Depraved by Trent Evans

Chapter 41

He ran a finger down the slate and jet of his old TSS uniform, glad any clear memory of those days was becoming fuzzier and more uncertain by the day.

Picking up the ceramic sterno-thoracic plate he’d be wearing under the uniform, a knock sounded at his door.

“Come in.”

Jon had no idea who it might be at this late hour, the base seeming too quiet, leaving only fear and tension simmering in the air, as they got closer to H-hour.

Tomorrow night, it would be the end finally. He knew it would be the end for him too, and though he regretted it, in the way someone wishes they had more time to engage in their very favorite endeavor… he wasn’t afraid.

Rather, he simply wished he’d have more opportunity to do what was right.

The door opened, and he smiled, a burst of warmth deep in his chest at seeing her.

She was impossibly beautiful, despite the fact she was dressed in the drab gray bodysuit and leggings that served as the under layer of Rebel uniforms.

“Why are you wearing that? You’ll be here, safe, where you belong.”

She stopped before the door for only a moment, the low light of the overheads catching in her liquid eyes. “I belong… with you.” Yulia rushed to him then, and threw herself in his arms.

He held her close, kissing her hair, her forehead, her ears. Then his lips found hers and he devoured her, moaning into her mouth as he squeezed her tighter.

“Jon… oh Gods, Jon… I’m so afraid.”

“You don’t need to be afraid. It’s going to work. This is going to defeat them.”

She met his gaze, her lips blush, swollen already. “How can you know?”

“I just… do.” It was true. He felt the fear all around, but he was as certain of their success as he was of the sunrise in the morning.

Just as he was equally certain of the impossibility of him surviving what he was about to embark upon.

Perhaps his death, this sacrifice… would go some way toward atoning for what he’d done to so many others.

That wasn’t you.

And that didn’t matter. To his victims, it was a distinction without a difference.

The damage was done, regardless of the mind occupying the body that carried out such atrocities.

“I need you… Jon… I… need you so much. You can’t go.”

“But I must.” He stroked her hair back from her forehead, kissing her there again, loving the feel of her soft, smooth skin against his lips.

He would remember that, he knew, as he breathed his last.

“I could order you to stay.” Her eyes were already welling with tears.

She was unbearably beautiful in her distress, even as it tore at his own heart.

Why did that have to be so cruelly true? That anguish and ecstasy could look like two sides of the same coin—even elicit the same emotional, biological responses?

“We could… we could just go.” She pushed at him, and he allowed himself to sit on the edge of the bed.

She dropped to her knees between his legs, peering up at him, imploring with her brimming eyes, the pink loveliness of her mouth, the deep cleavage displayed in the too-low cut of the bodysuit.

“You have to be strong for them. They’ve got a leader now… and they’ve been so long without knowing what that feels like. And how much they can accomplish because of it.”

“I can’t do this… I have no fucking idea what I’m doing,” she dropped her head, resting it upon his thigh.

She was softly weeping now.

“You know more than you realize. You care about them. You’re your father’s daughter. Those are the only things you really need to be a leader.”

He held her cheeks cradled in his hands, kissing her face, her nose, her lips, her chin. Committing every contour, the play of light and shadow upon the features of her lovely face, to his memory.

Violence and hurt and avarice were all he’d known before Yulia. He hadn’t known there could be anything other than those.

She’d shown him the truth.

“There is something I have to say, before I go.”

She nodded, swallowing, her smile almost childlike. “Tell me.”

“That… I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you… in different circumstances. That I couldn’t do more for you. That I couldn’t… show you how much what you’ve done for me… matters.”

“Done for you?” She shook her head. “Jon… I’ve ordered you on what’s… basically, a suicide mission.”

“One I volunteered for,” he said, hoping his smile would ease her worry. “And one I’m honored you trusted me with.”

“Trust… isn’t the problem with you. Not anymore.” She pressed her lips to his chest, his belly, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his uniform trousers. “I need to feel you, Jon. Please… let me feel you.”

He was hard as stone, of course—Yulia would always elicit that reaction in him—but he was hesitant to let her touch him.

Afraid of what he might do.

His cock was out before he had the chance to finish the thought, and he decided to simply… watch her. Drinking in every second, every heartbeat of time, time that was growing ever shorter with this wonderful, special woman.

She slowly stroked it in her fist, and he sighed. She gazed at it in silence as she worked him, her eyes bright, an almost obsessed glow to them.

“I just… let me feel you… let me… serve you. One last time.”

She took him in her mouth then, but it wasn’t the crazed frenetic drive to bring him off, make his seed erupt all over her panting lips.

This was… tenderness. This was giving. This was… almost reverence.

Again and again, she took him as deep as she could, her big, blue, gorgeous eyes moving up to his as he pressed deep into her throat, as her tears brimmed over, as her face flushed.

Then she just held him, licking up and up and up—and doing it all over again.

“Oh, Jon, I can’t bear this.” She kissed the shaft of his cock over and over, soft, tender, gentle presses of her sweet lips to his flesh. “I can’t live with sending you to your death.”

She pressed her cheek to his cock, rubbing against it, her eyes closing, her mouth falling open as she moaned. It was… worship. It was… getting as close to him as she could, while serving him. By being his.

“Climb up, Yulia.” He pulled at her arms, but she shook her head, still running her face, her cheeks up and down his throbbing, aching erection.

‘Just… just let me do this…let me have this.” The tears began to fall again, and her hot, trembling lips engulfed him once more.

He stroked her hair, caressed her cheek, thumbing away a tear now and then from her cheek, as she worked him faster, then faster still.

In shockingly little time, he was at the precipice, the tight, burning clutch of her lips, the suction of her mouth, threatening to undo him.

“Yulia… no, let me… you don’t… have to do this.”

She shook her head though. “I want this. Exactly this.”

Thankfully, she popped her lips from around the head of his cock, only to run her clever tongue back down, rolling his balls upon her tongue. She cradled them in her palms then, and kissed them, the touch of her lips so gentle, so sweet. She pressed her cheek to them and moaned with a sorrow and a need he’d never heard from her before.

“I know… I know,” he murmured, rubbing her head, feeling the silkiness of the locks of her hair between his fingers. “Gods… I know.”

Another long, slow, loving lick of the flat of her tongue up his shaft, and he was groaning again, her mouth evil and wonderful all at once as she took him once more.

She grasped his cock firmly at the base, gently squeezing his balls as she worked him to the final peak with her infernally clever lips and tongue.

He grasped her head in both hands, holding her tight to him as he moaned, bucking into her mouth, listening to—and loving—the sounds she made deep in her throat as he came inside her.

She swallowed around him once, again, and then she finally pulled him free, and for long minutes, she simply licked him like that, saying nothing, both of them enjoying the connection, the meeting of their raw need.

Her need to serve, and his need to be served.

“Come up here,” he said, almost growling it this time.

And she didn’t resist it then, straddling his hips, cleaving her heated form to his.

She peeled down her bodysuit to allow her breasts to spill free, and he laid his head upon them, Yulia’s arms pulling him close, her hands submerged in his hair.

They rocked back and forth for a long while like that, Yulia softly weeping, and Jon wondering at the cruelty of fate and chance, at the sure knowledge of where he truly belonged… only revealed to him at the very end of his life.