Page 23 of Trade
Tired of waiting, he slips the packet of pills into the pocket of my coveralls that’s already stuffed with leaves.
“I guess you want something for them,” I mutter because somewhere along the line, I’ve lost the ability to think before I speak.
I watch his expression change as he processes the words, the hint of humor disappearing, speculation darkening his eyes. Crap. He wasn’t thinking about our trade. My dumb mouth put the idea in his head.
“Okay,” he says. “Yeah.” His gaze drops immediately to my chest. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
I wrap my arms around my knees and clamp my thighs together. I don’t want to lie down again. Why did I say something? How do I reverse this?
“I don’t want to take my clothes off,” I say, staring at the grass.
“All right,” he says, standing to move in front of me. His hands go to his buckle. He’s already hard. His cock is nearly busting his zipper open. He’s so much bigger than Bennett.
Dalton’s pants drop to his ankles, no hesitation, no showmanship, and he strokes himself, not that he needs to get ready. He’s good to go, his cock pointing straight up, rosy red and veined.
Bennett is only this hard first thing in the morning now. Later in the day, it takes him a little while to warm up. At least it does with me. Maybe he gets instantly hard for Meghan.
Did he come to me after he was with her?
Why am I thinking about this now?
I have a job to do. I’ve got to earn some chlorine dioxide. Based on last time, all I have to do is put in three or four minutes of work. I don’t need to make myself hurt and angry while I do it.
I rise up on my knees and wrap my hand around the base of Dalton’s cock so I don’t choke. I learned that trick early with Bennett. He never got a good sense for the limit. He always got so excited that he’d ram himself down my throat if I didn’t throttle him, so to speak.
I bend forward. Let’s get this done.
Before I can get my mouth on him, Dalton makes an odd, strangled grunt. He fists my hair and gently draws my head back.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “Stop.”
I blink up. He’s staring down, of course, like he’s never seen anything like me before. I sit back, resting my butt on my heels.
He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “Let me just be here a minute. Okay?”
I nod, confused. He keeps petting my hair, smoothing it. His fingers wander to draw a line along my jaw and brush across my lips. I leave my hand wrapped around his pulsing cock.
Behind him, the stream babbles along. I’ve heard the sound before in the nature audio mixes the commissary sells as a sleep aid, but reality is different, because the rushing noise isn’t isolated, it’s the melody in a whole composition, and if you listen, there are a hundred other parts—birdsong in the distance, the whisper of wind through the grass, the faint swishing of boughs and branches against each other.
I still can’t see the sun, not the yellow ball from pictures, but there’s a warmth shining down from a particularly bright patch of blue sky.
I tilt my face to bathe in the light and soft breeze while Dalton looks down at me.
I don’t know what we’re doing. I’m supposed to be disgusted. Ashamed. He’s supposed to be in a hurry to take what he wants. To use me.
I’m supposed to be disconnected from the horror of it all, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything clearer in my life than the stream, the trees, and the breeze—Dalton’s quick, shallow breath as he traces my eyebrows, the length of my nose, the shell of my ear. No one has ever looked at me like this before.
I shift. I’ve been on my knees long enough that they’re starting to complain.
“Oh, shit. Sorry,” he says and peels his shirt off. “Here.” He folds it haphazardly and bends to lay it down as a pillow. I have to snatch my hand off his dick so I don’t give it a good yank.
This shirt is dull green and thin. It doesn’t provide much cushion, but I shuffle forward to kneel on it anyway. Now his cock is right in my face. His quick breathing ripples his cut abs. A thin line of hair travels the line running down his chest and dusts his belly button. His skin is golden brown, and he smells earthy and rich—like the Outside.
He’s so beautiful. Is that why I’m not acting the way I should? I didn’t think I cared that much about looks.
Or maybe the way he’s watching me is messing up my head. Is this how Bennett felt when Meghan looked at him? Like there is more to him—something special—that he hadn’t even suspected before?
Dalton’s cock bobs and brushes my cheek. I turn my head, catching the tip between my lips. His lungs hitch, and all his muscles get very, very tense.
