into are doing absolutely nothing to contain it.
I never thought I’d want anyone again the way I want Maisie. Want is certainly not the problem.
But…shame might be. Because as much as I want to touch Maisie, to bring her pleasure, to make her ache and clench and take me in, inch by inch—my eyes roll back as I brush my palm lightly over the ridge of my erection—that same old feeling of useless, worthless, helpless roils through my insides.
Is that all I’m good for? She sees me as some helpless fuckboy, one who hurt her feelings and yaps pointlessly about movies and now depends entirely on her for survival.
And despite all that, she’s still willing to take the little I can offer.
But I want to deserve giving her pleasure, and I don’t.
I’ve been nothing but a burden since she grabbed me by the arm and yanked me out of that restaurant last night.
I don’t deserve her kindness, her protection, or her charity.
And I definitely don’t deserve to push into her tight little pussy and fill her to the fucking brim, and oh my god, I have to take care of this boner so I can think about this clearly.
I glance over my shoulder at the tent. It’s completely quiet, but the idea of Maisie lying there awake and hearing me jerk off is too much for my ruined ego to handle.
I step lightly toward the tent, straining my ears just outside.
The soft sounds of Maisie’s even breathing are barely audible.
Thank god. No amount of baseball could’ve bored this hard-on away.
I return to my fireside vigil, this time, with a goal: work myself as quickly as I can manage, and as Smokey the Bear commands, leave no trace.
Good thing there’s snow on the ground.
Like a pervert in a movie theater, I drag my dick out as quietly as possible, facing away from the tent and toward the fire.
I close my eyes, and there’s Maisie, kneeling before me.
The fire’s heat on my stiff cock becomes her breath, her eyes curious, full lips parted and ready to taste me for the first time.
What do I do? Dream-Maisie’s gaze locks on mine, and she bites her bottom lip in. Professor?
I groan softly, driven half by brutal desire, half by absolute cringe at the basic bitch I am. Judging by the weight of my thick cock in my hand, it doesn’t find my imagination’s dialogue embarrassing, though.
Touch it with me.
Like…this? Dream-Maisie joins her light touch to my own, circling the soft skin of the head with her thumb and forefinger while I stroke hard up the shaft.
Yes, that’s it. Her eyes focus on the task at hand as I trail my fingers across the hair at her temple, sliding in there, gripping softly. She runs her thumb over the pearl of moisture that escapes my cock and buffs it into my tight, hot skin.
My head leans back, mouth falling open, as I work myself, hard.
The pleasure is giddy. It courses down the backs of my legs, weakening my knees.
Dream-Maisie stares up at me as she drags the head of my cock over her bottom lip.
I shudder, imagining how I’d snarl my fingers in her hair, loading each inch of me into her beautiful round mouth.
I am incredibly hard. Dream-Maisie closes her lips around me, forcing out a real whimper from me, when snow crunches, loud and sharp, from behind.
My eyes flash open, arm freezing. A wave of dread crashes through me.
I’ve been caught dick-handed. What is Maisie going to think of me now?
Wincing, I glance over my shoulder, not turning lest she see the evidence for herself.
Maybe if I’m lucky she’ll think I’m peeing on the fire. Do people pee on fires?
But the tent flaps remain closed. Beyond the small circle of our campsite painted with firelight is only darkness, still and calm.
Probably just an animal, then. A pine cone heavy with snow, dropping from a tree.
Then a scratching sound comes from within the tent, followed by Chicken’s urgent mew.
I exhale a ragged breath, eyes shuttering in relief. It was just Chicken.
Undeterred, my cock tightens in my fist, like hey man, forget something? I pump it once, twice, then Dream-Maisie’s back before me, kissing the crown of my cock as I push it inside her mouth. I’m so close, but something thunks behind me, even closer. Chicken straight-up yowls from within the tent.
A stiff, cold hand lands on my shoulder. And I know. I know. The feel of it, the flat, heavy way it landed against me, the way it’s scrabbling for my neck now.
It’s wrong.
Dammit, they surprised me again!
An inverted scream tears out of me, air sucked in so hard I choke on my own terror. I twist around to see what I already know is there.
Two milky, silver-blue eyes stare down at me coldly from beneath the wide brim of a green felt campaign hat, the strap tucked beneath the zombie’s chin.
Or what’s left of it, anyway. The tall ranger’s uniform is in rags, large chunks of his body chewed away by other mouths.
The smell of fresh gore is thick and gruesome.
I gag on it, forced to breathe it in. He’s smiling at me, or no, it’s just his lips are gone, revealing the skull’s perpetual grin beneath.
His teeth shine with the same blue glow.
The embroidered name patch on his chest reads ranger phil.
“Mais—Maisie!” I rasp out, still coughing against my own breath as it tries to exit and enter my lungs simultaneously.
I stagger backward, pulling free of the zombie’s tight grip.
Ranger Phil rudely stands between me and the tent and all our weapons.
I stuff my massive erection back into my trunks, struggling to get the base layers up and over it, but then the zombie lunges for me, and I give up, dancing out of the way. “Maisie!”
The tent zips down suddenly. Maisie appears, fully alert, boots on, machete gleaming.
I wouldn’t have known she’d slept at all except for the soft, puffy look around her eyes.
She glances at Ranger Phil, then me. Then both our gazes fall to my stubborn erection, pointing aggressively at her through the black cotton underwear.
When she meets my eyes again, there’s mild alarm.
“Um. Fear response?”
Growling, Ranger Phil charges her, and my heart contracts in terror.
He’s fast and feral, infinitely more dangerous than the blank-eyed cashiers at REI.
Maisie lashes out with the long-handled machete, driving it directly down the middle of Ranger Phil’s skull.
It slices the hat almost neatly in two. The zombie seizes once, twice, then drops down dead. Fully, this time.
She picks up my Fun & Stun, throwing it across the fire. I catch it clumsily with one hand, since I’m still trying to pull my pants up over my erection, which has somehow grown harder. “It’s, uh, not what it looks like—”
“So it’s not a horde of zombie park rangers coming our way?
” Maisie’s eyes look beyond me, steel setting in.
She nods in that direction, and I whip around.
Two shining orbs blink in the darkness—that milky, glowing blue.
Two more glimmer on, then more, until suddenly our wintry grove is riddled with headlamps beaming our way.
They’re standing between us and her car. There’s nowhere to run. Which means…
“Prepare to fight,” she says, and goddammit, this boner’s never going away.