"Where is it?"
"I ate it."
I stare at her.
"You ate my breakfast?"
"You didn't wake up." She shrugs. "It was getting cold."
"So you ate it."
"I was hungry."
"Breakfast thief."
The word surprises a laugh out of her. A real laugh. The kind that transforms her face and makes her eyes crinkle at the corners.
I want to make her laugh like that every day for the rest of my life.
"You can make your own breakfast," she says. "Or lunch. Or whatever meal this counts as now."
"I was shot four days ago."
"And yet you managed to do plenty of physical activity this morning."
"That was different."
"How?"
"That was important."
She rolls her eyes. But she's still smiling.
Marina stands. Stretches. The movement pulls her shirt tight across her breasts.
My cock stirs.
"You need to get up," she says. "And shower. You smell like sex and blood."
"Romantic."
"I'm serious."
She walks toward the bathroom. I watch her go. The sway of her hips. The way her hair moves against her back.
"Come on," she calls over her shoulder. "I'll help you."
My cock goes from stirring to fully awake.
"You'll help me?"
"With the bath. Your wound needs to stay dry and you can't reach your own back."
"Is that the only reason?"
She appears in the bathroom doorway. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable.
"What other reason would there be?"
