Monthly Bonus Content #1—Morgan Version (Deep Romance) (Patreon)

“You can’t come in,” I splutter, covering my mouth with a tissue just before another hacking cough erupts from my sore throat.

“Why?” Morgan demands from the other side of my door. “It’s not like I’m going to catch it.”

“Because it’s all so…,” I eye the pile of discarded, soggy tissues beside my bed and wrinkle my nose, “gross.”

A groan echoes from the door. “Sweetheart/Handsome, I’ve seen you in worse situations than this.”

I attempt a scoff but instead aggravate my lungs and set off another coughing fit.

“That’s it, I’m coming in,” she states before the door bursts open.

Through blurry vision, I can just make out the familiar shape of Morgan’s lithe figure, though she seems to be holding something I can’t make out for the moment.

I narrow my eyes to get a closer look. “What’s that?”

“It’s food,” she explains, nudging the tray a little. “For you. Nate sent it up.”

My stomach churns at the thought, even if the aroma wafting from it smells delicious. “If Nate made it, why are you the one bringing it?”

She sits heavily beside me on the bed and eyes me with a withering stare. “I drew the short straw.” Sarcasm punctuates each word.

“You know I’m sick, right? You’re not supposed to tease weak humans,” I reply, adding an extra groan to the end of my words for effect.

A smile curves her tempting lips. “But then I’d never get to tease you at all.”

I huff out a grated breath and roll over, dragging my duvet with me so as she almost slips off the bed.

Her deep laugh sounds from behind me and offers more comfort than I care to admit in that moment.

My aching body relaxes as her hand rests on my shoulder. “Come on. I’m sorry, sweetheart/handsome. I promise no more taking the piss until you can give as good as you get.”

“Promise?” I croak out.

“Promise.”

I ease myself around and sit up, wincing as my chest tightens, my lungs burning for a moment.

“Here.” She offers me a bowl, steam rising and curling up like a wreath about her face. “Nat said it would do you good.” Her nose wrinkles. “Apparently.”

I meet her eye and see a glimmer of concern make them widen slightly.

“Maybe I should get sick more often if it makes you this sweet,” I suggest with as much of a rasped laugh as I can manage. I ladle out a spoonful of soup and pour it into my mouth. It’s hot but instantly comforting, searing the pain away as it slides down my throat and warms my chest.

She brushes the back of her free hand over my cheek before resting it against my forehead.

“You’re hot,” she states as a fact, not a flirtation. Her brows shift down as she sighs. “You humans and your diseases. How you survive for so long has got to be dumb luck.”

“A cold is hardly a disease, and anyway, what happened to no taking the piss?” I say through another bolstering mouthful of soup.

She smirks, the sight of it seeming to do more good than any amount of soup could ever manage. “I was just stating a fact, sweetheart/handsome.” The expression fades as she pushes the bowl closer. “Now eat your damn food.”

“Yes ma’am.” I mimic a salute with my spoon before offering a smile of my own.

When I finish, she climbs onto the bed beside me. She doesn’t leave even when I rest my sweat-soaked body against hers and fall into a deep, restful sleep.