Page 40 of The Dead Don't Talk
His lips crash to mine, making me sigh.
Yeah, those feelings he brings out? There’s no way I can ignore them.
Chapter 18
Cry, baby
Moros—two weeks later
“You have no ideawhat you’re talking about.”
“Sheswears, Moros.”
He’s nearly hissing at me again, despite the pastries in his grip because, yeah, we’re back to that. Back to talking about how Cassia got them approved to run with the Guard just … because. Somehow. Even though I know the rules. I know the man that made the decision.
I know what Amo refuses to see.
And still, more cherry-filled baked goods show up at my door accompanied by angry snarls from afar. Until today.
Today. My birthday.
He’s pissed I didn’t tell him that, too.
“You just can’t go through life like this, asshole.”And now he’s jumping topics again.
“Why not?” I push back, snagging the box from him and pinching a sugary treat.
I’m hungry and it beats eating him again. Though I wanna do that, too.
But something in my chest clenches at doing it without Wilson.
I’ve never had that problem before.
But he’s on his way back into town, one of my other guys making the trek out to post twenty-three for cover.
I should have added the guy to my roster sooner, so it didn’t have to always be me, except now I have thatitch. The telltale voice in the back of my mind begging for …relief.
Fucking Amo ruining my shit.
“You’re so infuriating!” he yells, and I point to the door with my pastry holding hand. “Why is it so hard?”
Instinctively, I look at my flaccid dick hanging beneath my sleep pants. The ones I had to start wearing, also because I never knew when Amo would show up.
I know he’s not talking about it but I kinda want him to.
If he makes the first move, it wouldn’t be bad, right?
Though I want him to get on his knees and start sucking, he doesn’t. He keeps running his mouth aboutcommunicatingandletting him in.
“You realize I’ve known Wilson for a decade and not even he knows this shit.”
That gets him.
Wide eyes swing on me, all shiny and intense.
It makes my heart twinge, and I curse.
“Okay!” I yell too loud and throw the pastry. “Fine. What is it? What do you want to know?”
