Chapter 1 Charlie
Inod my head to the song as I write the confirmed cause of death on the paperwork. The upbeat alternative rock blasts through the otherwise empty room. I bounce along and spin in a circle, singing to the lyrics just quietly enough that my guest can’t hear how terrible I am at singing.
Turning to Jake, I sigh and adjust the sheet over him to hide the large Y-cut over his chest and abdomen. His eyes are closed, his lips a pale blue. He’s still himself in some way, still youthful, even with shredded potential.
“I don’t know if this is the kind of music you’d listen to,” I say gently. “It’s an old band, but I hope it makes up for the fact I had to take off your eyeliner.”
He says nothing.
The dead never do.
It doesn’t mean they don’t deserve respect. I run my fingers through his messy hair (dyed black) and try to ignore the other marks on his body, the non-lethal kind that still show how ready he was to end up right here. I shake my head slowly as I rest his hands down by his side and look him over.
“You know, I like to think that we’re only created, never destroyed. Conservation of energy, you know?” I say gently, turning his head to face me. “That means you’ll get another chance to make the life you want.”
Feel the beat now
If you’ve got nothing left
Say I don’t wanna be in love
I gently guide Jake into the freezer while I keep nodding along to the song. Once I get him in place and update his toe tag, I find myself singing the next two lines as if I’ve memorized them.
“It’s okay … Let it go. Get out there and find someone,” I murmur.
My brow furrows as I shut the freezer door, then an emergency broadcast siren makes me jump. I gasp softly and turn to face the old radio that Dr. Mendez ‘donated’ (code for: brought one day and keeps forgetting to bring home).
“We’ve been warned about severe earthquakes and weather conditions imminent for Teton County,” the broadcast says. “Please be advised that those near the Yellowstone Caldera should prepare to shelter in place. Stay indoors and keep your radios on for further instruction.”
I walk over to the radio and change the station. Pop music fills the room, echoing off the walls, even though it sounds slightly off. I shake my head and start cleaning my station.
Just as I finish, I hear noise in the hallway and bite my bottom lip. I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping I get a specific officer joining me today. I’d be happy to hunker down with him and ride out the quakes and flooding with some hot fun.
“It’s pouring cats and dogs out there!” Bryan, one of the officers I’ve gotten familiar with, says as he drags a gurney in behind him.
“I’ll take rain over the news,” Clay snorts, making my heart race just a bit faster. He shakes his head like a wet dog. His black hair fans out before matting back to his face. His dark brown eyes find me and hold as he drinks in my pose. “Charlie …”
“The news is always apocalyptic when shit hits the fan. It is getting weird out there, though,” Bryan continues, oblivious to the way Clay is looking at me. “Crops failing, that weird bubonic plague outbreak-”
Clay arches an eyebrow in a familiar question and I nod once.
If he’s ready to fuck without any promise of more, I’m ready.
His smirk grows as I undo the buttons on the front of my lab coat – not mandatory, but all the better for staying clean.
“I can handle this, Bryan,” Clay says, his voice roughening. “We need patrols out there.”
“Yeah, I could-” Bryan suddenly twists as a bird flutters in, hitting lights, then landing on the body bag they’ve brought. It coos as the lights flicker, then burn brighter than I’ve ever seen. “When did that get here!”
“Get it out!” Clay yells.
“It’s just a dove,” I snort.
“If you’re so brave, you catch it!” Bryan demands.
Instead, I just open the window. That’s normally all birds need, but this one flutters to me and perches on my shoulder. I blink at it for a moment, confused. Before I can search for an answer, it’s out the window, looking for somewhere safer than a morgue.
“Yeah, I’m out. Fucking morgues. You’re great, Charlie. I just can’t handle the cold and the … gore,” Bryan says with a wave. “Gotta get home to the wife and girls.”
“Drive safe,” I call, then turn my attention to Clay. “What do you have for me today?”
“Depends on what you want,” Clay teases after recovering from the ‘vicious bird attack’ and straightening his shirt. He drags the gurney into place and eyes me from over the black body bag. “Me or him?”
“I’m not one for threesomes with this set up,” I flirt, but when my eyes drop to the body bag, something shifts.
It’s the same feeling as when the dove landed on me.
Something happy, pure, fragile, but at the same time powerful enough to suck the air out of the room. I try to ignore it. “Work first.”
“Or both,” Clay hums, walking around to drag the zipper on the body bag open until he reaches me.
He steps behind me and peels my coat off, then slowly slides his hands up under my gray cotton shirt. His warm, calloused fingers explore my belly, then my ribs, up to my lacy bra as if he hasn’t memorized me before.
I lean back against him, welcoming more.
He nips my ear. “Found by some tourists close to Yellowstone. Naked …” he licks the shell of my ear while palming my breasts, pinching my nipples until they’re hard and I’m panting. “You might have to get naked to learn more.”
I roll my eyes and guide one of his hands down and to the top of my jeans. He lets out a throaty groan as I grind back against him. I lean back and nuzzle his scruffy jaw. “Tell me.”
“No obvious C.O.D.. Just there, dead. No pulse, no respirations. Had a paramedic check,” he says while popping the button on my jeans and dragging the zipper down. “Apparently, he’s hot enough that the paramedic checked multiple times.”
