Drop Dead Sexy
Page 1
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Advertencia Antipirateria del FBI: La reproducción o distribución no autorizada de una obra protegida por derechos de autor es ilegal. La infracción criminal de los derechos de autor, incluyendo la infracción sin lucro monetario, es investigada por el FBI y es castigable con pena de hasta cinco años en prisión federal y una multa de $250,000.
Katie Ashley
Copyright 2016 by Katie Ashley Productions
All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including internet usage, without the written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Model: Colby Lefebvre
Photography: Scott Hoover
Cover: Lettia Hasser at RBA Designs
Formatting By:
Indie Pixel Studio
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Call me kinky, but I’ve always wanted a man to tie me up. Of course, in my fantasy the guy would have looked less like an extra from Deliverance and a hell of a lot more like Chris Hemsworth. I would also be bound by silk scarves, not the itchy rope that was wound extremely tight around my wrists and ankles. Most of all, I wouldn’t be on a floor that was covered in sawdust and God knows what else. Instead, I would either be in the comfort of my own bedroom or in a five-star hotel suite. And most important of all, I would have given my consent to be tied-up, not been taken against my will by Bubba or Cletus or whatever the hell his mountain man/redneck name was. He hadn’t been big on introductions before he shoved a sawed off shotgun in my face, which was just another aspect that so wasn’t part of my fantasy.
Sadly, it’s been my experience that nothing in my life resembles my fantasies, and more often than not, they’re something out of my nightmares instead. If you had to put my love life into a genre, it would probably be horror. By the same token, I’m not even sure that the master of scary shit, Stephen King, could adequately express it on paper.
Since I had some time on my hands, I couldn’t help pondering how things had gone so far off the rails. A month ago, everything in my life made sense. To most people, I’m sure it looked boring as hell, if not strangely odd. After all, I was an unmarried, thirty-year-old mortician who ran the most successful family owned funeral home in the North Georgia Mountains. I also had the extreme privilege of being the first female coroner for my county, not to mention the youngest.
Regardless of my professional accomplishments, I wore the figurative “S” scarlet letter for being single. A spinster. That fact was a fate worse than death to my mother. At least once a day, she would peer curiously at me and shake her head of perfectly coiffed brown hair. “I don’t understand how a beautiful girl like you can still be single?”
I could put forth a vast array of arguments such as the fact we lived in a small, Southern town where we were related to a vast number of the citizens. I could have argued that there was nothing wrong with me, but instead, the fault lay with the pool of unmarried men I had access to. Well, you know, the ones I wasn’t related to—although that hadn’t stopped a second cousin from propositioning me once, but that’s another story. I could have further argued that men never seemed to warm to the fact I worked with dead people. Talk about a surefire conversation killer…pun intended.
Really, it all boiled down to the fact I was just completely and totally unlucky when it came to love.
They say when you’re about to die that your life flashes before your eyes. In my case, it was my love life…or lack thereof. Instead of being bound and gagged in the ramshackle shack, my mind whisked me away to my teenage bedroom where I had been tangled in the sheets and the long legs of my high school boyfriend, Jesse. It had taken six months of courtship to get to this moment of pre-coital bliss. At seventeen, I was more than ready to give my virginity to the guy I loved.
With my parents away for the afternoon, we had the house all to ourselves. That is if you didn’t consider Mr. Greyman who was in the freezer in the basement waiting to be embalmed when my dad got back home.
Jesse tore away from our intense lip-lock. “Ready?” he panted.
“Yes,” I murmured somewhat apprehensively. Since I binge read my mom’s historical romances, I knew the first time was going to hurt, and I might even bleed when Jesse put his “pulsing manhood” in me.
After ripping open the condom wrapper enthusiastically with his teeth, he slid on the flimsy looking piece of rubber. He covered my body with his before bringing his lips to mine. Jesse spent a few more minutes kissing my breasts and stroking me between my legs. When it appeared he had deemed me ready for penetration, I felt the head of his penis butting against the entrance of my vagina. Or if I was talking historical romance lingo, his smooth shaft against the opening of my Venus mound.
“I’ll go slow and try not to hurt you,” Jesse said.
“Thank you,” I squeaked. When he started sliding inside me, I pinched my eyes shut and sucked in a breath.
“Oh fuck,” Jesse muttered or at least that’s what I think he was trying to say. It came out more like, “Ohfwt.”
And then something happened unlike anything I had ever read before. Instead of me crying out in the agony of my maidenhead being pierced by Jesse’s sword, it was him screeching in pain. “Fwt, fwt, FWT!” he screamed.
When I opened my eyes, I also screamed. Jesse’s lips were blown up three times their usual size to resemble something like the love-child of Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler hyped-up on collagen.
“Oh my God, what happened to your lips?”
Jesse once again screamed like a banshee. He jerked out of me and fumbled back on the bed. When he stared down at his crotch, his eyes widened in horror. As I sat up, he began clawing at his dick. “Jesse, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Ignoring me, his chest began to heave from his efforts. “Can’t. Get. It. Off.”
