The Thrust (15 page)

She frowned. “I don’t know. We’re hidden. We’re not in Manhattan. I think it might be riskier to drive at night. But if we go, we should go now. We can’t afford to waste any daylight.”

Trent sighed. Driving the two trucks was going to be stressful enough without worrying about racing the clock. “Let’s sleep in the Chevy and head out at daybreak.”

“No, wait,” Clarissa said. “We should go. They might be looking for us.”

“If they’re looking for us, they’ll be looking on the road. And they won’t find us, because we’ll be hidden away, in here.” He grinned, glad to have settled the matter, and climbed into the driver’s-side seat.

“Okay.” Clarissa sat on the passenger seat, pulled her sneakers off and her socks, and rested her feet on the dash. “My feet are killing me from all that walking earlier.”

“Here,” he said, and took her feet off the dashboard, putting them on his lap. “Let me help.”

With slow, strong movements, he rubbed her delicate arches, enjoying the way she moaned with pleasure.

“That feels so good,” she said, closing her eyes.

“I like to make you feel good by rubbing parts of your body,” Trent teased.

Clarissa opened her eyes and gasped, as if shocked by his dirty sense of humor. “I bet you do!”

“I do.” He pulled her onto his lap and pushed her hair out of her face. “Ahh. There you are.”

“Do I look like me?” she asked, and he could feel an underlying worry in her question. He never should have had sex with her when he was missing Karen, not when she looked so much like her.

But today, today she’d been all Clarissa. Even in her disguise, the strength she showed by breaking back into the very place she’d had to fight to get out of reminded him that it was Clarissa on his lap.

“Yes,” he said. “You look like you. It’s in your eyes.”

“Then I won’t close them,” she said, and kissed him.

It was intense, kissing without closing his eyes. He liked it. He liked seeing her, all of her.

She pulled her sweatshirt off, revealing her pale breasts. Her hand went to her neck, as it often did, and then she took her nipple between her fingers and offered it to him with a smile.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he murmured, taking her nipple in his mouth.

He sucked hard, nibbling her tender peak until she moaned, running her hands over his shaved head.

“You were amazing today,” he whispered against her breast. He nibbled gently and she gasped, arching into his mouth.

“You were too.” Her hands found their way to his pants, and she struggled to open his fly. “Let me.”

He laid back, resting his head on the worn material of the seat, and watched her as she repositioned herself so her head was on his lap.

His cock was so hard, and a drop of pre-come wet the cotton shorts he wore underneath the uniform. Clarissa took him in her mouth and he groaned at the intense sensation.

Her tongue flicked around the head of his cock, lapping at him like a kitten. Then she sucked it, making him grip the steering wheel tightly as the pleasure ricocheted through him.

“Fuck, you’re good,” he said.

“And you’re tasty.” She looked up at him and smiled, so sweetly.

He couldn’t lose this girl. Couldn’t lose her—

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned as she took hold of his length.

“I want you in me. Can I ride you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. No longer the shy woman who winced when he went near her. No. Now, she was taking charge.

And he kinda liked it.

Her hips shimmied as she pulled off her pants, her panties. He picked up the panties and put them to his face, inhaling her scent.

“These are wet,” he said.

“I know.” Clarissa laughed, a slight blush rising from her beautiful breasts, as if her own arousal embarrassed her. But then she straddled him, sliding onto his cock with slow, deliberate thrusts.

“Oh my God,” he said, and let go of the steering wheel so he could take hold of her hips, to push her up and down her cock at the frenzied pace he needed so desperately.

“Put your hands back on the steering wheel,” she said. “No, wait. Better yet . . . put them on your head.”

Trent almost refused, but why? Why not let her take the lead when it was a role she obviously wanted—needed—to play?

“Okay.” He laced his hands behind his head, surprising himself when his fingers touched stubble instead of the full head of hair he was used to.

Shaved head. Right.

Maybe that’s what this was about. He looked like a soldier—and she needed to take charge of their sexual experience because of it. Fine by him.