“Behave,” I order seriously.
“Definitely not,” he says, bending me over the black body bag as his hand slides under my panties. He spreads my pussy lips with two fingers so he can stroke my clit with his middle finger. I shudder. “You’re fucking soaked, Charlie. How much have you been craving me today?”
I almost roll my eyes again. Fucking Clay is like scratching an itch.
It’s great in the moment, but I don’t think about him after.
All that matters is the satisfaction and I know he feels the same.
So, I reach back and start stroking him too.
“Shut up and fuck me with your fingers. See if I let you use your cock today.”
“I thought work came first,” he chuckles.
I toss open the top of the bag and stand up, leaning further back to give Clay more access. He takes it happily. I’m about to tell Clay to use two fingers instead of one in my cunt, but the radio practically screams at us.
“All residents seek shelter immediately. Do not drive. Do not attempt to evacuate. Remain indoors and select the highest available, safe shelter near you. Do not head to the roads. Repeat, stay inside. Seek shelter immediately.”
“Ignore it, sexy. It’s just us and a stiff in here,” Clay says.
Eloquent as always.
“If you need a distraction, look at the D.B. you get to take care of,” he continues.
He must be the kind of kinky I don’t get if the idea of fucking me on top of a dead body gets him off. I had to go through an entire training session on people who want to take advantage of bodies. I’m not going to turn into one.
“I said look!” Clay grabs my hair in his other hand and forces me to look at the dead man, who deserves more respect than this.
He’s not usually this intense.
Then I see the man waiting for my professional exam. This guy is huge, dressed in nothing but ink, and there’s no way that he should look this good dead. I mean, he looks like he’s just asleep and he’s … he’s …
Gorgeous.
It’s a thought I shouldn’t have, but gets stuck in my head all the same.
It’s also very true. He’s objectively … astounding.
His dark blonde hair curls and twists down to his muscular shoulders, his beard is slightly darker than his hair, but is well groomed, adding to his sharp jaw.
His face is beautiful while relaxed. Straight nose, an earring glinting in his ear, thick, muscular body and every inch of him is covered in tattoos.
Across his chest are gorgeous mandala-like stained-glass windows, behind angels that look like they were just tattooed on him yesterday.
Every line is perfectly straight and isn’t bleeding widely across his skin.
The chapel towers rising on his throat, set on fire by a sword that’s burning.
Angels flying, falling, wings spread, wings cocooned, all soft where his muscles are hard and sharp.
“I knew you’d like the view, dirty girl,” Clay says, his voice ringing with something new as he bites the back of my neck. I hear his zipper come down and grope for a sheet or the edge of the body bag to cover the man’s eyes when Clay bites me again.
And he bites hard. Like he’s trying to rip into my throat and rip it out. I shove him back and pant. From the corner of my eyes, I swear I see the dead man move. He’s not even icy.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want it, Charlie. Unless you’re planning to enjoy some rigor mortis.” Clay lets out a chuckle.
I spin, determined to shove him away. Instead, he lifts me. He might not look like the biggest guy, and he’s small compared to the drool-worthy man on my slab, but Clay clearly has some heft to him. He nearly puts me on top of the dead man.
“Maybe you should choke on his cock while I fuck you. Instead of being a tease like you normally are,” Clay says, his eyes darkening until I can’t tell where his pupil stops.
It’s like he’s on something more intense than any drug I’ve ever seen.
I open my mouth to say something, but Clay covers my face and turns me while he rips off more of the body bag, revealing the dead man’s cock. I shouldn’t look, I don’t want to, but my eyes drift, then catch.
He has what looks like a gold scroll tattooed around his shaft, along with a trumpet and a bronze ring around the base of his cock. I refocus on his inner thigh – where an ark is shown battling a colossal wave. His hips are safer: a single dove, then a blank space, like one’s missing.
“Come on, Charlie. You always say I’m not rough enough. Is this what you want?” Clay asks.
Part of me loves it. I want him to thrust every inch he has deep inside me and turn my brain off, but the other part is confused, almost horrified by the fact that Clay is so different. I try to mumble against his hand, but he traces my bottom lip and rubs his cock against my pussy.
“Actually, I think you’re going to have to work for this dick,” he decides, then drags me down to my knees, gripping my hair so tightly, I’m afraid he’s going to pull a chunk out.
I look up at him. “Make me.”
He grins and nods. “That sounds like a yes.”
I take all six or so inches of Clay down my throat, letting my teeth skim his cock as he thrusts into my mouth again and again. I’m not going to think. I’m going to cum. Even if I have to use my fingers to do it, since he’s a one-cum and done kind of guy.
My gags and glugs fill my ears until something crashes in the hallway.
Clay doesn’t even notice, he’s thrusting into my throat, getting more aggressive by the second.
I can’t get up, I can’t point out that there are multiple voices singing about a fucking apocalypse in the hallway.
All I can do is push against Clay’s hips while he keeps talking about how hungry he is for me.
How he’s been aching for me. How he’s been dying for me.
Stupid asshole is going to die if he doesn’t realize that he has more than my teeth to worry about.