Page 83 of The Boss
But I can’t.
I’m looking at the screen yet all I see is Luna, bleeding. My hands feel phantom stickiness. My arms still hold the weight of her as she lost consciousness.
It wasn’t when she let her walls down, let me feel her perfect tits. It wasn’t when her face blushed at the attention from themen, my little exhibitionist. It wasn’t the moment she came on my fingers like a goddess. Those are moments I’ll relive until I die.
But when she passed out in my arms…
That was it, the moment that everything changed.
My priorities, my mission, my purpose.
I’m irrevocably and completely fucked.
Because I fell in love with my wife.
CHAPTER 38
Quinn
“Hey,” she says to me. It’s late and while I’m surprised she’s awake, I’m more surprised she’s actually still in bed. She didn’t leave her room all day which must mean she’s in pretty bad shape. Physically.
“Hey,” I reply. “Why are you still up?”
“Sleeping all day will do that to you. Did you find the Russian?” I shake my head. I study her. I wonder if she knows he’s not Russian. Probably. I sigh.
“I can move to the couch,” my wife hears my fatigue and starts to try and move.
“Stop. You’ll sleep there.”
She smiles, devious as hell, “So, you’re finally sleeping with me?”
I groan as I start for the closet and strip off my clothes. Once I’m down to just my boxers, I hesitate. I consider putting on a shirt but knowing Luna, she’ll just tell me I’m full of shit and would never sleep in a shirt by myself, and, as fucking usual, she’d be right.
Time to face the damn music I married.
I walk out and she looks up from her book. Those deep chocolate eyes go wide. Her mouth falls open. Cute. Her eyes darken with heavy lids. She bites her bottom lip. Adorable.
And deadly.
“We will only be sleeping,” I say as I reach the open side of my bed. I put her on the inner side without thinking but of course it makes sense. I guess this is my side now. I shake my head, which is clearly a mess if I’m worrying about domestic sleeping arrangements.
“Theerrrre they are,” Luna says. I frown. “Your tattoos. Your arms are bare, I was starting to think you didn’t have any.” She puts her tiny, cold hands on me and tries to turn my torso to get a good look at my back. She fails. “Let me see. It’s not like I’m never going to see your back."
Should’ve worn the shirt, you tool.
“Holy shit,” she whispers. It’s a common reaction to the ink. The artwork is detailed, a bunch of skulls, stacked. Covering my whole back. Various sizes. Some incorporate scars into the design like a bullet hole for an eye, some cover scars altogether. “What’s with the bats?” She asks as she reaches out a finger to trace over the lines. A few of the larger skulls have bats living in the eye sockets.
“Hunt at night, live a long time—”
“Creepy as hell.”
I nod.
“There’s so many skulls…are these…” she can’t finish her question.
“A record. Yes,” I say simply.
She pulls her hand away.
