Drop Dead Sexy

Drop Dead Sexy (Anthology)
Kiernan Kelly
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Kiernan Kelly
Excerpt from Destination Dead

A full white moon hung low in the black sky, dappling the water and beach beneath it with ghostly silver light. The breeze, heavy with the clean, briny smell of the sea, stirred the palm tree fronds, and the only sounds besides the sloshing of the waves were the frogs chirping in the reeds. There was no movement aside from the never-ending waves, and the tiny ghost crabs scurrying this way and that across the sand, pincers clicking as they searched for food.

All in all, it was a lovely night for a stroll on the beach... except for the ghost crabs. You had to be careful where you stepped, or one of the little bastards might make off with a toe. Damn things didn't differentiate between carrion and zombie phalanges. Cal had to chase one down just the other day to retrieve his pinky toe. It was a pain in the ass sewing the toe back on, too. The first time he accidentally sewed it on upside down, and had to rip out the seam to start all over again. Plus, the crab claw left a noticeable nick in it. Stupid crabs. He'd have to talk to Holden about putting up a few warning signs beachside.

In any case, he didn't have time for a leisurely walk on the beach tonight. Tomorrow was the resort's grand opening, and he still had a fuck ton of shit to do before the doors opened. The Afterlife Resort was his baby, and he was a very hands-on type of owner.

Speaking of hands, Cal jumped when a pair of strong arms encircled his waist, fingers smoothing over his belly. A hard cock rubbed against the crack of his ass. "Woolgathering on the balcony again?"

He sniffed and pried his way free of the arms holding him. "No. Just taking a breath before getting back to work."

"You don't breathe."

"You know damn well it's just an expression, Holden. Besides, we breathe. Those of us with functioning lungs do, anyway. We just don't actually need to." He frowned and ducked away when Holden tried to grab him again. "I don't have time for this. I have about a bajillion things on my checklist that I need to see to before tomorrow morning."

"That's your OCD talking. Everything is ready, Cal. Destination Dead has been ready for two weeks now."

"Stop calling it that. The name is The Afterlife Resort, and I don't have OCD."

"Okay, fine. You don't have OCD. You're just a control freak."

"I'm not that, either!"

"You're so adorable, floating obliviously down the River Denial in your little rubber inner tube. And the name is going to stick, mark my words. Destination Dead . You might as well get used to it now. We'll get t-shirts printed. Anyway, you've been killing yourself checking and rechecking and obsessing over the tiniest details, and driving everyone crazy in the process. The staff is going to walk out before the first guests arrive if you don't knock it off."

"I'm not a control freak!" Cal tried to stare Holden down, but failed. He huffed and rolled his eyes. "Okay, so maybe I micro-manage a wee bit. But this is important for us. I can't let anything else go wrong, Holden. We've had more problems --"

"Which we've fixed. Now, we move on."

"How can you be so blase? This is our future we're talking about. Every penny we have is sunk into this place. If it tanks... "

Holden drew him close again, and this time Cal didn't fight the embrace but leaned into it, soaking up comfort like one of the sea sponges divers brought up to sell in the gift shop. "It won't tank."

"It could."

"No, it can't. And before you ask, it's because I said so." Holden nuzzled his neck, scruffy cheeks scraping his skin and sending a sharp jolt of desire to his dick. "You need to relax. You're stiff as a board." One hand slid to Cal's crotch, cupping his growing erection. "Aha! That's not the only stiff thing around here, either. I must be doing something right, huh?"

"You wish. It's called rigor mortis."

Holden's breath was warm against Cal's throat, and the whisper of Holden's lips on his skin, erotic. His body responded as it always did, hardening, cock filling. Thank the Powers that Be for functioning hearts. Zombies without them were doomed to an afterlife of impotency. Cal would rather feed himself to the ghost crabs one digit at a time -- starting with his limp dick -- than spend the rest of his life abstinent.

"Bullshit." Holden gave his cock a squeeze. "This is need, Cal, pure and simple. Stop being so fucking stubborn."