Hungry for Your Love: An Anthology of Zombie Romance (6 page)

Which says what about you?

“Damn it!”

Snagging her purse in one hand and the keys in the other, Olivia climbed out of her beat-up Honda Civic. She slammed the door as hard as she could and sighed in relief when the latch caught and held on for dear life.

Thank you, Jesus.

50

Her poor vehicle was on its last nut and bolt. Bitterly, she remembered it would have been retired months ago. Too bad her naïve ass didn’t bother trusting her husband as much as she loved him.

As in not at all.

Mustering up as much pride as she was able, she strode across the sidewalk, noticing the expensive vehicles parked next to her pitiful jalopy. Someone opened the door for her and she tried not to squirm. Even wearing her best, she paled in comparison to the normal patrons of the establishment.

“Can I help you, miss?” The hostess, while keeping her voice polite, observed her critically.

“I’m meeting someone.”

“Who are you meeting?” she asked, peering down at the reservation list.

“Derrick Quinn.”

“Oh.” The hands on the paper visibly trembled and she gave a very weak smile.

“This way, please.”

They walked past the tables and booths, to an area a sign indicated was reserved.

As Olivia approached, she saw a dark head bob, as if trying to see her as well. Then she rounded the corner and got the shock of her life.

The z-virus was a cruel fucking bitch.

The man was obscenely good looking, with features straight out of
GQ
. He must have died recently because his skin, though ashen, still retained a hint of tan. His dark brown hair was worn long, brushing past his chin, and his goatee was neatly trimmed.

From the blatant approval in his stare, he found her equally acceptable.

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“Mrs. Bradworth?” Derrick stood and walked around the table, pulling out a chair. “Please, would you take a seat?”

Olivia’s body operated on auto pilot. She walked, one Payless shoe-covered foot placed in front of the other, and then she sat.

“I appreciate your meeting me here.”

She shook her head and cleared her throat. “No problem.”

A waitress arrived and she nodded meekly when he ordered, unsure of what to say. He was polite where Eric was brash, cultured where Eric had been raised on MTV

and Nick at Nite. His entire ensemble screamed affluence and wealth, and knowing he could probably eat in a place that would cost her a week’s worth of tips at the hoot and holler intrigued her.

He’s dead, you idiot. All that’s left is the brain. Get a grip!

“I heart brains,” she muttered, envisioning a shirt with smiling zombies and messy brains on a platter.

Those friendly green eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Bolstered by agitation, she repeated, “I heart brains.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“I was thinking that maybe Café Press might be a good place to supplement my income. Just think about it. ‘I heart brains.’ You could have the plate”—she lifted her own off the table as a simulation—“with the brains and the zombie offering it for dinner.

With the recent pandemic, it could make a million.”

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“You are going to make a million, Mrs. Bradworth.” He quickly corrected himself, “Or what’s left of it after the company you consigned your husband’s body to gets its share. I’m sorry for your loss, by the way.”

“Don’t be so quick,” Olivia snapped at the blatant insult. “Eric was an asshole who only cared about one person—
himself
. If it were me that kicked the bucket, he’d have signed my body over before the death certificate was certified official.”

“If he was so terrible, why didn’t you divorce him?”

“I was going to, you arrogant piece of shit.” The words came out before she could prevent them and she slapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide at her variable temper.

What she’d just confessed could end everything.

“Well, well, well. It appears you have a few secrets of your own, Mrs.

Bradworth.”

“Don’t call me that.” The words were muffled against her hand.

“Come again?”

“I said don’t call me that!” she snapped, lowering her hands. “It’s Olivia DeMarkus, not Bradworth. I’ve reverted to my maiden name.”

The waitress returned with the wine Derrick ordered and two glasses. She poured the dark red liquid carefully and left the bottle on the table before she vanished.

“This is a very good year. You’ll enjoy the texture and flavor—”

He caught her staring and she blushed cherry red. Her fingers wrapped around the stem of her glass clumsily and she rushed to bring it to her lips, hoping he didn’t ask her what in the hell she was gawking at.

