Drop Dead Sexy(3)

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 f*ck 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 f*ck you.”

His words caused my practically cob-web infested vagina to break out in a victory cheer.

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.