The haziness of my vision is fading as Christian’s face appears before me. “What… happened?” The words are a mere whisper as they push past my lips. With my sight slowly clearing, my surroundings become more refined by the second. My body is shaking with the cold, and my breath is visible before me, like little crystal clouds escaping my lips.
“Where am I?” He is brushing my hair out of my face, his sea foam eyes drowning in sorrow. As I address him, “Christy-” A calloused finger seals my words in, not allowing me to finish my statement.
“We got out, sugar.” His voice was soft and sincere.
A smile starts to form on my face, until the words register.We… got… out?“Out of what?” One glance and it looks like we are camping, but it is more than that. No, this is a homeless encampment. “Christian, where are we?”
He drops his gaze, so he doesn’t have to see my disappointment as he responds. “We aren’t staying here. I just needed you to rest until the drugs wore off. They were dosin’ you, babe.” His words hit like a freight train. I try to stand, stumbling and groggy. “Careful, sugar.” His hand is on my elbow at lightning speed, bracing me as I take a few more steps.
Interlocking my arm with his, we wander around the fire barrels—he tells me what led him to the choice to leave, and more importantly why he took me with him.
“So,” I begin, as he wraps his arm around my shoulder and lets out a deep giggle, I proceed, “I was like a zombie?”
“Yeah, it was kinda hot, at first. I felt like we were in that movie... “Warm Bodies,”He starts to kick pebbles on the street, “And it was, for a moment. I got to save my zombie.”
I snort-laughed at his comparison. “You justcompared us to a zombie romance.” Nodding, he takes my hand and kisses the back of it like I am royalty.
“Anything for you, little zombie.”
Something about my new ‘pet name’ sends chills through me that not even this wintry weather could match. “So, what does that make you—a Necrophile?”
“Yo, that’s funny, little zombie.” He chuckles, and the image of John Travolta in “Grease” springs up in my brain, and he continues with his ‘greaser’ persona, “Wanna find a decent place where I can crack open a cold one?”
“Christy!” I smacked him on his shoulder. “Ew, that is gross.” A tee-hee leaves my mouth.
He doesn’t stop there. “Come on, don’t you want to help me with my ‘mourning wood’?” I gasp at his audacity. “Hey, Necrophile’s are people too… we’re just looking for some-bodyto love.” He turns me to face him with a half-ass smirk plastered to his face.
Pulling me close to a cut-out between two buildings, he steps back, his beat-up sneaker, disappearing into the darkness. “Come, little zombie. Step into my freezer.”
I keel over in laughter. “Okay, the other ones were bad. This one… HA! This one takes the cake.”
He grabs my wrist, yanking me into his arms as the crevice devours us, engulfing us in shadow. My back smacks into the stone as his lips crash into mine. His hands cup both sides of my head, then work theirway to clasp fists full of my hair. A waft of cinnamon and pine fills my nose as his tongue forces mine into a slap-box battle.
Cinnamon and pine—yes please, it's so much better than the clean linen smell that will forever haunt me.
I place my hands on his chest, his pecks prominent beneath the hoodie he wore over stolen scrubs. His hands start to dance over my body in a frantic attempt to lift the hospital gown that drapes over my sweatpants. He hikes the material up, so it rests in the curve of my lower back—my ass supporting it.
Once his goal is achieved, he takes hold of my wrists, raising them over my head to finally flatten my hands against the brick wall, before entwining his fingers with mine.
Getting the hint, I leave them raised as his fingertips slide down my arms, the sensation is diluted by the coat I am wearing. “Sugar, I am going to get you so high that sobriety will look easy.” His gaze is screaming dominance.
“Let.
Me.
Be.
Your drug.”
He spins me to face the wall, one hand trapping my wrists above my head, while the other makes little work of pulling my sweats aside.
“Lift your ass, sugar.” I rise to my tippy toes, pushing my stomach away from the wall, doing exactly what ‘my drug’ demands me to do. “That’s my goodfuckingZombie.” Running his cold hands over my bare skin, “I’m going to give you the best brain you’ve ever had. Ready. Breathe in.” Before I can even obey, he slams his cock deep into my pussy.
With a strong hold still on my wrists, he moves his free hand around, placing it on my lower belly. This placement allowed him to thrust. Harder. Deeper. Compelling a small whimper to escape me. “Oh, Christy.”
“Oh yes, sugar.” His voice is like an earthquake—a rumbling echoing in the empty alley, “Please, please, please, please.” His voice softer with every plea. “Say my name, baby.”
I call his name soft and broken. “Chr-is-tian.” Again, I am spinning. This time, as my back leaves the concrete wall he picks me up.
