James Axler – Freedom Lost

“Leaving behind the word of God instead of paying the bill, you mean,” Ryan corrected.

“No, no, my Uncle Tyas McCann told me about missionaries back when I was a girl in Harmony. Went everywhere to spread the word. Good men and women who believed in something positive, not like those sick flagellants beating themselves to death hoping for heaven,” she replied. “I think these Gideons must’ve done the same thing as missionaries.”

Ryan shrugged, “Mebbe. Ask Doc, if you dare.”

“No shave, lover?” the green-eyed woman asked softly as she ran the back of her hand along of one Ryan’s sandpaper cheeks.

“Too tired,” Ryan said, falling back on the mattress. “There’s no hot water, either. You might want to run a bath and let it sit for a while. Least then you can bathe at room temperature. If this joint is the best the wondrous Freedom Mall has to offer, I’d hate to see the worst.”

“I don’t mind the stubble,” the redhead replied, sitting down at the foot of the bed. “I’m used to the rugged look. Your toenails could use a clipping, however.”

Ryan raised a leg up from the bed. “That damn sec droid took care of two of them. Got any scissors?”

“I think J.B. does, in one of his pockets. I never know what he’s going to be pulling out to show off next. Don’t want to bother him now, though.”

Ryan and Krysty shared a knowing grin. Having a room with sheets, pillows and a real bed was a luxury, especially for a man and woman used to having to grab brief moments of lovemaking in roadside camps. And rarely did the chance arrive where the group felt secure enough to divide themselves up to allow the privacy needed for intimacy.

The previous night the pair had been too wiped to even think of sex. This night, however, even with his head still ringing from the droid battle, Ryan was more than ready for some loveplay.

And Krysty’s own sexual appetites were even greater than his own.

“Close call, us being able to find an eye doc with lenses for J.B.” Ryan said. “Can think of a thousand other places where we’d been up the creek, him breaking his glasses like that.”

“I know.”

“A man with poor eyesight doesn’t have much of a chance when he’s trying to stay alive in Deathlands. Get himself and the ones around him chilled in a triple hurry.”

“We dealt with it as it came down, lover,” Krysty replied. “Like we always have.”

“Trader would’ve cut J.B. loose to find his own way.”

“So what? As I’ve told you before, you’re not Trader. You’re better than he ever thought about being.”

“Am I? Am I really?” Ryan asked. “In his own way, Trader was the most honorable man I ever met. Never did anybody wrong on a deal. Never traded some of the more deadlier stockpiles we found in those hideaways he was always so good at sniffing out. Hell, he could have earned enough jack to set up his own private little barony if he’d sold that supply of nerve gas we found.”

“I never said he wasn’t a man with some honor hidden away in a dark corner somewhere,” Krysty replied. “I said you were his better, and nothing you say is going to change my mind about that, Ryan Cawdor.”

While speaking, Krysty began to examine Ryan’s offered foot and calf carefully, lightly running her fingers along the body hair growing there while looking at his toes. To Ryan, the sensation was akin to having five feathers run gently up and down his weary six-foot-plus frame. The woman at his feet turned and placed the lifted leg on one side of her hips, allowing herself full, unencumbered access between Ryan’s legs.

“I must be slipping,” she observed, staring at Ryan’s crotch.

A timely fragment from Ryan’s dream from the mat-trans jump popped into his mind. “‘Not a creature was stirring,'” he said.

Krysty gave a lusty chuckle.

“Told you I was tired,” Ryan added.

“Bullshit, Ryan. I’ve never known you not to beup to satisfying our mutual sexual desires. What you need is a more direct approach.” And on that statement, Krysty scooted back even farther, bending her head and allowing her full mane of red hair to obscure Ryan’s view of what she was doing.