But God—she was torturing him so deliciously with her slow movements.

She gyrated on him, taking just the tip of his cock, teasing him, before sliding onto him, then off.

“Let me touch you,” he begged.

“Hands on your head, soldier,” she said.

This time, he didn’t correct her. Didn’t tell her not to call him that. He watched as she used him for her pleasure, writhing on his lap until her body clenched around him.

“Please,” he gasped. “Faster.”

“Uh-uh. My way or the highway.” Clarissa leaned over and kissed him to soften her words, but for some reason he was aroused by them. Aroused by her intensity.

She rode him easily, rocking back and forth so his cock hit her inside exactly where she wanted it.

Her sexy moans filled the interior of the truck as she climaxed for the second time. He could feel her pussy clenching around his cock and he groaned with desire, struggling to keep his hands behind his head when all he wanted to do was flip her back onto the seat and fuck her senseless.

“You’re being so good for me,” she whispered. “Just hold on, Trent. You can come after I have one more.”

Holy fucking hell, that got him hot. He couldn’t come at the glacial speed she was riding his cock, but knowing that he’d get his chance soon made him want to speed up her next orgasm.

“Please, please, let me rub your clit,” he said, not caring that he was begging. For her, he’d beg.

Fuck yeah.

“Keep your hands on your head for me,” she said. “I can take care of my own climax. I want to.”

He watched, his arousal growing stronger by the second as she reached down tentatively and spread her nether lips, revealing her swollen clit.

God, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to suck that little clit into his mouth until she screamed with pleasure.

But he’d be good for her. He’d stay still and let her do what she wanted. Because as much as he could tell she needed this, to be in charge, he couldn’t deny he was enjoying himself.

Clarissa bit her lip as she rubbed her clit, tight little circles right where she needed the pressure. His cock was still erect inside her wet pussy, but she wasn’t riding him, just clenching and unclenching around him as her body shook, trembled with her climax.

“Oh God, Trent,” she cried out, and a rush of fluid drenched his cock.

She breathed heavily, looking at him through heavy, lidded eyes. “Now you can come.”

Trent wrapped his arms around her slender figure and grinned. But before he could move her body up and down his shaft, she laughed and pulled his hands off of her.

“On your head,” she said.

“Please, Clarissa,” he said, but he did it. Put his hands back on his head, his cock so hard he was nearing the point of pain.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” She pushed her knees against his thighs, stabilizing herself. “You want it fast?”

“God, yes. Fuck me. Please, fuck me.”

She rode him the way he needed, fast, hard strokes, her body riding his with the intensity of a wild animal. He bucked his hips up to meet her thrust for thrust, and then he couldn’t help himself. He unlaced his hands and tangled them in her hair, pulling it off her face so he could see her as he climaxed.

They panted together, wrapped in each other, until the quick thud of his heartbeat calmed.

“I wanted to see your face,” he said—the only way he could think of to apologize for moving his hands, for cheating at her game.

“Good.” Clarissa smiled and climbed off him, settling into the seat next to him. “Thank you . . .”

Their time together almost helped erase his fears, helped him forget that they had both risked their lives today. That Colonel Lanche’s men could be looking for them right now.

That they could die when they went back to Grand Central to get Annie, and the rest.

But at least, this time, when he was with Clarissa the only person filling his thoughts and fantasies was Clarissa.

His wife was never coming back. It was time to move on, to stop using the pain of her loss as an excuse to avoid ever having a relationship again.

From ever loving someone again.

Love? No. He barely knew Clarissa.

Trent looked over at her, her eyes already shut, the soft breath coming from her indicating she’d fallen asleep.

He—he cared for her. And he didn’t want to lose her. That was all he knew.

Grand Central Terminal, Lanche’s office

COLONEL LANCHE

Colonel Lanche took
the piece of paper from the soldier’s shaking hand. “What the fuck is this?”

“I found it, sir. By the Tracks.”

Lanche read it quickly. Then he read it again. On the back was a message from the UN, with a single line drawn through it on a diagonal, as if whoever had sent this paper didn’t want their message diluted by the picture of a blue-helmet shaking hands with a smiling white man.

