Russian Sleep Project Novels & Stories

A week had passed since Russiana’s emergency surgery, and ever since then I had become twice as protective as before. “Oh, stop that, sweety,” I said the moment I saw her pulling notebooks and pencils from her school bag. “You just had surgery last week. Your doctor said you need complete rest for three months.” Russiana puffed her cheeks and looked at me pitifully. “But I want to study, Ruru. I’m getting bored.” I sighed and crouched in front of her so we were eye level. Her complexion was still pale, and the thought of what almost happened inside that bathroom still sent chills through me.

Wetting her lips with her tongue, she proceeds to say: "I suppose he must be haunting you." I chuckle faintly. "Why are you awake?" I inquired. "Abel isn't here and I can't sleep without him." She proclaims and my brows narrow. "Why can't you sleep without him?" Tatiana inhales deeply, adjusting a strand of hair by her ear before locking eyes with me. Seeking trust, she hesitates before confiding, "I am not comfortable discussing this with anyone other than Abel." She pauses before clarifying, "Suffice it to say, I suffer from insomnia and nightmares. When Abel is not present, I only manage one or two hours of sleep. However, his presence allows me to sleep longer and alleviates the nightmar

"They'll still strike even if we capture Volkov." "Not if we can jam their activation protocols," Dimitri replied. "Project Seventh uses neural implants for remote control and communication. Similar to what Irina had. If we can access their main server at the Moscow facility, I can broadcast a disruption signal that will knock out all implants simultaneously. The Objectives will be on their own... no orders, no coordination, no backup. We can hunt them down individually." Alexei felt pride surge through him. His brother had always been brilliant, but his time with Anya had sharpened his tactical thinking even further. "How long do you need?"

“You hate olives. You pretend you don’t because everyone at his tables eats them with their cocktails. But you always leave at least one on the plate, thinking no one will notice. You lied to me about your favorite book three times before you finally admitted you reread crime thrillers instead of philosophy texts. You cried at animated movies, but didn’t cry once when you told me you were going to fake your own death.” My throat tightened. He wasn’t reading from a file. “And,” he added, voice dropping, “you talk in your sleep, solnishko. In Russian. Even before you remembered a single word when you were awake.” My heart stuttered. “I don’t speak Russian,” I said. His eyes searched mine. “You

Gavril I twirled the ice in my glass, debating whether or not to have another drink. We were still hours away from LAX. Naomi was sleeping in the chair across from me, but I couldn’t shut my body down. Hell, I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since we had returned from the Mariinsky, and my body was starting to feel it. It was funny. Every time I returned to St. Petersburg, I wanted nothing but to leave. But each time I decided to leave, I wanted nothing more than to stay.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He stood up, walked to the window, then turned back slowly with a wicked grin. “I’m just saying... Igor has a bear in Siberia that acts a lot like you. Sleeps all day. Wakes up only if there’s salmon or honey. And bites anyone who dares to talk too early.” “Pascha Romanov,” I hissed, throwing a pillow at him.

Ruslan relieve the pain in his body. The deliciousness of Gabriel's massage coincided with Mr. Ruslan's fatigue, so much so that Mr. Ruslan fell asleep. "Pa? Are you sleeping?" asked Gabriel while looking at Mr. Ruslan's face. But there was no answer, so to make sure Gabriel waved his hand near Mr. Ruslan's face. The results showed that Mr. Ruslan was fast asleep. "I think papa is really asleep, what an opportunity," Gabriel muttered to himself.

The room was still. The sheets smelled like warmth and him. Diana turned in her sleep, her skin still sensitive from the sex they had some hours before. She reached out, expecting to touch him, but the space beside her was empty. The silence wasn’t silent anymore. Somewhere in the room, there was a voice, low, sharp, speaking in a language she didn’t understand but had come to recognize. Russian. She stirred, brushing the blanket aside and sitting up slowly. Her body ached, the kind of ache that came from both pleasure and exhaustion.

I called out,my voice still gruff with sleep but there was no answer. She hadn’t slept well last night—even being curled up to me, she had found it difficult to fall asleep. I hadn’t asked questions or prodded to know what the nightmares were about but i could tell that they upset her. I’d stayed with her, whispering words of comfort in Russian until she drifted asleep, her fingers still holding me for comfort.

An incomprehensible tapping sound shattered my sleep. It felt as though a squad of tiny men were racing somewhere nearby, performing a furious tap dance as they ran. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Ruslan. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with a laptop balanced on his knees, his fingers flying across the keyboard at incredible speed—producing that very sound. “You’re awake,” he said without looking up. As I pushed myself upright, the pajamas I was wearing immediately caught my attention. When had I changed?