Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Laurel
I hate being sick. Everything hurts. My head throbs like someone’s hammering nails into my skull, my eyes burn when I try to open them even a sliver, and every joint in my body aches like I’ve been beaten with a bat.
Chills rake through me, making my teeth chatter even though sweat soaks the sheets twisted around my body. My skin feels too tight, too hot one second and freezing the next.
I toss and turn, desperate for a position that doesn’t make my muscles scream. Nothing works. The pillow is too hot, and the blanket too heavy. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing sleep to take me, praying that when I wake up this will all be gone.
A low voice filters through the fog, deep, familiar, edged with that thick Russian accent that always makes my stomach flip.
A small, weak smile curls my lips. He’s here in my dreams again. I feel strong hands on me, turning me gently onto my side. Pain flares sharp across my ribs and I groan, the sound scraping out of my raw throat. “That hurts…”
“Sorry, solnyshko,” he murmurs, voice softer now, right against my ear.
I frown into the dark behind my eyelids. Why does it hurt in my dream? Shouldn’t dreams be better than this?
“How long have you been like this?” he asks.
“Started… last night,” I mumble, words slurring together. Is he here for real?
“All night?” His voice drops lower, incredulous. “And you didn’t think to call me?”
I try to shrug. It’s too much effort. “Didn’t want to bother you…”
“Have you taken anything?”
“Aspirin,” I whisper. “Earlier.”
He curses under his breath, harsh Russian words I don’t catch. Is he angry at me? More Russian follows, like he’s speaking into a phone. Barking orders. Yeah, he’s definitely pissed.
Then his big, warm hand settles on my forehead. I lean into it instantly, chasing the heat. His palm feels like heaven against my burning skin.
“You’re burning up,” he says, accent thick. “Fuck, Laurel.”
Was he mad at me? What did I even do?
He mutters something else in Russian, low, almost soothing now, and the rich timbre of his voice wraps around me, pulling me deeper under.
Later, minutes? hours? I can’t tell, strong arms slide under me, lifting, propping me up against pillows. My head lolls. Am I still dreaming? Is he really here?
“Open,” that deep voice commands, nudging my lips.
I try. My lips part weakly. Two bitter pills drop onto my tongue. I gag at the taste, but water follows immediately. His hand cups the back of my head.
“Swallow, baby.”
I obey. The water slides down. His thumb brushes my lower lip, wiping away a stray drop.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
And then the darkness pulls me under again.
But soon the chills hit harder, making my teeth clatter. I curl tighter under the blanket, but it doesn’t help.
Leonid’s voice cuts through the haze again. “You need body heat, solnyshko. Come here.”
The mattress dips with new weight. Warmth floods in as a solid wall of heat presses against me, strong arms pulling me back against a broad chest, legs tangling with mine, skin to skin.
I melt into him with a shaky exhale. “Hmm, this is… better.”
A deep rumble vibrates through his chest and into mine, half laugh, half growl. My eyelids grow impossibly heavy. I drift off wrapped in him, finally warm.
I wake slick with sweat, fever breaking in a rush. My mouth opens on instinct as something warm touches my lips.
“Swallow,” he murmurs.
The liquid slides down my throat, broth, maybe, herbal, and soothing. I smile weakly, voice raspy. “I like it when you say that.”
Another low rumble, this one edged with warning. “Don’t be naughty, solnyshko. You’re not well.”
More liquid follows, and I swallow obediently, then shake my head after a few sips, pushing weakly at his hand. “No more…”
My head drops back to the pillow. Sleep drags me under again, but it’s restless, tangled in fever dreams.
When I surface next, the heat is different. Not feverish fire anymore, but enveloping warmth that seeps into every aching muscle. My cheek rests on something hard. Not my pillow. My pillow isn’t warm muscle.
Strong arms band around me, holding me flush against a hard body. I blink slowly, vision clearing.
Leonid is in my bed, shirtless.
No, scratch that. We’re both naked. Completely. The thin blanket has slipped down to our hips, barely covering anything. His skin is hot against mine, chest rising and falling under my cheek, one thick thigh wedged between my legs, his hand splayed possessively over my lower back.
When did he get here? Why are we naked?
I try to rewind—fever, chills, his voice, the way he held me—but the memories blur at the edges. I search my foggy brain for details, for any moment that explains how we ended up like this.
Nothing. Just fragments. I didn’t dream him last night. He was really here. All of it was real.