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“What were you looking at?”

She didn’t close her eyes, but she did cringe and wilt a little on the inside.

Damn.

She placed the glass on the table and said, “I didn’t know you could drink anything.”

Derrick seemed to think about that for a moment. Then he confessed, “I’ve been advised that consuming liquid or food after a forty-eight-hour period won’t do my body any favors, but I’m hoping that won’t be a problem after our dinner has concluded.”

An exhaustion she wasn’t aware of overcame her. The poor bastard seated across from her didn’t deserve a lengthy schooling on how to treat a woman. Even if he took the damned body, he wouldn’t be Eric. Her former husband, God rest his useless ass, was long gone.

“You know what? We don’t even have to take it that far, Mr. Quinn.”

She reached into her purse, grasping the paper with her signature waiting just inside. When she extended it to him, he frowned and gazed at it.

“Why did you want to meet with me if you’d already made the decision?”

Olivia snorted. “Because I wanted to make sure you had half a brain. Eric certainly didn’t. A body like that shouldn’t go to waste. Not a second time. It’s not fair to the female populace. We have enough shit to deal with without being deluded by a pretty face concealing an empty locker.”

He smiled and asked curiously, “An empty locker?”

“Yeah, as in you hear the continuous echo of nothing inside the vacant space.”

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The chair caught as she shoved away from the table and she cursed her inability to end the evening with a graceful exit.

“Don’t go.”

Derrick’s words caught her off guard, and when she peered up at him curiously, she froze. The sexual heat in his eyes had fuck all to do with getting into
Eric’s
body.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Olivia. It’s a shame the man you married didn’t know how to appreciate it. If I hadn’t died this morning I’d take you home, drape you across my bed, and show you exactly how you deserve to be worshipped.”

Wow.

Her entire body swooned and her nipples went hard beneath the satin and lace she’d hidden them behind. Eric had never gotten her this hot, not in a million years, and this guy didn’t even have to touch her.

I wonder if that mouth tastes as sweet as it purrs.

Hello! He’s dead, you idiot!

Derrick situated himself across from her, but this time he kept his elbows on the table. As if he both needed and feared the nearness. “Tell me about yourself.”

She laughed nervously, heart hammering against her sternum. “What do you want to know?”

Those glorious green eyes of his remained steady on her own.

“Everything.”

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3.

The Caribbean

Four Months Later

God, she was beautiful. Her blond hair shone like wheat in the sun, and her tanned body was rounded in all the right places. She rotated on her towel, offering him a view of her uncovered breasts and a fleeting flash of her hairless sex. The areolas were darkened by exposure to the sun, the nipples small, glorious, and erect.

Derrick groaned as his cock swelled and throbbed, reminding him of all the work it had taken to reach this point.

Rehabilitation following brain surgery was serious fucking business. The nerve endings had to work properly in order for his brain to direct and guide the body it was now programmed to. It took two weeks to regain his balance, another two to walk correctly, then months of physical therapy to help him learn all the basic fundamentals.

The goddess in the sun sighed in bliss, and he smiled, basking in her beauty.

He and Livvie had kept in close contact throughout the ordeal, exchanging letters and late-night phone calls. They knew each other as well as any two people could, even if they had yet to meet face to face following the procedure. She was as exquisite as he knew she would be that first night—beautiful on the inside and out. A hard life had forced her into a stupid situation and a bad marriage, but she’d lived and learned from it.

Now she had her whole life ahead of her, a future that wasn’t tainted by financial debt and ridiculous obligation. Eric’s sacrifice came with more than one benefit. The money he gave her in death meant she could start over.

She could start fresh.

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His eyes took in the sexual fantasy she created and felt a painful tug in his heart.

He loved her wit, her playful banter, and the way she breathed into the phone just before she told him goodnight.

