Page 70 of The Dead Don't Talk
There is nothing but me and Moros, Amo sandwiched between us as wekiss.
It’s sloppy and debauched and everything I ever dreamed it would be.
“Fuck, you’re making me hard,” Amo whines, rubbing himself between us.
It’s not until he pushes up to his tiptoes that I realize Moros and I have hard grasps on each other’s hair, and hips, Amo squished between us.
But then his tongue plunges into my mouth along with Moros’s and I groan.
Now it’s even more sloppy. Even more debauched as the three of us tongue fuck each other’s mouths, with grinding hips and wondering hands.
“They’re going to throw us out after this,” I murmur into Amo lips then suck on Moros’s tongue.
“Lethem,” he mumbles back around Amo’s lips.
I chuckle at his garbled words and pull them as tight to me as I can get them.
“Let them.”
Chapter 35
This is a horror story
Amo
“Where should we live?”
Moros warms me from left side while Wilson’s hand warms mine on my right. We’re walking down the main path in our community, housing and shops lining each side. There are baskets of goods, treats and foods to trade, all sitting out, dotted by the plants and herbs between.
Owners and workers all watch us as we go, some with suspicion, while others offer up soft smiles as they sweep stoops and package up items.
I’m not even paying attention to the ones that run inside like we’re the decomposed walking the street freely.
Assholes.
“Who said anything about living together?” Moros asks, though his normal gruffness is not quite as harsh as it once was. Or maybe I’m just getting used to it? Could be that I find it endearing instead of annoying now, maybe.
Which it is.
His roughness has grown on me like the vines up the walls of the treehouse, especially since having Wilson’s softness balances it out.
It really is like the two of them are half of the same whole. Logs split from the same tree. Leaves off the same vine, though Moros would deny it.
And I love them both.
My smile is wide, and my steps are light as they lead me to the edge of town where the farming starts and Wilson takes a long, deep breath.
At first it seems like a calming one; he does always seem at peace when he’s surrounded by vegetation.
But then Moros becomes tense at my side.
“What is it—”
A high-pitched whirring alarm cuts off my words, and a chill runs down my spine.
A horde is coming.
“No. Nononono.”
