Page 43 of Love the Way You Lion (Rise of the Resistance #3)

The Bird Has No Complaints

TAURUS

I hear the goddess whispering to my wife, “Sorry, they were making me hot. I didn’t mean to—oh, that feels good.”

No shit, love. No shit.

The sound alone makes my gut clench. Let me tell you, both are sodding enjoying every second—outside of the shoulder pain—and I’m not the bloody sinner to stop them.

My wife thinks she’s sneaky, putting words into my primary’s mind.

She doesn’t realize that I hear like it’s a stereo between our connection and mine to Talia.

~Shh. They were getting to me, too. The healing is taking a backseat to others’ things, for sure. ~

That is some very sodding interesting information. I can’t help that I’m bent the way I am. My two favorite chits in the entire universe, looking every bit like sun and moon together, wriggling around half-dressed, is one of the best things I’ve seen all year.

Fuck yeah, it does it for me. I’m alive, aren’t I ?

Interesting bit, though, is that Sampson and I watching them is affecting them. That is useful information. At the pace we’re going at fixing the goddess, I’m never getting laid tonight. It was looking promising before the lazy git called us in. A little show seems like a fair trade.

“I hope it feels good. I’m trying to keep it less on the ouchie side if I can.”

The golden one lies still, getting soothed and whatnot.

I wonder why the wife’s never done this to me?

I might feel a bit cheated. Observing them, I smile, proud of my wife as she works to heal my mate.

Her hands are strong yet kind, and though it’s hot as all hell, I see the softness she’s showing her.

I’ve got no complaints, I confess.

Speaking of Sampson, I look over at him sprawled on the chair like the romance novel-reject my wife accused him of being.

Dressed in track pants and a waist-length mane, he looks every bit the character from a bodice ripper.

It’s the opposite of what the goddess sees in me.

His eyes are on them, not missing a thing.

He inhales, closing his eyes as his lips curl up at the scents.

He might not be a predator anymore, but I can tell that git could hunt.

He’d give us all a run for our money, I think.

It’s always the quiet ones who surprise you.

I should pull his old file and glance at it since we’re family now.

It couldn’t hurt to get to know more than he’s indolent, has a sharp sense of humor, and wrangles the goddess even better than me.

There’s more than a jasmine scent in the air, and you don’t have to be a hunter to smell that.

“I’m trying to make this part as painless as possible,” my minx murmurs, dropping to her elbows and laying her palms over the injured area.

Her chin rests below the injury as she crouches down and works on something I can’t see.

I can’t tell what she’s working on, but it must be internal.

Her voice echoes in my skull, making me cover a smile.

~We could torture the boys a bit since they’re being such idiots. ~

Ah, love. How quickly you forget how hard it is for us to block one another out now.

It can’t hurt to let her think they’re getting away with something, though.

The last time we were here, Minx upset herself so much that she got drugged up.

I still haven’t figured out why she was so twitchy the last time, and now she’s as calm as can be.

I have to say, though, I’m mighty impressed with how well my wife’s doing pan-orating without blood ties.

She’s a quick study and her brain’s one of a thousand things I love about her.

Before I ponder that further, Talia forgets that I’m connected to the minx and sends her reply in a mental picture.

She doesn’t mind-speak like the Minx and I do, though apparently, the stoat does.

Talia’s chuckle as she messages something about torture being too good for her husband comes through to me loud and clear, along with thumbs up on the minx’s plan.

Hell, she’s not in pain, so why not let them have their little game? It’s not like I’m not enjoying myself, is it?

“It stings a little more than the other stuff does now.”

“Stings? Let me get a little deeper.” My wife sprawls along my primary’s back, ignoring the rest of us as she’s working.

It’s a good thing because I’m on the edge of a snicker and if she looks at me, she’ll know.

“That’s better, thanks.”

Sampson is watching like a hawk now and I smirk, knowing he feels the purr my wife has kicked up.

It’s cheating, and the goddess says the stoat can do it, too.

The rotter must have gotten it from my minx.

He seems to share more than a few of the minx’s skills, so I wonder if the special skill designation of ‘artist’ is not accurate.

He might be what the lab coats call a ‘parasite’.

It’s rare that they find a clone from a strand who can absorb powers either temporarily or permanently from those they have blood ties to.

That bears further consideration—later.

I straighten, most of my body standing at attention. I’d prefer to look less obvious, so I nod at the stoat before murmuring into his mind. ~Buggering hell. ~

My wife is trailing her fingers over my primary’s skin, murmuring under her breath as she works.

They’re polar opposites—sun-kissed skin versus porcelain, curves versus lithe, brunette versus redhead.

It’s stunning. The artist nods his silent agreement, unable to tear his eyes away to look at me.

He’s being as quiet as possible, given that the minx is listening in.

Speaking of her, she’s giggling as she talks to my goddess. ~Men are so easily baited. You should see them. ~

Talia sends her a series of snapshots that de-note baited, hooked, and reeled fish gasping for air.

She’s right, as neither of us is looking like we’re going to move soon.

As they chuckle, my lips curve at the easy camaraderie between them.

My primary sends another message I think is trying to let my wife know that if she needed to be on her back, we’d pass out. She’s not far off the mark on that.

My wife laughs as she experiments with sending Talia the sensation of an eye roll. ~You’d think I was grabbing your ass or something from the way they’re acting! I think Taurus’ eyebrows might launch into outer space. ~

Brilliant, love.

Talia sends back a message about boys being easy to tease, and they both laugh again.

They’ve not been speaking much outside of their minds, so the stoat is looking at them, trying to figure out what’s going on.

I grin and keep it to myself, also finding it amusing to watch him.

He’s a playful git, and it’s amusing as hell to watch his reactions.

~Oh, yeah. They always follow the little head, not the big one. You know, we may have discovered the golden ticket of clone control. Imagine the possibilities. ~

I frown, not loving the ‘cat who ate the canary’ look on my wife’s face. Adjusting to get comfortable, I continue being a voyeur, deciding that giving up the information that I’m aware of their game is less important than enjoying the sight of them.

Sampson has figured out how to work the pan oration—further cementing my parasite theory — because I hear him when he speaks. ~They haven’t said over four words since they threatened to throw us out. ~

My wife catches my eye, moving her body with feline grace and sin as she pushes into the tendons and muscles. Everything within me throbs as she shifts her weight and moves around.

Christ.

I see Talia smirking and talking to my wife in her mind, enjoying playing with us.

My eyes cut to Sampson, who has shifted in his chair again, looking uncomfortable.

A sniff of the air confirms that he’s in the same predicament as me and hell if I know what we’re going to do if they keep up this little charade.

The girls zing back and forth again, discussing our discomfort and giggling. Talia sends my wife a question and I feel the devilish streak in both coming out. My minx murmurs her response in a husky voice that makes me groan. ~I have to heal your face, don’t I? I promised Taurus. ~

The goddess approves with a chortle, and it feels like she’s hiding the amusement as best she can. It makes me glad that she doesn’t seem in pain anymore, but I’m not sure where they’re going with this.

Holy hell, what are they planning?