Page 63 of The Dead Don't Talk
He nods and wriggles until I let him slide down my body to plant his feet on the floor.
I’m hammered next by the harsh glare from across the room, one I can feel burrowing into the side of my head, and though I would rather ignore the woman digging her concerns into my skull telepathically, I meet her gaze.
“Cassia. Good to see you.”
She huffs, crossing her sinewy arms over her chest.
“Oh, c’mon,” Amo whines, rolling his eyes. “Can you not harass him, please?”
“It’s my job to make sure he’s good to you, Amo.”
“I am,” I say with conviction, though it comes out sounding just as tired as I feel.
Not once does her hard scowl soften.
I want to sever it, this weird connection she’s made while she assesses me. Especially when I feel Amo step away from me, his warmth cooling in his absence; my need to follow him a strong pull.
“Then why are you here?” she finally asks, a sharpness taking over her eyes.
“For him,” I say softly and tip my head in the direction I felt him go. “And for me.”
Her head tilts, lips pursing.
“Honest.”
My brows tip up. “I have no reason not to be.”
“Then tell him the truth about Moros and you. How you spent all the time together and now you’re both with my guy? Spill it.”
I shrug one shoulder. “Moros is a damaged, grumpy asshole. I balance it out, I guess.”
“Like candied nuts!” Amo proclaims, his grin evident in his voice.
Cassia blinks hard for a long moment then a laugh bursts from her lips. It’s contagious, eliciting my own chuckle as Amo comes to my side and tucks himself beneath my arm.
I hold him tight.
“I said that on purpose,” he swears up at me with big eyes and an even bigger grin.
“I believe you, baby.”
Just having him near me has my chest inflating. Smelling his scent has my heart leaping. But feeling him against me, even when it’s just the two of us?
Heavenly.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” I ask him and a redness blooms on his cheeks.
“Of course you can,” he whispers, his fingers finding my beard and twirling the ends softly. “C’mon, big guy. My bed is calling.”
He takes my heart and my hand and leads me down a short hall, dismissing his friend without a word.
His room is small. Smaller than the one across the hallway, but it’s bigger than my place. I almost miss the scent of earth and leaves until he closes us in, trapping his smell and mine together.
Warm fingers brush my waist as Amo turns into me, dipping beneath my shirt and lifting the material from my skin.
“If you want to have sex, we can,” he murmurs distractedly, and I help him get the fabric the rest of the way off my head. “But if you don’t want to …”
I follow his curls with my gaze when he dips, those fingers curling in the waistband of my pants to tug those down too. The filled pockets make a thud as they drop to the floor around my boots.