I grabbed the sheet and jerked it away from us. That’s when I saw something so horrifying it would haunt me for years. Something that years later after seeing pretty heinous shit in my coroner days, I will still remember it. It wasn’t just Jesse’s lips that had blown up. His penis had swelled to resemble an eggplant. The condom had stretched to the point I feared when it popped, the force of it flying off would hurt Jesse and maybe even me if I was in the trajectory of its path.
After staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at it, I finally blurted, “Do you have a latex allergy?”
“No…I mean, I don’t fwink so.” He threw up a hand in frustration. “I dunno.”
“You need help. Like serious medical help.” My hand began fumbling on the nightstand for the phone. Once I had it, my trembling fingers began furiously dialing. Before I
could bring the phone to my ear, Jesse knocked it out of my hand. “What are you doing?” I demanded.
He shook his head so wildly back and forth he looked like a cartoon character. “I can’t let anyone see me like this!” he protested through his tears. Although it kind of sounded like, “I can’t wet anyone see me wike dis.”
“You need a doctor. That’s just not going to go away with an ice pack,” I argued while picking the phone up.
“911, what’s your emergency?” a female’s monotone voice questioned in my ear.
“Uh, yeah, my boyfriend is having an allergic reaction.”
“Is this an insect or food allergy?”
“No. It’s latex.”
“I see. What areas of the body are affected?”
“His lips, and his…um, his…”
Jesse suddenly appeared to have changed his mind about getting help because he lunged over to scream into the phone. “My fwking dick is about to plode! Oh God, pwse, send someone! It’s gonna take the Jaws of Wife to get wis condom off!”
There was a pause on the line. “Is this a joke?”
“Excuse me?”
“Look, we get at least two to three prank calls a day.”
I huffed in outrage that she wasn’t taking us seriously. “No. It’s not a joke. My boyfriend and I were about to have sex, and right after he put on the condom, he started swelling. Well, I mean, it was swollen before, but then it got all out of control swollen.”
“You’re serious?”
If I could have reached through the phone to throttle the woman, I would have. “Yes, I’m very serious! Now would you please send someone to 251 Sullivan Street?”
“Okay, we’re dispatching help. But if this is a prank—”
“What do I need to do to get you to believe me? Describe in detail how his penis looks like a purple eggplant hogtied in rubber?”
“Jesus,” came the reply.
“Yeah, you ought to see it in real life. You’d be freakin’ out just like I am!” When I met Jesse’s pitiful gaze, I said, “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”
At that moment, I heard an ambulance’s wail in the distance. Without another word to the dispatcher, I hung up and threw the phone down. I then scrambled off the bed, so I could throw on some clothes. I didn’t need any further embarrassment by the paramedics seeing me naked.
As Jesse writhed and moaned on the bed, I raced out of my bedroom and pounded down the stairs. I threw open the front door just as the ambulance and a police car screeched into the driveway.
“Never thought I’d be responding to a call here,” a young paramedic said when he hopped out.
His older partner chuckled. “Yeah, you’ll learn that the funeral home is a hotspot for calls. Something about dead people brings on the heart attacks and fainting spells where people hit their heads hard enough to cause concussions. And then there’s always patching people up after fights.”
“Fights? Damn,” the young paramedic muttered.
After unloading the stretcher, they hurried up the front walk. I stepped out onto the porch to meet them. “He’s upstairs,” I said.
The older paramedic nodded. “Lead the way.”
I hurried back into the house and started taking the stairs two at a time. When I reached the landing, I realized how eerily silent it was. Jesse’s agonized moans were no longer filling the air. Forgetting the paramedics, I sprinted down the hall. I skidded to a stop inside the doorway. Jesse sat frozen on bed with the sheet lifted, staring down at his crotch.
“Jesse?” I tentatively asked.
He slowly lifted his gaze to meet mine. “T-he c-condom b-broke.”
The paramedics came rattling into the room with the stretcher. When they looked at Jesse, he repeated, “The condom broke.”
After exchanging a glance, the paramedics started over to the bed. “We’re here to help, son,” the older one said. His badge read Bridgestone. I vaguely remembered that I went to school with a Lyle Bridgestone. I wondered if he was his son. Inwardly I groaned because if it was, the story was going to spread like wildfire because Lyle always ran his mouth.
When Jesse’s body language mimicked a feral animal about to attack, Bridgestone held up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”
The moment Bridgestone pulled down the sheet his eyes bulged. “Holy fucking shit!” His wild gaze flicked over to his partner. “The condom might’ve broke, but it’s stuck around the head of the penis. Like rubber band stuck.” He shook his head as if he were trying to shake himself out of his disbelief. “I’m going to need the scissors.”
Jesse lunged at Brownstone. Grabbing the front of his uniform, he cried, “Don’t cut my dick off!”
