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The thought of an eager set of lips wrapped around my cock is almost too fucking good to hope for. Chances are, she’ll be well versed in fucking, as sex is often the only thing a woman has to trade, which I’m fine with because I fully intend on putting her skills to use.
Day, night, and every moment in between, I’ll be on her, filling her with buckets of cum, if that’s what it takes to keep me in the good life. And she’ll take it eagerly because she’ll know the alternative is death.
And if she’s ugly, I’ll turn her around and fuck her, regardless.
But what will we do to fill the space between? It’s been so long since I’ve thought about romance and having a relationship, I don’t even know how one would go about that.
With the world as toxic as it is, people are sick and tired. Literally. Sores riddle flesh, and everyone seems to have a bloody cough. Why commit to someone when you know they probably only have a handful of years left?
It wasn’t a total surprise when Venus told me my genes withstood much of the toxins of the land. I never got sick like everyone else I knew, and I never shit blood. They said I was able to adapt better, and that gave any children I fathered a better chance at adapting and tolerating the shitty air and water that’s become the new norm.
Of course, I jumped at the chance to join the Initiative, because it’s the best life I could hope for.
They put me through a ridiculous Boyfriend Bootcamp, going through the motions of how to treat a lady. The thing is, I don’t fucking care. There’s no way I’m going to develop feelings for this woman—it’s not possible. At best, we’ll do our jobs and enjoy the process. At worst, we’ll do our jobs and hate each other’s guts.
It’s that simple.
All I have to do is put a baby in her. She’ll pay the price, bearing the enormous burden, and I’ll get my dick wet and eat real meat. Best fucking deal I’ve ever made.
A small rap sounds on the door, and for a moment, I forget where I am or how I got here. It’s like the universe decided to play one last practical joke on me before giving me the finger.
But there’s nothing fake about this cabin or the promises the Venus Quarantine Initiative made. If I stay here and do my job, I’ll never have to go back to my old life.
Coming to my senses, I smooth my shirt, letting down the sleeves and buttoning the cuffs. It’s a little ridiculous that they have me in clothes a goddamn lumberjack would wear, but they insisted that for this to work, there has to be a certain ambiance, and who am I to argue about such things?
Here goes nothing…
I open the door, eager to get on with it.
What I find damn near shocks me speechless.
Small of frame, with a crown of red hair that hides half her face, this girl isn’t at all what I’d pictured. She’s nothing like what’s left in the world.
I blink, making sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me, and the vision never wavers. It’s like she was taken from a time before waste claimed the world.
Her face tilts up and two emerald eyes lock with mine, taking my damn breath away. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Not at all like the broken soul I expected to see.
Her mouth falls open ever so slightly, but no words come out.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
My head snaps to the kitchen, where the timer is going off.
“Ah, I need to go get that.”
She nods.
“Why don’t you come in and take a seat?”
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Rushing to the kitchen, I look over at the girl who’s standing anxiously just inside the doorway, trying to figure out what the hell has me so tongue-tied.
The answer is obvious. I didn’t expect her to be so pretty. It sounds ridiculous that it would have such an effect on me, but with how toxic the world is, it’s rare to see someone who looks so physically healthy.
Scratch that, she’s not just healthy—she’s perfect.
I grab a potholder, pull the skillet from the oven, and carry it over to the table. To accompany it, I scoop the rice I’d made earlier into a decorative bowl, which is fucking ridiculous if you ask me.
