Page 62 of The Dead Don't Talk
It makes my cheeks heat.
“Are you worried about me, honeypot?”
Her eyes roll and she palms my face, shoving me away from her.
“Yes, I am, okay? They’re big and scary and you’re—” my snickering falls short when she cuts herself off to purse her lips. “You’re sweet and innocent, Amo. You waited. No one waits anymore.”
Pulling in a breath, I sit up. Rest my back against the wall.
“I don’t have any regrets if that’s what you’re asking. They’re …” I sigh, my chest warming at the thoughts of them both. “They’re perfect. And no there wasn’t candles and shit like I wanted but it was so good.”
“Okay, ew. I guess I asked for that.” Her chuckle sounds thick but genuine. “As long as they’re good to you, yeah? Tell me if they aren’t.”
The glint in her eye is unmistakable, and I grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter 32
Try again
Wilson
Raising my fist toknock on the door feels like I’m triggering every nerve ending in my body. My own fist feels too heavy, my muscles too weak.
I know Amo is on the other side, hopefully waiting for me, but I’m so damn drained. This just feels too familiar with Moros, and I don’t know why I keep letting him destroy me like this.
It’s been ten years of shit like this with him. I should have learned to let him go a little bit by now, or have some faith in his tenacity, but I’m having a hard time finding it.
Seeing him with Amo … he’s different now.
Still an asshole, but he asked Amo if he needed us. Actually asked, though during sex probably doesn’t count, but it does for someone as closed off as Moros.
What they don’t realize is that it’s me. I’m the one who needs them both. I don’t feel right when they aren’t with me, even in the home I made for myself among the trees and rot.
Leaving Moros behind nearly killed me tonight and I just … I need Amo in my arms. To feel him. To know that I haven’t lost everything that stumbled into my place that day weeks ago.
I force myself to knock against the panel, the quick rap louder than the shot from a gun. It takes a moment for shuffling on the other side to come through the door, a feminine voice hushed just behind it.
But as soon as it opens, my insides tingle and it feels like I can breathe for the first time since Moros was locked away.
“Wilson!”
The impact to my chest knocks me back a step into the hallway but I catch him—I’ll always catch him—and hold him tight.
Fuck he feels good.
“You’re here,” he mumbles against my pulse, his arms banding around my neck, his legs around my waist.
“Yeah, baby. I’m here.”
“How was he?”
I work a swallow down my throat and step into his place, kicking shut the door behind me. “Alive.”
“Okay …” he breathes out, leaning back just enough to slam me in the gut with his watering gaze. “Will you tell me what happened? Who was that guy? And… am I fucked up for wishing he’d gone through with it?”
My breath is loaded. My arms going numb but there’s a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of my mouth.
“Yeah, I will. And no, you aren’t. Just … let me hold you first. Please, baby?”