“This has to be Barker’s work,” he muttered to himself. “Who has seen this, Private?”

“Um,” the soldier looked at his feet. “I can’t be sure. A lot of people. They’re talking about it.”

“Are they now. Well.” He cursed under his breath. “We’ll just have to make sure they’re seeing this for what it is.”

The soldier nodded. “What . . . what is it, sir?”

“It’s a fucking
threat
,” he screamed. “You idiot. Get out of here.”

The soldier left quickly, leaving Lanche alone in his office.

If his own soldier couldn’t see the note for what it was, how would the citizens? He’d have to let everyone know, in no uncertain terms, that this paper was a crock of shit. He’d tear it apart line by line until they could see the truth. Then he’d tear it apart literally, in front of them.

The dinner bell rang. Lanche took the paper with him, and started mentally preparing his speech.

Downstairs at the food court, the line of sickly thin, unwashed people waiting for rations overwhelmed him. This was why he usually had his meal brought to him in his office.

But tonight they needed their leader. Needed to know they would not face this threat alone.

Clearly, it was a psyop. Should he tell them, prepare them? No. Some things were better off unsaid. The people didn’t need to know everything, just like they didn’t need to know he’d shot four of those smiling blue-hat UN invaders.

He’d used so many psyops on his people that telling them about the very concept of a psychological operation might call everything he did in the future into question.

So he couldn’t use that term.

When most of the people were in the terminal, Lanche stood on the staircase so he could stand above them and be seen by everyone.

“Citizens of Grand Central,” he said, his voice booming. The room became silent immediately; even the people about to be handed their food stood quietly and waited.

“Today, we were infiltrated by terrorists.”

Gasps filled the room. God, he loved the word
terrorist
. It so quickly painted a picture. He wished he could tell them how those terrorists also stole his UN supply truck, but few even knew that men from the UN had come. So the truck, essentially, didn’t exist.

“But these terrorists didn’t plant bombs. They didn’t attack us. Yet. Instead, they chose to plant a dangerous seed into your minds. But they won’t succeed, because they don’t know that you are too smart for their tactics.”

There we go, praise them for being smart and they will nod and agree.

“You might have seen this pamphlet.” He held it up. “On one side, a message from the United Nations, crossed out. On the other, a set of lies carefully crafted to trick you.”

The crowd murmured, and he raised his hand to silence them.

“I have done everything in my power to protect you. To shelter you all, to take in everyone I could—more than I could, honestly. Outside our camp, people are dead. Most of the country is dead, but we are alive. Why? Because I used the authority I was given by FEMA to turn Grand Central into a shelter. A sanctuary from the brutal realities outside. And yet, it says, ‘You are being starved and abused under Colonel Lanche’s leadership.’” Lanche laughed bitterly. “I take offense to that.”

There was an uncertainty in the air, as if those idiots couldn’t tell that they were all being fed rations, right at that moment. That they were all alive.

“We may not be the Ritz,” Lanche said, putting some humor into his voice. “We don’t eat like kings. But we eat, and we survive. That’s more than anyone else is doing. And yet they say, ‘You will be safe and will be able to feed and shelter yourselves.’”

Lanche looked at the crowd below him. “Is it safe out there? When people leave, they die. They never come back. They get attacked by roving gangs. Or they starve to death, or freeze. You came here because you needed our help. Has that changed? There are no stores. There is no electricity, no running water.
Why do these terrorists think they can lie to you?
”

The crowd was silent. Was that a good thing? Were they listening?

Or were they plotting against him?

“And then, my friends, they threaten us with a battle. They try to trick our soldiers, the men who have sworn to protect you. Try to trick them with their lies into not protecting you, but protecting them! Obviously none of our soldiers will be remiss in their duty. They won’t just hand you over to the wolves. Have no fear of that.”

Lanche looked at the soldiers lining the walls, standing with their guns. That message was more for them than for the people. He couldn’t let his men forget who they worked for.