Page 183 of Vicious Games

I linger for a second, his words rattling around in my skull like loose bullets.

Not wanting to run into another Petrov brother, I make my way back to my room and to my girl.

Frankie is curled up on top of the covers, still fully dressed, her brow still creased from the fight we had earlier. But what really tugs at my heartstring is how her hand fists into the comforter like she reached out for me in her sleep and found nothing but air. She must have waited up all night for me, only to lose the fight to exhaustion.

I walk over and sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake her, content to just watch her sleep.

This girl broke me open.

Rearranged every piece of me until I was hers.

And now, somehow, I have to figure out how to let her go without falling apart.

Just for tonight, though…

Just for tonight, I’m going to let myself pretend we’re still okay.

That she’s still mine.

I lean down and press a soft kiss to her temple and then lie down beside her, fully dressed, eyes wide open, heart burning in my chest.

I should leave her alone. Let her rest. But I can’t.

Not when this might be the last night I get to be near her like this.

The moonlight slips through the sheer curtains, painting her skin in soft silver. My fingers twitch, craving her. Not just her body—her warmth, her forgiveness, her everything.

I brush the hair from her face, and she stirs but doesn’t wake.

“Frankie,” I whisper, voice thick. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes flutter open, hazy and slow, and when she sees me, she doesn’t push me away.

Instead, she reaches for me.

That’s all the permission I need.

I lean in and kiss her gently—slowly. She sighs into my mouth, her arms winding around my neck, and when she pulls me closer, I follow without hesitation.

There’s no rush. No frantic pulling of clothes. Just the steady unraveling of the pain between us, one kiss at a time.

I take my time undressing her, my fingers reverent, like I’m touching something sacred. Because I am. Frankie’s love is sacred to me. And I will worship at her altar for as long as I’m breathing. Maybe even after I’m not.

She doesn’t speak either. Doesn’t need to. Her kiss…her body…tells me all she wants to say.

Her hands tremble as they touch me, sliding under my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go of me.

I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in.

“I’m here, baby,” I whisper. “Like I told you…you can’t get rid of me. Not now. Not ever.”

Her only answer is a kiss that steals the air from my lungs.

And when we come together, it’s not just about sex.

It’s about the ache of love that’s too big for words. The fear of losing what you can’t live without. The desperate need to hold on, even if just for a few more hours.

We move like we’re trying to burn each other into memory—every touch, every moan, every whispered plea echoing in my soul.

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