Page 24 of The Dead Don't Talk
He’s cute when he prickly.
It’s makes my heart do the stupid patter thing again when it shouldn’t.
He justtttt said he doesn’t get attached.
I try to ignore it, this weird feeling collecting in my gut, the rest of the way home. I fill the space between the chirp of bugs and birds with idle chatter Moros just grunts around.
But just because I ignore it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
Chapter 9
He did what in your butt?
Moros—one week later
Every day, he showsup with fucking pastries and asks when I’m heading back out to see Wilson.
But I’m not going back out tosee Wilson.He’s a fully capable man who has lived in the trees for a long, long time. He knows how to hunt, to eat, and jerk himself off if he needs to.
The only real reason I venture out to his post regularly is to check on the status of it. And him as a guard, as someone I’m technically in charge of.
It just makes sense for us to fuck while I’m there.
And then I come home to my own place, my peace and silence awaiting me every time.
That is … until Amo started pounding on my door every morning with a box of treats from his old job.
“I know you’re home, jackass. Open uppppp.”
Do I eat them?Yep.
Does he know that?Nope.
“Moros!”
“I’m coming,” I grumble and roll out of my bed with my cock still somewhat hard beneath my sleep pants.
“Not yet,” he says in that way of his, that sounds sterns even though I can hear the smirk on his face when I rip open the door.
I steal the box from his hands and slam the panel closed before he can weasel his way in.
He’s already fucked up most of my routines, including my mornings spent with my morningwoodand now I’m just fucking horny. And hungry.
Like …hungry.
For things not grown, baked or butchered inside the community walls.
Which is dangerous for anyone other than someone like Wilson. Someone that knows. Somebody thatgets it.
But fuckingAmo, the persistent shit, is ignoring all the boundaries I’ve tried to set.
“Go away, kitten.”
“See, when you call me that, I know you don’t mean it,” he says with just enough mirth to hide the crack of his words.
Blowing out a growling breath, I let him in, my face screaming all the displeasure I can muster up in my scrunched brows and narrowed gaze.
“Yikes. You not sleep well?” Pastry box back in his grip, he lifts the lid and shoves the offensively sweet scent just beneath my nose. “Cherry. Since you took mine.”
