Page 24 of Trade
I watch him as I take him into my mouth, cupping the silky underside of his shaft with my tongue. A vein pulses wildly in his strained neck. The head of his cock prods my throat, and I gag. He pulls out immediately.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says in a rush.
I blink at his cock, shiny with my spit. “It’s okay. I’m gonna gag a little. Just don’t push it in too much. Let me do it.”
He kind of groans his agreement and clenches his hands into fists, inhaling and exhaling deep and slow through his nose.
I close my eyes and take him in my mouth again. The hinge of my jaw stretches. I relax my throat and suck my cheeks, swirling my tongue as much as I can down his shaft and around the head. I do the whole routine that gets Bennett off the quickest.
I cup Dalton’s balls and press the pad of my middle finger against his perineum. Bennett doesn’t like a finger in his ass, but he likes the suggestion of it.
Except for his breath, Dalton stands perfectly quiet and still. At this point, Bennett would be thrusting, and my eyes would be watering. Is Dalton not into it?
I open my eyes, and my own breath catches. Dalton’s hands are hovering above my head like he wants to hold me in place, but he doesn’t dare. He’s in ecstasy. There is no other way to read his expression.
All of a sudden, I become aware of my body—not the pressure on my knees and aching jaw, but the parts of myself that used to come alive when I felt a man’s eyes on me, that somewhere along the way became so ho-hum that no one bothered looking anymore, not even me in the mirror. The tautness of my belly as I flex my abs. The swell of my ass. The thrust of my breasts when I arch my back.
I lick down Dalton’s length and rub his head on my lips, smearing his precum onto my cheeks, making a mess on purpose. He growls low in his throat, a desperate sound, hungry and needy. Tormented.
He wants this so bad. He traded a hundred barrels of oil for it.
The entire future of civilization doesn’t rest on his shoulders. He can drive a truck up and exchange it for a good time.
A sharp, mean knot tangles in my stomach. I did everything right. Everything I was supposed to do. I took my responsibilities seriously, and in the end, I get tossed Outside and end up on my knees.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
I jerk my head back, knocking the hand hovering beside my head away. Dalton startles.
“What?” he asks, glancing around for an intruder or some reason his fun got ruined.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I hike my chin and say. My pulse races. The knot twists. Now he’ll get angry and force me. Of course, I’ll comply, and this will become what it’s supposed to be, a sacrifice to protect the future of the human race. Me eating dirt for the greater good.
He struggles—to catch his breath, to convince himself not to grab my head and take what I took away. I watch him rein himself in. He exhales. Clears his throat. Drops his head back to look at the sky for a few moments.
Finally, he unclenches his fists and says, “Okay.”
He pulls his pants up and sits next to me. He’s not happy, but he’s sitting as close to me as he was before, his knees bent, his upper arm resting against mine.
He drags his backpack over and takes out a parchment packet. He unfolds the paper to reveal a pile of nuts. Pecans. Another delicacy I’ve only had at Administration gatherings.
“Eat,” Dalton says.
I pop a few in my mouth. They’re not as mealy as I remember.
“Here.” Dalton passes me the canteen.
We sit in silence, eating and drinking, as the quality of light changes, the brightness fading and the colors turning matte. Long shadows appear on the grass around us. Night is falling. I’ve only ever seen it through the clouded atrium roof where the gray gradually deepened to black.
My heart beats faster. What if he leaves me here alone in the dark? There are birds. What other animals are around in the woods?
“Gloria?”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you want to stop?”
I should make nice. Say something to garner his sympathy.
