Page 13 of My Apocalypse Mountain Man
"So ready. Please, Kole, I need your cock inside me."
He pushes in slowly, both of us groaning at the sensation. He's big, stretching me perfectly, and when he's fully seated, I feel complete.
"You feel incredible," he breathes. "So tight, so perfect. Like you were made for my cock."
"I was," I gasp, wrapping my legs around him. "All of me was made for you."
He starts moving then, deep powerful strokes that hit every perfect spot. I meet him thrust for thrust, both of us lost in the rhythm we create together.
"Harder," I demand. "Fuck me harder."
"Christ, you're perfect." He pounds into me with desperate intensity, the bed creaking beneath us. "Taking my cock so well. Such a good girl."
"Your good girl," I gasp. "Only yours."
"Only mine," he agrees. "Forever."
I slide my hand between us, circling my clit while he drives into me. The combination builds quickly, and when my orgasm hits, it's like lightning, making me scream and clench around him.
"Fuck, Sierra!" He buries himself deep and comes hard, filling me with heat as we both shake with the intensity.
We collapse together, both breathing like we've run a marathon, and for the first time in forever I forget we’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
five
Kole
Themorningaftertheherd attack, I wake to find Sierra meticulously cleaning weapons at my kitchen table, her movements precise despite the exhaustion written across her face.
"How long have you been up?" I ask.
"Hour, maybe two." She doesn't look up from the rifle she's reassembling. "Couldn't sleep. Kept hearing moans that weren't there."
I know the feeling. The silence after that much violence always feels wrong, like the world is holding its breath.
"Your shoulder," I observe, noting how she's favoring her left side.
"Recoil bruise. I'll live."
"Let me see."
"Kole—"
"Let me see."
She sighs but sets down the rifle and pulls her shirt collar aside. The bruise is spectacular—deep purple spreading across her shoulder and down toward her collarbone. How did I not see it last night? Was I too blinded with lust?
"Jesus," I mutter, gently probing the edges. "You should have said something."
"When? Between the waves of zombies or while we were making Molotov cocktails?"
She has a point, but I don't like it. I retrieve the medical kit, finding the arnica cream I traded for last month.
"This'll help," I tell her.
"I can do it—"
"Sit still."
