Page 128 of Juniper Unraveling

Her eyes soften, lips kicked up as she stares down at me. “Because I have never seen that bastard smile the way he did this morning, when Tripp asked if you were still here.”

I haven’t smiled in a long time myself. My heart wants to trust the wholeness since having found Six again, but my mind tells me happiness is temporary, and to be wary of it. It tells me that pain hides in the shadows and to keep my guard up.

“The other women. They’re here for the men?”

“We have a rule. The women choose. In all cases, she chooses, and if she doesn’t choose, she’s welcome to stay, or leave. No one here is a slave, but everyone has a job. For some? It’s keeping the men happy.”

“But they’re traded. Like property.”

“As I said, every woman chooses. It’s how we survive and protect the ones we love out here. Remember that.”

“I get it.” And I do. Hell, I bartered myself to save a little girl. But I chose to do that on my own. “As long as they are given a choice.”

She turns to leave, but before she takes the first step, I sit forward.

“Lea.”

She spins around, and I glance to either side, making sure no one’s standing in earshot.

“You got any … Queen Anne’s?”

Her brow furrows, and my stomach sinks. “He’ll want you to have his baby. You know that right? It’s what they all want out here. Some kind of future.”

I watch the children running around the open yard, too skinny and covered in dirt, while the adults watch over them with guns strapped to their bodies. “I’m not ready yet.”

“You’re never really—”

“Please. Just … do you have any, or not?”

Stuffing her hand into a satchel at her side, she pulls out a small square of cloth, unfastens the twine, and dumps a few seeds into my palm. “Chew them thoroughly. It’s the oil in the seeds that prevent implantation.”

Whether, or not, its effective remains to be seen. I heard some girls in Szolen ended up pregnant, anyway.

“Why do you give these to the others?”

“I told you. It’s their choice. It’s why I’m giving these to you now.”

Staring down at the seeds, I nod. “Thanks.”

* * *

Rhys leads me down the path I took just two days before, where Ragers ambushed us. The thought of what could’ve happened sends a shiver down my spine. We pass the dark stain on the limestone, I’m guessing where they fed on the older woman, that’s dried in the harsh sun. The only evidence that the woman ever existed.

We come to a stop beside the tinaja, which has since grown shallower, and Rhys pulls me into his body. Lips crushing mine, he slides my shirt up my belly, until it dances over my hardened nipples, and I’m forced to raise my hands into the air. He tosses it to the side, along with the canteen I brought. Next, he unbuttons my pants, shoving them to the ground, and I kick them away, standing naked before him. Crossing his arms over his body, he lifts his shirt over his head, then removes his pants, and kicks his clothes away.

Taking my hand, he leads me into the water, which cools my hot skin, the second I dip my foot in. Even with whatever has evaporated from the top, the water is deep enough that it comes to about my neck and Rhys’s chest.

“They say this tinaja was formed after the bombs hit. It rained for days after. We’re bathing in the desert’s tears.” Rhys pulls me into him, and his wet body slides across my skin as he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist. His erection presses into me, but he doesn’t breach my entrance.

I glide my hands over his skin, washing away the sweat there. I noticed the other day that the women bathe outside of the water, only dipping long enough to cool off.

Without warning, Rhys lifts me up onto the edge of the tinaja, to one of the flat shale-like rocks sticking out like a platform. The water splashing over the rock cools the scorch against my bottom.

He spreads my legs and buries his head between my thighs. Dragging his nose across my sex, he smells me, and I can feel his fingers digging into my hips with the growl that rumbles in his chest. He reminds me of an animal savoring the scent of its prey before the kill. The stubble of his beard flinches my muscles, and I moan at the prickle. The first sweep of his tongue sends my hips forward, and he holds them down, pressing his thumbs against my folds like he’s peeling back a ripe fig for the soft fruit inside.

“Oh, God, Rhys,” I whisper.

The sensations collide inside of me, and I tip my head back toward the sun, taking in the heat, the cool water, and his tongue dancing across my sensitive flesh. My body tenses, breaths stiff, and just when I think the heat is too much, he jumps out of the water, crawling over top of me. His cool, wet body soothes the burn, and he guides his tip inside. With one hearty thrust, he fills me completely, his hard length pushing against my tight walls.