date night with a zombie
Could the man who had taken me on a cozy bookstore date really be the same man who had ruthlessly eaten my brains right out of my head?
He made an inhuman groan, a sound some part of me instinctively understood came from the grave, and saliva began to slide from his mouth into mine. Coating my tongue and lips in something as numbing as novocain. Zombies weren’t just dangerously colorful like poison frogs, they also secreted a poison. A virus, technically. It slid down my throat, coated the roof of my mouth, even seemed to wiggle in between my teeth.
I was too busy kissing him to feel grossed out by it. He didn’t wait for me to tell him what I “wanted”, as my well-meaning partners in the past had even though I didn’t really have an answer. He slid his fingers in my hair and held me in place where he needed me, slicking his tongue over mine. In and out, in and out, as if he could do with his tongue what he’d never done to me with his cock. It should’ve been overwhelming, the way he held me, should’ve scared me. But the sepulchral sounds he made as he groaned into my mouth, sending more of that virus down my throat, settled deep in my belly. I’d capitulated to others’ sexual demands because I wanted to feel wanted. But I realized as his poison seeped into my organs, filling me with a heavy, sensual numbness, that I’d had no idea what being wanted meant.
With familiar fingers digging into my hip, a thigh lodging between my own to rub where I was as slick as his dripping tongue, I felt his want. His need. His desire for me was dripping down the back of my throat, coating my lungs, invading my heart. He wanted me so badly, he was replacing the very blood in my veins. My heart squeezed, trying valiantly to pump his love for me through my body. God, he loved me so much. I could feel it in every cell.
“Almost done now,” he whispered, staring down at me with even more love in his eyes.
Pain squeezed my chest. I tried to lift my arms to squeeze him back, but couldn’t get them off the bed. His cool, rubbery forehead pressed to mine, inhaling my last breaths.
“Love…”
I never got the rest out.
