Tongue's Target (Ruthless Kings MC Las Vegas #10) - K.L. Savage Page 0,14
a silly cold.”
“Flu. It’s worse than a cold.”
“Take the damn pill,” I snap at him, which is then followed by a nasty sneeze. “Gross.” My nose is red and raw from blowing it so much. I take another tissue and wipe my face. He must think I’m disgusting.
“I hate that you feel so bad. I want to fix it and take it away.” Tongue lies down next to me and wraps an arm around me, tugging me to his chest. My cheek presses against his chest, right between each pec and his heart beats against my ear.
“I know,” I yawn, then pat his stomach as my eyes start to droop. “Take the pill, for me.”
An unhappy sound escapes him. “Fine,” he grumbles, popping the lid off and shaking a pill from the bottle. “I’m only doing this once and that’s it.”
No he isn’t, because I know if I ask him again, he will do it. “I know, Comet. I know.” I wipe my nose on his shirt and he starts to laugh after he takes a drink of water.
I sniffle.
“Did you just wipe your nose on my shirt?” he asks, sounding amused for the first time since I’ve been awake.
I shake my head. “No?” I make sure to sound unsure and his stomach starts to shake. I lift up on my elbows and peer up at him to see his hands over his face as he laughs.
A full blown, deep, raspy laugh. It’s like every chuckle gets rid of a bit of rust as he learns to embrace laughter.
Even sick and possibly seeing double, I take his hands from his face and see an actual smile. It’s so big, his eyes crinkle and his cheeks are plump and red. I can see his teeth. The front rows are straight and white, equally the same size. He got gifted in the teeth department. I climb onto his body until I’m straddling his chest and hypnotized by his face.
And what’s even better is I’m getting to see two of him, since the flu is getting the best of me. I grab my phone from under the pillow, swipe the camera up, and take a picture of the rare moment before he can protest.
“How is me wiping my nose on your shirt so funny?” I start to lie down again when my head starts to swim. I’m getting lightheaded. I collapse to his side and stare at the picture on my phone for a minute.
“Because it’s disgusting and yet, I don’t care. I want you to do it again because I like that we are comfortable enough with one another that we can do things like that.” As quickly as his smile is there, it’s gone, and he is yawning. “I’m already getting sleepy,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down my arm. “I’m sorry I’ve been worried, but I won’t be sorry for trying to keep you safe. I’ll never apologize for that.”
“I know and I love you more for it,” I say. “You’re unlike any man I’ve ever known, and I’ll never forget how you make me feel, and if I do you’ll have to make sure you remind me.”
I wait for him to say something, to say anything, and a pit starts to form in my stomach when he doesn’t say anything back. Tongue is surly and grumpy most days. Deep inside, down burrowed under my heart, I’m afraid he’ll get tired of me and that anger will win. So I need him to answer me because it reassures that he loves me.
“Tongue?” I sniffle again and groan when I get a hot flash, getting dizzier by the second when I try to look up at him.
He’s already asleep.
And now I feel guilty for thinking he might be getting tired of me.
I cuddle up as close as I can and pull the blanket over us to make sure he stays warm. He might be able to fool himself into thinking he is indestructible, but he can’t fool everyone else. There might be no rest for the wicked, but there is rest for the dead, and if he keeps going like this, I’m afraid I’ll lose him before I get the chance to have the experience we deserve together.
Living is for the wicked, sleep is for the living, and everything in between deserves a gallon of Redbull.
That is… until you need sleep so you can survive the next brutal round the world has to offer.