Love, Lust, and Zombies Page 11

  A pounding sounded through the house, all the way upstairs. An almost rhythmic banging.

  Afraid the sound might be detected outside as well, I slammed down the stairs, through the house and into the garage. “Are you crazy?” I shouted, my words reverberating against the walls. “Do you want everyone to hear?”

  Danny stood in front of the glass, his hands raised. “Misss you.”

  Rage blasted through me. “I can’t be here 24/7. I can’t do it anymore. I’m tired, Danny.”

  His hands slid down the glass, squeaking as they dropped away. He turned away, his broad shoulders drooping.

  I felt instant remorse. If I was afraid and bitchy, how much worse was it for him? He didn’t have control of his body. Didn’t know whether he was going to live or die. He was completely dependent on me for everything. And he’d always been the strong one. The one who solved the problems, fixed the broken appliances, soothed my tears.

  And now, he was a shambling monster. How must he feel?

  Pity filled me, but I blinked away my tears. “Danny…I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t respond, simply shuffled to the cot and lowered himself. Today, he wore his red Razorback T-shirt. A pair of jeans, he hadn’t been able to button, so they hung loosely at his hips. From the back, he seemed his old self.

  “Danny, please.”

  “Misss you,” he said so softly I almost didn’t hear it. And then he pulled at the tee, rucking it up, and ripping it over his head. He shoved down his pants and stood staring downward, as though wondering how to free them from the fabric pooled at his feet.

  I went to the door, and unlocked it. I approached him slowly, because his mood was strange, his expression too watchful.

  “If you lower yourself to the cot, I’ll take off your pants.”

  Danny’s red eyes narrowed, but he dropped to the cot and sat with his back against the wall. I came closer and bent, pulling the jeans from one foot then the other. “Would you like your sweats back?”

  His gaze was steady, locking with mine. Below, I noted his hand closed around his penis. He stroked it up and down, watching my eyes, his expression closed.

  It was the first time he’d shown any hint of arousal or sexual interest.

  My heart thudded in my chest. My gaze dipped, watched his large hand smooth up and down his shaft. His coordination wasn’t there. His grip seemed tight, but when he loosed it, he growled.

  “Can’t quite get it right?” I asked softly.

  “Dooo it.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know how you’ll react if you get too excited.”

  “Find…waay.”

  I backed away slowly, my face filling with heat, my sex throbbing, nipples prickling. What he wanted was wrong in so many ways, but already my mind was racing for a solution, because I missed him, too. Missed being with him, missed feeling his body claim mine.

  The question of how much of Danny was still inside the monster weighed on me. If he was fully cognizant but unable to fully control his body and his speech, shouldn’t I give my lover ease? Just as I kept him clothed and fed?

  At the door, I paused and glanced back. I didn’t tell him I might return. Didn’t want to anger him if I got cold feet. There was so much to consider. The safety aspects, the fact he was changed. Would I be able to follow through or bolt when it didn’t feel the same?

  In my bedroom, I sorted through my toys. I found condoms and a ball gag. They’d have to do. My hands shook as I removed my clothing. I walked through the house nude, letting the cool air-conditioned air waft between my legs. My breasts bounced, nipples stiffening.

  When I reached the garage, I stayed at the doorway, waiting for the moment he saw me.

  His head whipped toward me and he lunged from the cot.

  I drew back, alarmed, my heartbeat thudding dully in my chest.

  His chest heaved. Fists curled at his sides. And then he turned and pulled the cot closer toward the door. Far enough that when he sat again, his manacled arm was stretched behind him.

  My breath held as fear dissipated. He was offering me what protection he could. I entered. Inside the studio cage, I set aside the condoms and raised the ball.

  His lips twitched.

  A smile, perhaps? Again, I wondered whether I put my own spin on his expressions to serve my own need for connection. But still, I drew near. “You’ll have to open for me. I’ll put the ball inside, but I can’t touch your mouth.”

