Page 127 of Twisted Little Game

You would love him, too.

Always…

Your Romashka

Everything is foggy.

I wake up, I fall back to sleep. I dream of writing Mama letters, in my mind.

Then I dream of Tate, of Maks, then of Tate, again and again.

My limbs are so heavy, and my thoughts are fleeting.

Then, in the bright, blinding sunshine of midmorning, I finally open my eyes fully.

And I see blond.

Tate’s hair is framed in a halo of the sunshine coming in through the window behind him, and his arm is reaching out, resting on my arm on top of my bedsheets.

Another dream…

A beautiful one.

An angel.

He glances up at me, sitting up straight when he sees that I’m awake.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hello, beauty.”

His smile is so wide and brighter than that sun behind him. He looks like he wants to throw himself onto the bed with me, but he’s so aware of my wounded stomach that he moves gently instead, draping himself near my shoulder.

His warmth is like a blanket on my upper arm.

I nuzzle my head against his, pulling in long, slow breaths.

“Maks is here, too,” Tate says beneath my ear. “He’s getting us coffee and bagels right now, and God, fuck, you’re finally awake.”

His lips gently press against my neck in a slow, soft kiss. He moves upward, kissing my jaw, my cheek, and then finally my lips.

I can feel his breath on me.

“You taste like strawberry,” I murmur against him. “So good. Fuck, you taste sweet.”

“I’ve been mainlining hard candy from the vending machine. Here.”

He pulls one out and places it on my tongue, and the burst of sweetness wakes me up more.

I have no idea when the last time I ate was.

One little hard candy is like an elixir from the fucking gods.

I shift on the hospital bed a little, and suddenly my whole abdomen cries out in pain.

“Oh, fuck,” I mutter.

“The nurse said your painkillers might wear off a little before they come to give the next dose. They’re swapping you from one medicine to a different one.”