I blink up at him, still half-dazed, and find Leonid already watching me, his blue eyes intense. The morning light catches the sharp line of his jaw, the faint stubble that’s grown overnight.
“Good morning,” I whisper, voice scratchy.
“Morning, baby.” His thumb brushes my cheek once, gentle. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” I test the words, roll my head a little. “The headache’s… subsided. Not gone, but not splitting my skull anymore.”
He brings the back of his hand to my forehead. “You’re no longer burning up.” Relief flickers in his eyes. “Good.”
I frown. “When did you get here?”
“Yesterday morning.” He shifts slightly, keeping me tucked against his chest. “You hadn’t answered my texts. Didn’t pick up my calls either. So I came straight over. You were running a high fever and barely coherent.”
I bury my face in his chest. “Really?”
“Yeah. You kept mumbling last night that you thought you were dreaming I was here.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. “Sorry.”
“What for?”
“For… making you take care of me.” The words come out small. “I’m sure you had important things to do. And you had to spend the whole day taking care of me.”
His hand slides to my chin, firm, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing more important than taking care of you.”
I blink, throat tight.
He holds my eyes, unblinking. “Nothing. Is. More important. Than being here when you need me.” He makes sure to enunciate each word. “Why didn’t you call? Or text to let me know you were sick?”
“I didn’t want to be a bother,” I mumble.
“What the hell are you talking about?” His voice drops, edged with something fierce. “You’re my girlfriend, Laurel. It’s my duty, my fucking privilege to be here when you need me. You can never be a burden. Not to me. Ever.”
Girlfriend.
The word hits like a spark. My mouth opens, then closes again. No sound comes out.
I’ve never had this. Growing up, it was always me, figuring it out alone, patching myself up, swallowing whatever hurt or sickness came my way because no one else was going to do it.
Tasha changed that a little; when we became friends, she became the first person I could lean on. But even she’s been out of town this week, off with her boyfriend visiting his parents.
And now Leonid just said I’m his responsibility. His to care for. “Did you…” I swallow. “Did you just call me your girlfriend?”
His thumb strokes along my jaw, slow. A small, almost-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, solnyshko. I did.”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, one dark eyebrow lifting slightly, like he’s daring me to argue.
A slow, stupid smile spreads across my lips. “Oh.”
His expression shifts, serious now, almost stern. “Wait. What did you think we’ve been doing?”
I shrug one shoulder, suddenly self-conscious under his stare. “You never asked me out. So I just… assumed we were just having sex.”
His grip on my jaw tightens, not painful.
His thumb presses against my lower lip, holding me in place.
“Yeah, we were fucking. Quite well.” His voice drops, rough and low.
“And if you weren’t still recovering, solnyshko, I’d flip you over right now and fuck you into this mattress until you couldn’t forget who you belong to.
Until every inch of you remembered you’re my girlfriend. ”
The words hit like a spark straight to my core. Heat floods through me, making my thighs press together under the blanket. My breath catches.
He smirks as he reads every flicker across my face. “Get that look off your face. You’re not strong enough for what I want to do to you right now.”
I shift closer, pressing my body against his until I feel the thick, hard length of his morning wood trapped between us. I rock my hips just once. “Who says I’m not strong enough?”
He exhales sharply through his nose, then drops his hand from my jaw. “Nope. Not happening.” His voice is strained, but there’s a thread of amusement in it.
I groan in protest, flopping my head back against the pillow.
He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re trouble.”
I bite my lower lip, fighting a smile. “Thank you… for taking care of me.”
His expression softens instantly. The teasing fades, replaced by something raw. “I was scared when I found you like that.” He swallows, Adam’s apple working. “I don’t scare easily, Laurel.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He leans in and kisses me, soft at first, then deeper, like he’s pouring everything he didn’t say into it. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“Don’t scare me like that again. If you’re sick, if you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to tell me. That’s why you have me.”
A small, wicked curve touches his lips. “Well… aside from giving you mind-blowing orgasms, of course.”
I laugh weakly, warmth blooming in my chest. “Thank you.”
He brushes a strand of hair from my face. “I need to get more food in you. How about some chicken noodle soup? I can heat up the one from last night.”
I shake my head.
“No?” He frowns, concern flickering. “Was it too spicy? Shit, I shouldn’t have used so much pepper. I—”
“You prepared it?” I interrupt, eyes widening.