Page 71 of Reluctantly Abducted
I carefully pull out, noting his slight wince, and move to lie beside him. Immediately, he turns toward me, an arm draping across my chest in a gesture that seems both possessive and vulnerable.
"Are you okay?" I ask, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
"I feel..." he starts, then pauses, seeming to search for the right words. "Incredible. Connected to you in a way I didn't know was possible." His hand traces patterns on my chest, matching the glow beneath his skin. "Words aren't enough."
I smile, pressing a kiss to his temple. "We should clean up," I suggest, though I make no move to leave the bed.
"Not yet," he says, his arm tightening slightly around me. "I want to stay like this a little longer."
"As long as you want," I tell him, wrapping my arm around him in return.
We lie together in comfortable silence, his bioluminescence gradually settling into a gentle, steady glow that pulses in time with his heartbeat. It's hypnotic, soothing, and I find myself matching my breathing to its rhythm.
"Owen?" he says after a while, his voice soft.
"Mm?"
"Thank you."
The simple words carry a weight that makes my chest tighten. "For what?"
"For coming back," he says, his face pressed against my shoulder. "For this."
"Always," I promise, knowing as I say it that I mean it beyond this moment, beyond this room.
As Ry's breathing gradually evens out into sleep, I find myself watching the patterns of light beneath his skin. Even in unconsciousness, they continue to shift and flow, like a visual representation of dreams.
I wonder if he's dreaming of me. Of us. Of the possibility that exists within these seventy-two hours.
I hope so. Because I'm already certain that when our time is up, I won't be ready to say goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ry'eth
I wake before Owen does, his arm still draped heavily across my waist, his breath warm against my neck. For several minutes, I simply lie there, cataloging sensations. The pleasant ache in my body. The lingering traces of his touch on my skin. The memory of last night still vivid enough to send small pulses of light rippling beneath my skin.
It's an unusual experience for me, this desire to remain still and simply... feel. Typically, I wake and immediately begin my day—no lingering, no indulgence in the comfort of bed. Efficiency has always been my priority.
But this morning, I find myself reluctant to move, to break the connection with Owen's sleeping form. His face is relaxed in sleep, softer somehow, the slight furrow that often appears between his brows when he's thinking completely smoothed away. I study him with the same attention I would give a rare specimen, memorizing details I hadn't noticed before. The faint scar at his temple. The exact pattern of stubble along his jaw. The way his eyelashes rest against his cheeks.
Eventually, though, I carefully extract myself from his embrace, moving slowly to avoid waking him. He stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible before settling back into sleep. I stand beside the bed for a moment, watching him, struck by how right he looks there, in my personal space that has never before contained anyone else.
I consider getting fully dressed—my standard protocol upon waking—but instead find myself reaching only for a pair of loose pants, leaving my chest bare. It's a small deviation from routine, but it feels significant somehow. Less formal. More... intimate.
The ship's environmental controls adjust automatically to my movement through the corridors, lights brightening slightly along my path to the nutrition center. Once there, I instruct the synthesizer to produce the beverage Owen introduced me to during his previous stay—hot chocolate. The rich, sweet scent fills the air as the dark liquid pours into a mug.
I take a sip, closing my eyes briefly at the sensation. Sweet but not cloying, with a complexity of flavor that still surprises me. A completely unnecessary indulgence that I have, nevertheless, found myself craving since Owen's departure.
Rather than returning to my quarters, I make my way to the hydration chamber. The large pool that dominates the space glows softly with the mineral-rich water that Nereidans require for optimal health. I set my mug on the edge and activate the environmental controls, adjusting the atmospheric composition to a balance comfortable for both human and Nereidan physiologies.
I step out of my pants and slide into the water, the familiar embrace of it welcoming and soothing. My skin responds immediately, the bioluminescence brightening slightly as the minerals in the water are absorbed through my pores. I float on my back, looking up at the ceiling, my thoughts drifting.
Last night was... I search for the appropriate terminology and find scientific precision inadequate. Transformative, perhaps. Not just physically, though that aspect was certainly significant. Something deeper changed as well, some shift in my understanding of connection that I'm still processing.
I've never been comfortable with imprecision, with the messiness of emotional responses that can't be quantified or measured. Yet here I am, floating in a hydration pool, attempting to analyze something that defies analysis.
"There you are."