  His jaw widened, and I swallowed hard. Trust was something I had to drag from deep inside me, but I tucked the ball into his mouth without touching him, then lifted the strap. He held still while I put it in place, latching it behind his head.

  Now, I was safe from his bite.

  My hands shook as I rolled the condom down his shaft. “Not even sure why I want this. No one’s said it’s not safe to fuck a zombie,” I said, making a joke, but failing to smile when I met his steady gaze.

  I wished he could speak to me. Murmur sexy things to make me feel less like I was about to commit the mortal sin of bestiality. “I used my vibrator last night,” I whispered. “I thought about us, in our bed, and I couldn’t stand another night of longing for you. It’s why I was so bitchy today. I felt ashamed that I resented the fact I couldn’t fuck you.”

  He made a garbled sound behind his gag. With his free hand, he reached out and grabbed my upper arm to pull me closer, pressing so hard I gasped. “Easy. You don’t know your strength.”

  His hand dropped away to clutch the edge of the cot. He leaned back and spread his legs. An invitation.

  His erection was thick, jutting straight from his groin. Mine to claim. Mine with which to do anything I pleased. And what I wanted was him, deep inside me, crowding my walls, filling me to bursting—hot and thick and male.

  I stepped between his legs, lifted a knee and set it beside his hip, then lifted the other, climbing over his lap, over his hard stalk. My breasts ached, and I leaned toward his chest to rub the tips against his hair and skin.

  Again, he gave a garbled growl, but I wasn’t frightened now. I palmed my breasts and held them high. Twisting and squeezing the tips, then leaning up to rub a nipple against his chin and cheek.

  His eyes closed, and he rubbed his beard, rasping the tip.

  “I think I like you scruffy.” I settled back, his cock trapped between my slit and his belly. “I’ll have to fuck you quick, Danny. It’s been too long.”

  I rose, reached between our bodies and fit his corona against my puffy lips. Moisture glazed the head, and I rubbed against it, anointing it before I sank slightly, taking in just the cap.

  His growling intensified. His red eyes glared.

  “What? No teasing allowed?” I flattened my palms against his chest and pinched his nipples between my fingers. Then I sank lower, taking him inside me, bouncing softly and swirling my hips to fit him inside. “I always liked how big you are. I can almost come from just the fullness.” I sank deeper, hissing because the stretch was delicious.

  When I’d slid far enough that our groins met, I sagged against him, breathing hard from excitement. “Gimme a second,” I said. “God, it feels so good.”

  Danny’s free arm snaked around my back.

  I opened my eyes, saw the dark intent and tried to push away.

  His hand flattened on my ass, anchoring me against him, and then he crawled backward taking me to the floor with him.

  We bounced, his deeply imbedded cock hitting my cervix, my knees slamming against the hard floor. Fear left a bitter taste in my mouth. “Danny, that hurt.”

  He shook his head and tucked me closer, then got up on his knees and came over me, pinning me beneath him. Cool concrete against my back, I held my breath, wondering if I’d made a horrible mistake. But Danny’s hips flexed, he withdrew, then lunged forward, stroking hard toward my center.

  I grimaced as he drove into me, fucking me against the floor. His movements halted.

  His gaze narrowed on my face. Then he tucked h
is arms beneath me, cradling my body, and resumed his quick, sharp strokes.

  They were barely rhythmic, but gaining strength and direction. I tilted my hips, curving them to form a cradle for him to rock against, then gently pushed against him every time he stroked to show him how to move with me.

  My channel grew hotter, wetter. The lusty sounds of his cock churning inside me was beautiful, hypnotic. I lifted my legs, riding the crest of his hips, my ankles crossed and held tightly to his frame.

  His grunts were thickening, so deep and growling I felt free to answer him in kind, grunting with each deep thrust, moaning in his ear. My fingers raked his skin, dug into his back and ass, encouraging him to pound harder.

  Here was my lover, rutting, growling, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe, not so different from the primal couplings we’d enjoyed before. With Danny, sex always began gentle but ended fierce. Bruises weren’t uncommon, and I’d cherished the twinges on my ass and inside my tender channel.

