It almost leaves my lips, but Idris leans in and kisses me. The words get stuck in my throat.
His hand moves to my waist, guiding me back down to the pillows. He follows it with another kiss, and the question I meant to ask out loud becomes a quiet thought. Truly, all thoughts disappear at the soft feel of his lips pressing deeper and deeper.
“Em,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Let me take care of you.”
I don’t answer. My attention has narrowed to the heat of his hand at my waist and the fact that my pulse is spiking, not from distress as it has all day, but from pleasure.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmurs. “Just let me lead.”
His next kisses hitch my breath. It comes out uneven, though I try to catch the rhythm of his. I realize belatedly that his breaths are more erratic than mine.
By the time his hand slides along my thigh under the blanket, coaxing me closer to him, my body fits easily under his.
My thoughts narrow to the feeling of his fingers slipping inside me. He moves with gentleness, guiding me into motion. Heat pulls low in my abdomen. My breath turns heavy. My hand finds his shoulder.
The rest is a blur of pressure and warmth, and the sound of him whispering my name. And when my body trembles and the tension finally releases, Idris pulls me close, one arm around my waist, his forehead resting against my temple.
His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Sleep, Em. I’ll be right here.”
Sleep comes quickly after, when I feel this regulated around Idris, and when I feel his fingers tap tenderly at my beating heart.
12
Em
The alarm on the nightstand rings.
That’s odd. I usually wake up beforehand.
Without opening my eyes, I reach blindly for the snooze button. My hand finds it easily. Muscle memory, I suppose.
After that, I bring my arm to rest on my middle. I keep my eyes closed and wait for the ache in my abdomen that tells me the bed might be empty this morning once more.
That last thought before sleep last night was that Idris might be called away, that I might wake up alone again, and my body prepares for that reality.
Then I hear him breathe. A slow inhale beside me. The mattress dips as he moves closer. An arm slides over my own.
Soft lips brush my forehead. “Are you awake, Em?” he whispers. “Or should I let you sleep in?”
“I’m awake,” I answer.
I feel the corners of my lips lift, small yet unstoppable. I open my eyes. His handsome face is right by me. I take in his beautiful tan skin, his sharp jawline, and his objectively attractive symmetry. Familiar and comforting.
“I’d like to go about my day,” I tell him.
His smile reaches his eyes. The tension I saw in them yesterday seems less prominent now. “I’ll join you,” he says.
We move through our routine. We shower together, where the water is warm, but Idris is warmer. We eat together, but he insists I drink more ginger tea for my nausea. By the third bite of toast he tells me to eat, I tell him my stomach can’t handle more. He chuckles, mumbling something about making sure I eat more later.
We also walk the corridor together toward the captain’s room. His usual long strides match my shorter ones. When the ship tilts a little, he puts his hand on the curve of my back. I don’t need it for balance, but my body registers the contact and files it under safety all the same.
By the time we step into the captain’s room, my heart rate has almost returned to normal.
But then I spot Darius. There’s something different about him today. Though, there’s no speakerphone blinking green. No tube or metal component in his hands. In the central table, however, is a thick stack of printouts he’s looming over.
He stands with his arms crossed over his chest. His wide jaw’s clenched. He doesn’t look like he’s slept.
My mind notes the tells. Darius’ usual sun-kissed skin is slightly sallow under his eyes. There’s a fine tremor in his fingers resting near his elbows. Micro-delays between his blinks.
