Page 85 of The Boss
Luna
“How much longer is he going to do this to me?” I ask Marlon. I sigh at the sky, tired of only ever talking to my dog. Always outdoors. Always while moving, scouting, listening, plotting.
Always sexually frustrated.
It’s been a week. Quinn touches me, kills me every night with either his fingers or his tongue or both. Last night I came just from whatever magic he was doing with my nipples. Didn’t even take my panties off. The man is an artist with my body. A magician. Sorcerer, maybe.
But he never goes all the way. Never lets me reciprocate. I haven’t even touched his dick which I’m positive is massive.
And.
The fucker won’t kiss me.
“What the hell is he playing at? Tink?” I ask the giant dufus who is still trying to walk me in circles. She doesn’t even look back at me. She’s tired of this too. I ask the same questions every day.
Because why the hell won’t he kiss me? Like the man who has killed hundreds of men—as recorded on a back tattoo that I should have found terrifying but instead found brutally hot, a note I’m saving for the day I find a mafia-trained-therpaist— is what, sentimental? A softie? I mean…he is. The cuddling every night. Cuddling?! The big-spoon-little-spoon sleeping arrangement confirms it.
But he also really, really,isn’t.
There’s nothing soft about him.
Mind games.
Has to be.
He’s messing with me.
So that I’m out here thinking about his full, soft, warm lips and not the fact that the guy who stabbed me is named Tad and is part of something called the Remnant. A fact I learned from a day spent in a coat closet in the mudroom. Half my body went numb.
Worth it.
He’s smart, my giant, beautiful, terrifying husband.
He’s toying with me in hopes that by drawing me in, getting me emotional, acting like he is actually in love or something—ridiculous!—he’s ensuring I won’t do it. That when the day comes that the Russians attack or I’m finally able to get messages out to Vix or whatever situation arises where I can turn on his ass, I won’t.
I will.
“Kiss me or don’t kiss me, asshole. I don’t care.” I say to Quinn but really to my boots. I stomp over the same log on the same trail that leads to the same nothingburger back fence as always. “Mark my words, Marlon, if he doesn’t actually have sex with me soon, ” I switch to myGodfathervoice that I know my dog must love as much as I do, “I’m gonna hafta stab him.”
•••••
“You’re not breathing,” Quinn says into my ear.
“I am, clearly, since I’m still, you know, alive,” I snipe back.
He pulls in closer behind me and adjusts my stance. I love when he does this. I love his guns, I love his range and I reallylove shooting with him. Not because he always cages me in and presses his body into mine. Not because he groans in my ear when I rub my ass against his crotch. Both are fun. But the man is an amazing shot and every time we train, I get miles better.
Quinn puts his hand over mine and moves our joined right arms to the right, “A man is running at you from the right,”BANG!he quickly shifts our arms, “Then left,”BANG!“Then straight at you,”BANG BANG BANG!“You can’t hold your breath through all that. You have to keep breathing. Again Mancini.”
Nope.
Too much adrenaline.
I arch my back.
“Luna. There are men in here.”
“Then kick them out.”