  Letting my head fall back, I stared upward, watching the grayness in his features wash away with a flood of pink suffusing his cheeks. Sweat broke on his forehead and upper lips. His body writhed, each undulation grinding his cock deep inside me. We were so close his exhalations freed me to drag in air. We found our rhythm, found the pulse that connected our hearts until it drummed in our chests and ears.

  Danny murmured, two distinct sounds.

  “I love you, too,” I murmured, reading what I wanted into his sounds.

  Whatever the future held, however long it took for science to replace fear, I’d wait. Moments like this, lying beneath my lover who fought so valiantly to return, I could do no less.

  “I love you,” I repeated, digging my fingers into the deep indentation of his spine.

  Water dripped onto my face, his tears. His head jerked back, and he halted his motions as I carefully wiped them away.

  “They didn’t land in my mouth.” No one had warned about tears, but then, who knew? I used my thumbs to dry his tears, holding his gaze as he cuddled me close. “I love you still. Always.”

  With a sharp, deep nod, he resumed rocking, his motions more fluid, his breaths deepening steadily. His red gaze locked with mine, a hint of primal hunger gleaming as he glanced down to my breasts then back to my lips.

  “I wish we could kiss. I love your kisses.” Before, he’d hold me forever in his lap and lavish me with short, playful pecks that never failed to grow into hot, luscious kisses that melted me like warm butter.

  His face rubbed mine, gently abrading, and then he lifted it and gathered me closer. My breath left in a gasp when he brought me up to straddle his lap and he knelt on the hard floor.

  But he wasn’t leaving me to do the work; he wanted more friction. Something I didn’t have to guess at the moment his hands clamped hard on my ass and he began to move me in big motions, up and down his cock.

  My thighs strained as I helped him, rising high then sinking, my cunt engulfing him from tip to root. I rocked forward at the end of each deep stroke to rub my clitoris against him. Soon, I was breathing so hard my head grew light. “Danny, I’m close, so close,” I whispered.

  His fingers clamped hard around the corner of my hips and he bounced me faster, taking over the labor, lifting me, shoving me down hard. I loved the harsh motions, loved the heat he’d built inside my channel. Moisture overflowed, soaking my cunt and his cock, and still we moved together.

  I held back my orgasm as long as I could, biting my lip to concentrate, until at last I heard his graveled rumbling and muffled, throaty shouts. I gripped his head, dug my fingers into his scalp and screamed.

  I was aware of his fingers roaming my back and buttocks. Of his hips quivering beneath me. When arms encircled me and squeezed so tightly I couldn’t draw a breath, only then did I open my eyes.

  He was there. Staring at me. Tears brimming, but not falling.

  I reached behind his head and undid the strap. He turned his head and spat away the ball. “Won’t kissss.”

  I rubbed his mouth with my fingers. “Won’t kiss,” I agreed.

  “Won’t bite.”

  I offered him a small smile. “Good to know,” I whispered.

  “Lllove…you…ssstill…”

  I leaned forward and kissed his chin, his cheek. Bit his ear, then nuzzled into the corner of his neck. We rocked together, bodies swaying forward and back. The sweetest embrace after a long, nightmarish night.

  If this moment was the only joy we’d ever find, it was worth the sacrifice. The boy I’d fallen in love with in high school, the man I’d planned to marry, was here. Whether he was trustworthy around others didn’t matter. He’d never knowingly harm me.

  A kiss landed on my shoulder, his tongue swept up my neck. I turned my head…toward him. His mouth sealed over mine.

  Time is measured by hunger, by the escalating gnawing in my gut. I feed. I sleep. I snarl until he brings me meat.

  Today, he brings me a pile of clothing. I sniff the air, lips curling at my own acrid scent. I wash, my gaze following him as he moves on the other side of the glass. He removes the dark shades hiding his glorious red eyes. His smile stretches, greeting me.

  Although I’m not in full control of my body, not yet, I clumsily push off the sweats and wash. Then I wait.

  “You know me,” he says as he opens the door.