Brownstone patted Jesse’s back. “I’m going to do everything I can to save it. You have my word.”
Before I could ask Jesse if he wanted me to hold his hand, one of the police officers who had just arrived wrapped an arm around my shoulder and started leading me out of the room. “Bless your heart. You’ve seen enough,” he said when I started to protest.
He was right. I had already seen way too much. Of course, I would never be able to forget that eggplant penis or the scream of agonized pain that erupted from Jesse when they cut the remaining part of the condom off.
Needless to say, Jesse’s and my relationship wasn’t strong enough to survive Latexgate. Like Pearl Harbor, it seemed to be a day that would live in infamy not only for Jesse, but for every other male I knew. Not only was I the girl who had dead people in her house, but now I was the girl who caused dicks to blow up. You could forget trying to reason that I wasn’t a Hogwarts graduate who had double toil and troubled a spell to inflict penis harm. It was so bad that I had to import a guy from out of town just to be able to attend my senior prom.
Fast-forward six years. I had made it out of my small town all the way to Athens to attend the University of Georgia. I ended up getting a degree in both Mortuary and Forensic science. After a few short-term relationships and some heavy-petting sessions, I was finally about to get back in the sex saddle. I’d met Eric Sanchez during one of my shadowing experiences at the morgue. He was a coroner’s assistant, but more importantly, he was six feet of Latin lusciousness. Not to mention at thirty, he was an older, experienced man.
We only had a couple of dates before we were inseparable. Well, as inseparable as we could be considering I’d moved back home to work at my family’s funeral home. After three months of steaming up my screen with phone sex, it was time to seal the deal.
That’s how I came to find myself spread-eagled on the mattress with Eric’s head buried between my legs. Clenching my eyes shut, my hips rose and fell manically as I rode out my second orgasm of the night. The first had come before we even got inside Eric’s apartment. He’d pinned me to the front door, and within view of any nosy neighbors, he finger banged me to a mind-blowing orgasm.
Rising up, Eric swiped his mouth with the back of his hand before reaching over to grab a condom off the nightstand. Instantly my orgasmic high crashed and burned as I had a horrific flashback to the last time I tried to have sex.
When Eric started to open the condom wrapper, I grabbed his arm. “You don’t have a latex allergy, do you?”
He gave me a funny look. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
Eric chuckled. “Yeah, Liv, I’m sure. I mean, I wear latex gloves every day.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I exhaled a relieved breath. “Thank God.”
He cocked his dark brows at me. “Do I want to ask?”
“It’s a story for another day.”
He grinned—flashing his gleaming pearly whites at me. “Good. Because I’m really not in the mood to talk.”
“What are you in the mood for?” I teasingly asked.
“To fuck you seven ways ‘til Sunday.”
I giggled. “How romantic.”
Eric laughed. “I’ll make love to you next time. This time I desperately need to fuck you.”
After all, it had been six years since it had seen penetration of the penis kind. You can claim someone as legally dead at seven years, so my vagina was just a few months shy of being legally dead.
But that night it was gloriously reborn. Sex with Eric was everything I had dreamt it would be. I’d never imagined coming a third time, but I did thanks to Eric’s sexual mastery. As I was coming down, Eric thrust into me one last time. With a groan, his body stiffened as he collapsed on top of me. My fingers ran up and down his back. “That was amazing,” I murmured into his ear.
Eric didn’t agree. Well, he didn’t disagree either. He just kept lying there on top of me.
After a few more seconds passed, I cleared my throat. “Um, babe, would you mind rolling over. You’re kinda heavy.”
When he still didn’t respond, I brought my arms to his shoulders and shook him. “Eric?”
Okay, either he had sex-induced narcolepsy, or something was wrong. Like bad wrong. With all the strength I could muster, I pushed him off of me, which in turn pushed him out of me. He flopped over on the mattress like a fish out of water complete with the glassy eyes and wide, gaping mouth.
Bile and panic simultaneously rose in my throat. “No. Oh God no,” I murmured.
I quickly rose up and slapped his face. Hard. “Eric, you better be teasing me!”
When he didn’t respond, I grabbed his wrist to feel for a pulse. I couldn’t find one. The tears clouding my eyes momentarily blinded me. I needed help. I scrambled off of Eric. My gaze frantically spun around the room as I tried to find my phone. Once I did, I called 911.
Unlike with Jesse, what happened following that call is mostly a blur. I remember the words Coronary Artery Anomalies. It was what the autopsy determined. After all, a healthy, thirty-year-old man’s heart shouldn’t give out. But Eric’s had. Since the condition was worsened by exercise, he could have died during his morning jog. But no, he had to die on me. Literally.
He came, and then he went, which left me with a hell of a lot of fear and guilt. And it’s that pathetically sad relationship history that has led me to this very moment. Well, I guess you could say it was more like my man-starved vagina had led me to this moment, or better yet, led me to the man who got me involved in all this craziness.