Drop Dead Sexy

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.”

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.