Page 36 of The Dead Don't Talk
I know when to get away from people, which is easy since I’ve been alone most of my life. Just like I know when it’s going to be too much. When I’m going to blank out and cause more damage.
When I need to chain myself up.
The warmth of his touch on my shoulder feels like a brand I welcome. “Not this time.”
“Fuck.”
The grip tightens and I squeeze my eyes against the tears that prick them.
“This is why I never do this. Idon’tdo this, Wilson.”
“What?” he hisses. “Have a fucking friend?”
The scoff is automatic but when I meet his blazing gaze, I swallow hard.
“Pretty sure friends don’t dry hump or try to fuck you and gnaw on you until you’re—” I gesture vaguely at his current state and the fucker had the audacity to burst into laughter.
And then a wince.
“I’m patching you up,” I say thickly, seriously as I climb to my feet and pin him with a look. “And then I’m gone.”
“Moros,” he murmurs back to me, the betrayal swirling in his too-kind eyes.
“I fucking mean it, Wilson.”
Chapter 16
This shouldn’t be hot, right?
The present
Amo
The chain Moros keepsaround his neck is the only solution I could come up with.
They teach us shit like this. For the carriers who haven’t self-contained, or maybe don’t know that they’re as close to changing as they are. To restrain them wherever possible and ensure the safety of those around them.
The awesome part?
I’ve never had to do this shit.
My side eye is massive, and my patience looks more like it belongs to Moros as the two of them shift in their prone position until he can shove his cock inside Wilsonagain.
It’s … distracting to say the least.
My whole lower half twinges in protest when I consider sandwiching myself between them.
“You’re gonna die of a different kind of infection if he doesn’t stop,” I sigh out.
The chain tightens around Wilson’s throat as he leans closer to me and arches his ass up for more pounding.
“Keep going, baby,” he rasps out, and I hate the way his soft eyes feel like a caress across my face even though I’m not sure if he’s talking to me, or Moros.
I’m running on fumes, barely keeping my limbs moving as I dab a damp cloth across his bare chest, and yet I follow his command with an ease that should scare me.
It doesn’t.
The growl behind him gets cut off as Moros lunges, snapping teeth just short of reaching anything worth munching on.