Self-doubt resurfaced when he glanced into the nearby window and saw the man staring back at him. The face, while slightly different, was still the same. The goatee changed it somewhat, as did the longer hair that obscured the fading scar across his hairline.

But would she still see Eric? Or would she see him?

They discussed it at length and she swore it didn’t matter, joking, “Eric’s body, your brains. How could a girl go wrong?”

He took advantage of the sun, knowing she would be nearly blinded by the bright rays. Tons of scheming had finally brought them to this moment. Now it was time for things to come full circle. Olivia thought she was enjoying time on a secluded isle as a belated birthday present, while he knew she would finally accept or reject him as the man he was.

The sand shifted beneath his feet, alerting her to his presence, but he didn’t hesitate.

“Hello, Livvie.”

He waited for her to acknowledge him, heart rammed in his throat, praying the name that drifted from her lips belonged to him.

“Derrick?”

The profound relief he experienced prevented coherent speech. He dropped to his knees beside her and placed an arm on either side of her head. Then he did what he’d 57

waited months to do. He lowered his head and kissed her heart-shaped lips. Her throaty moan told him everything he needed to know and more.

She wanted him too.

He reached one hand behind his shoulders to remove the thin cotton shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the ground. Their mouths met once more, tongues lapping and exploring as eager hands did the same. Her taste was sweeter than he imagined, and her skin was softer than lush silk. The weight of her breasts filled each of his palms, her nipples perfectly sized for his thumbs.

He tore his mouth free from her lips and struggled to breathe. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Her fingers caressed his goatee and she smiled, whispering, “So have I.”

Shifting slightly, he settled his weight between her outstretched legs, the barrier of his swimming trunks keeping him from pressing entirely against her. She cradled his head as he fondled and teased her nipples with his fingers, teeth, and tongue. He gave each breast equal attention, rotating the pebbled tissue between his thumb and forefinger before smoothing the outer edge with light, lazy circles.

“Please,” she groaned, writhing madly beneath him. “Don’t tease me.”

Phone calls they shared came to mind, sex sessions so intense they left him yearning for the real thing. Hot silken flesh was so much better than the rough calluses on his hand.

“You’ve teased me for months, baby. It’s only fair.”

Her infuriated wail broke his resolve and he released her breasts, sliding down her body. Truth was, he wanted to taste her as much as she wanted to be tasted. Intimate 58

conversation revealed many things, including Eric’s lack of interest in oral sex. The bastard had made her feel bad about herself as a woman, making her believe it was her fault and something was wrong with her.

Good thing he had no such qualms.

Going down on a woman was the ultimate display of trust. She was allowing him to venture to a place on her body that made her feel vulnerable.

And damn if he didn’t feel honored by that.

“Relax,” he soothed when she tried to hide herself. “Let me see you, Livvie.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” He lifted his head and met her anxious eyes. “Do you remember what I said I wanted do when we finally met like this?”

Her throat convulsed as she gulped and nodded.

“Then let me give you pleasure. Trust me.”

Her thighs quivered when she relaxed and rested her head back on the towel. Her fingers twined together on her stomach, bubblegum pink nails burying themselves into the back of her hands.

Slowly, he spread her thighs, groaning in awe at the sight awaiting him. Her lips were swollen, the pink folds beneath glistening in the sun. He wanted to bury his face in her weeping core until she lost control, but he forced himself to go slowly.

The first deep stroke of his tongue caused a whimper. The second wrought a soft cry. He took his time, tasting her as he promised, lapping at her tenderly. When she thrust against his mouth without restraint, he worked his middle finger into her, pressing until his knuckle met the giving softness of her.

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“So close,” she breathed. “God, Derrick, I’m so close.”

“Come for me.”

He used his free hand to move the hood away from her clit and pulled the swollen nub into his mouth. Her body convulsed and she screamed his name, writhing in the ecstasy that only came from oral stimulation. She was beautiful when she came, uninhibited and expressive.

“That was...You are…I can’t believe…”

“I’m glad you liked it, baby. I know I did.”