  “Yessss,” I say, the words coming from the farthest recesses of my jumbled mind, but feeling right. “Dannn-y.”

  He draws closer, and I lunge against my restraint. He doesn’t pull away, but lets me come close.

  I stand with my chest against his and lift my head.

  His hands bracket my face; his kiss lands on my mouth. Our tongues taste then slide together. Our hips grind. An old hunger rekindles.

  When he draws back, I blink away tears. “Ssstill.”

  THE DYING TIME

  E. C. Myers

  The stranger arrived just before the dying time.

  I spotted him first. He was so tall that he had to bow his head to enter the Pale Horse. A cool night breeze pushed past him into the tavern—a reminder that he shouldn’t be here so close to winter.

  The drunken din hushed as the others noticed him. The stranger’s clothes were caked in mud; every year the autumn rains flood the only road into town, but that obviously hadn’t discouraged him. Scraggly black hair fell over a haggard face, which was further obscured by a thick beard. He dropped his satchel and swayed unsteadily in the open doorway.

  “Stop gawking, Sally,” Master Parton whispered and smacked me on my bottom. I had long stopped squealing when he did that—it only encouraged him—but this time I jumped with genuine surprise.

  My eyes met the stranger’s before I lowered my head and busied myself drying a mug behind the bar.

  “Close that door, boy!” Master Parton said. Though the stranger looked well into manhood, everyone seemed young to Master Parton, who clung to life the way his wife held to every coin that passed through the till.

  The stranger turned stiffly and shut the door, cutting off the chill draft. At that, the whispers gradually grew back to their natural volume. Everyone pretended to ignore him, though I knew they followed his movements as closely as I did. We all wondered how he would be received.

  Master Parton squeezed his bulk out from behind the bar. “Welcome to the Pale Horse, sir,” he said.

  The stranger looked around the room curiously. The customers were gorging on the last of our food at the long tables, a final celebration before autumn ended. His eyes lusted after the thick slices of beef and ham, skewers of roasted vegetables, and heavy mugs of soupy dark ale, the Pale Horse’s signature brew. He placed a hand flat against his stomach and took a few hesitant steps toward the bar, dragging his satchel along the floor behind him.

  “What town is this?” he asked.

  “We call it Waring,” Master Parton said.

  “Waring. I’ve heard the name, but it doesn’t appear on my maps.”

>   Master Parton shrugged. “It seems late in the season for travel. What brings you here?”

  “Just passing through. I hoped to find a place to stay the night.”

  “Regrettably, the inn is closed for the season. We don’t get many visitors during the winter.”

  The man stumbled toward a stool and collapsed onto it, draping one mud-spattered arm over the oak bar-top for support. The cleaning rag in my hand twitched.

  “A shame. I would pay double your usual rates.”

  “We can’t send him away in this condition,” I whispered to Master Parton. “We might as well kill him ourselves and do him a favor.” He glanced from me to the stranger and narrowed his eyes.

  “Let no one say Waring lacks hospitality.” Master Parton nodded to me. “Make our guest comfortable, Sally.”

  The man followed me upstairs. I fumbled the keys at the door to the largest room while I felt his eyes on my back. When the last of the traders had left two weeks before, we had bundled up the bedding and sealed off the rooms, not expecting to take in any more lodgers for the next few months.

  I eyed the muddy trail left by his boots on the wooden planks; I would have to mop them myself, since Tess was still laid up, her belly swollen like an overripe melon. She was already several weeks overdue and time was running out, but we all still hoped her baby would make it. Seeing how miserable and scared she was made me a little less bitter about my failure to conceive during the fertility festival.

  I bustled about the room, opening the windows to air out the musty smell and dust that had already gathered. That’s how it was in Waring around that time of year—everything covered in dust and decay.

  “You should get out of those clothes,” I told the stranger.

  “You’re a pretty girl, but I could do with a wash and some food before recreation.”

  My face burned, but I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or embarrassment. “I’ll clean them for you,” I said.

  “Sally, is it?”