by Lori Perkins
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.”
“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.
“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.”
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.”
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.
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 kne
es beside her and placed an arm on either side of her head. Then he did what he’d 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 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.
“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.”
He waited until she lifted her head to place the fingers that were deep inside her body into his mouth to lick them clean, and the heat in her eyes told him the embarrassment she experienced was long gone. She rotated on the towel and flipped over, crawling to him on her knees. Her hands went to his trunks and she tugged on the elastic waist.
“My
turn.”
His mouth went dry and his cock pulsated miserably.
“Whatever you say.”
He flopped into the sand when his body was as bare as hers, landing on his back, and hollered when her hot mouth closed over his aching flesh. She used her hand to work the root she couldn’t swallow, sucking greedily while working the base of his cock with her tongue. Never had a blow job been this good or this satisfying.
How did I ever live without this woman?
He held off for as long as he could, which was only minutes.
“Stop,” he groaned. “I want to be inside you when I come.”
She allowed him to slide free from her shining lips but mumbled, “You were inside me.”
“I want to be inside you here.” He reached for the slick folds of flesh between her legs and pressed a finger inside. “I want that tight sex of yours squeezing me, to feel you clamping down around me.”
Snagging his shorts, he quickly retrieved the condom stowed inside.
“Have you had sex with someone else?” There was no condemnation in her voice, but there was a pain he hadn’t anticipated radiating in her eyes.
“Hell, no.” He palmed the line of her jaw with his free hand. “Don’t you know how I feel about you, Livvie? Haven’t you figured it out by now?”
“I thought I did,” she whispered. “But you didn’t say anything…”
He dropped the condom and captured her face in both hands. “I love you.”
Shyly, she murmured, “You do?”
“So fucking much it hurts.”
She smiled and produced an unexpected burst of laughter. “I love you, too.”
He reached for the condom again and she stopped him, pulling him over her body as she rested in the sand. “You’re not the only one that’s been waiting for this. I’ve been on the pill for months now.”
“Well damn, woman. Why didn’t you say so?”
He moved between her outspread thighs and thrust into her, going balls deep. She cried out, arching her back and grasping at his shoulders. He pumped his hips, taking her hard and fast. The moment she climaxed, he allowed himself to follow, spending his seed deep inside her body.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“You’re not too shabby yourself.”
“Are you hungry?” He smoothed stray stands of hair from her face. “I brought fresh crab and shrimp from the mainland.”
She sighed. “That sounds wonderful.”
He pulled away from the temptation of her body and rose, sliding on his trunks and offering his shirt when she blushed at her lack of clothing.
“No one’s out here,” she explained. “And I don’t like tan lines.”
“I’m
not
complaining.”
She rotated the large garment around and froze when she saw the words written on the front. There was no zombie standing with a plate of brains. Instead he went for simple and understated.
“’I heart brains’?”
“Your idea, remember?”
Her beautiful lips curved. “You remembered that?”
Stepping in front of her, he eased the material around her head, waiting as she pushed her arms through the sleeves. Then he whispered, “I remember everything when it comes to you.”
Bending at the waist and taking her hips in hand, he claimed her lips, tasting the sweetness within. She went soft against him, raking her fingers across his skin and welcoming his tongue as it delved inside.
Becoming a zombie was a bitch, but salesman Tub-o pudge was right, it could have been a hell of a lot worse.
So what if he had a different body?
He had the brains.
And he got the girl.
Everyone I Love is Dead
by Elizabeth Coldwell
I always vowed I would never date a zombie, until Mark turned up dead. Or should that be undead? I’m still not
sure of the distinction. And if you’re confused by this, think how I felt. But I suppose I should start at the beginning.
It must have been about eighteen months ago when the first of the zombies started turning up. No one was really sure where they came from: some people said it was due to genetically modified food, others that it was caused by the radiation from cell phones or from living too close to power lines. Still others claimed it was all part of a big conspiracy engineered by the lizard people secretly in charge of the planet. You can still see them even now, arguing themselves into knots about the subject on late-night cable TV shows.
Whatever the cause, the first time one of these shambling, rotting husks pushed its way out of the cemetery dirt and started making its way in search of civilization, people were naturally terrified. They’d all seen the films where zombies gradually take over the world, killing and eating the brains of their victims until only a few hardy souls are left to make a last futile stand for mankind.
Only it turned out that while zombies were eager to feed, they didn’t necessarily need prime human rib. They were just as happy with the brains, offal, and other parts of domestic animals which would otherwise have found their way into low-grade burgers and sausages. Once that had been discovered, it was easier for them to establish their place in society. Naturally, the reaction to the appearance of the zombies varied from country to country. In Haiti, those who had originally wished them dead locked their doors, buried their heads under the bed sheets, and prayed they would live to see the morning. In parts of Africa and Aboriginal Australia, the zombies were worshipped as venerated ancestors. In Britain, they were ruthlessly hunted down and decapitated, that being the only reliable way to kill a zombie.
Here, the government decided that the sensible thing to do was to allow them to find jobs and pay their taxes, just like everyone else. Otherwise they would all have been sitting around on welfare, and given the state the economy was in that just wasn’t a viable option. There were certain restrictions—no zombie could work anywhere which dealt with the processing and handling of food, or be around animals or children—but after a while you no longer really noticed that the guy repairing your shoes or the woman behind the counter at the dry cleaner had a certain graveyard pallor and a blank-eyed, uncommunicative demeanour. Indeed, sometimes it was hard to tell them from the person who’d been working there before.
