Chapter 9
He did what in your butt?
Moros—one week later
Every day, he shows up with fucking pastries and asks when I’m heading back out to see Wilson.
But I’m not going back out to see 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 morning wood and 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 that gets it.
But fucking Amo, 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.”
Swatting him away with a scowl, I collapse in the single chair at my wobbly table.
Which leaves my bed as the only other seating available and Amo just … helps himself. Moves my pillow to lean back against it. Burrows his ass beneath my blanket. Puts his fucking feet up and everything.
“Aren’t people asking you what the fuck you’re doing outside the gate?” I ask with an air of warning I hope he picks up at some point.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal that he’s on this side of the barricade without protection of any kind, plucks a pastry out, and begins to nibble. “Cassia’s my goodest friend—”
“Best friend.”
“—yeah that. But I already told her everything. She wants to meet Wilson, too.”
“You realize this isn’t some conjoined families type shit, right? No one’s meeting anyone. We fucked. Once. That’s it.”
His eye roll doesn’t hide the way his already too-soft hazel eyes crack the tiniest bit.
“But I like you,” he murmurs.
That makes one of us.
“Find someone your own age,” I growl low and scrub at my chin.
“They’re all straight.”
Doubtful. “Then the year above or below you. Try another girl. I don’t fucking know! Just stop bothering me.”
The way his face falls has my stomach turning painfully, and I jump to my feet.
This is why I don’t do this shit.
A wave of something sticky rolls around inside my gut as I pace the small space and shove my hand into my hair. I tug at the strands, relishing in the distraction of the slight sting.
“Fuck you, Moros,” he finally spits out through clenched teeth.
Pastries abandoned on my bed, Amo turns and walks out without another word.
It’s too late when it finally registers in my head to call after him, to stop him, the regret turning my stomach to rock as I watch his back disappear through the foliage surrounding my cabin.
My heart throbs inside my chest, the words I should have said collecting in my too-tight throat.
I fucked up. I shouldn’t have said it that way.
It’s not what I meant!
Despite my turmoil, my cock remains stiff in my pants. Leaking and begging for something.
So, with a curse, I lock the door and fall back in bed, and I don’t search for his scent on my pillow or think of his tight virgin ass as I make myself come.
Swear, I don’t.