Page 60 of Storm

The commander stands, now set on a task. Worry slices his features, but he nods. “At least let me put you in bed.”

“No. If I move, it’ll get worse. Just get me the water, please.” My eyes plead with him to leave me, to do as I ask. Releasing my hand, he stalks out of his office, a man on a mission. His determination is to be admired.

It worked. I didn’t think it would be so easy. I thought he’d see right through my falsehood.

When I hear footsteps descending the stairs, I slide as stealthily as possible off his desk and mouth “What the fuck am I doing?” at the computer screen, my reflection mirroring me back. I’ve seen Melek use this thing hundreds of times. It can’t be that hard. Jiggling the clicking contraption, the screen opens, asking for a p-a-s-s-w-o-r-d.

This is where my lack of reading over the past twelve years stumps me. It takes me a few moments for the word to fully click. Password.

Shit, what could his password be? Sunny’s birthday? From what I know of the commander now, I have no doubt he would use something sentimental. I type in every date of some significance, coming up empty. Sunny’s birth date. Our wedding date. Some obscure name combinations. None of it works.

What could this man possibly have as his password? The only thing I know he loves more than Halo is Sunny. On that thought, one word endures at the forefront of my mind, and I give it a try. “S-T-O-R-M.” Saying the letters aloud feels like I’m imprinting them in my memory. Playing the alphabet game in the dirt outside with Sunny is different from seeing them here, highlighted by a luminosity.

The computer springs to life. I stiffen, the screen opening page after page. My mind wants to focus on the fact that Melek used my real name as his password—what the hell—but I don’t have time.

Instead, I quickly scan the documents my husband already has open on his screen. Some words are unfamiliar to me, however, one catches my eye, with the title O-p-er-a—tion New Halo. A diagram sits underneath the title with an accompaniment of numbers I don’t understand, followed by a title, bolded in red.

“Nu… Nu—clear f—all—out.” It only serves to confuse me. This isn’t a familiar word to me. I store it away for later, sensing it might be important.

From outside the study comes a creak—a sound well known in our household, a signal someone has stepped onto the wooden boards on the halfway mark of the stairs. My eyes dart from the screen to the door, terror gripping me as I realise my mistake. I have no idea how to get back to the password screen. Idiot, I scold myself.

Clicking back on the first page that had originally popped up, I leave behind the computer, rushing over to the doorframe, plastering my hand to the wall, pretending to hold myself up. For added effect, I bend over my knees. “Melek.” I wheeze.

Coming up the last stair, he spots me. “Do you need the doctor?”

Raising my head, I place my whole form in the doorframe so he can’t see that his computer is very much awake. “Do you have the water?”

My husband rushes over, and I grip onto his forearm as he hands me the water. I scull the cool liquid.

Through my eyes, I beg, Please don’t go into that room. Please stay with me. I say, “Can you massage my stomach? It sometimes helps.” Say yes. Please say yes.

Melek scoops me up on a yelp. Unable to take the commander out of the man, he locks the door behind us before walking swiftly towards our bedroom. Crisis averted. I sink further into him.

In our room, he gently places me on my feet, instructing me to raise my arms. Lifting the hem of my nightdress, he pulls it over my head, revealing mostly bare skin underneath, except for my underwear.

Seeing how his mood darkens, I warn him, “Don’t get any ideas. I need your hands, not your cock, right now.”

One side of his mouth lifts in a sneer. A flash of needy heat alights my core at the sight of this tall, muscular man—my husband—wanting to claim me. Continuing to play the part, I rub the imaginary pain in my sternum.

Pulling himself out of a daze, he steps back and scrubs at his chin, taking me in. “Sorry. I cannot help my default response at seeing you naked.” He’s apologised to me twice tonight. This is unprecedented behaviour.

I lean back on our bed. “Your default response being savage beast?”

His eyes light up. “Yes, well…” My husband licks his lips and hunts me down with increasing intensity. “It’s hard for me to concentrate when…” As he leans over the bed, fully clothed in his black business attire, I melt.

“When what?” My fingers dig into the sheets beneath me, keeping my body still.

“When I have the most beautiful woman in all of the worlds in my bed every night, and I get to call her my wife.” There goes my stupid heart again—erratic, uncharted territory. It’s frightening in the most exhilarating way.

I hurt for real this time, rubbing just underneath my breasts, fully exposed to every inch of him. Pushing my hand aside, he begins his job of massaging me. Why is this bastard making all these earth-rocking declarations tonight? If I kneed him in the dick, surely, that’d make me feel better, less heartbreakingly sappy. Most likely, that’ll earn me a spanking. Not the worst idea I’ve had.

Maybe he can feel the separation I need between us to leave with the fae? Anything on his end would be purely a hunch, though. Right?

Broad firm strokes dig at my knots and taut tendons. I languish in his capable hold. Of course, his massages are exceptional. He plays every part of me like he’s done it a million times before. This man is always one step ahead. He can sense things before I need them. It’s always been this carnal dance with us.

He curves his hands around my breasts, avoiding my tender nipples on purpose. I almost beg him to go back. Up, up, up. Just a little bit higher. Instead, he moves down, gliding calloused fighting hands over my extended stomach. With my eyes automatically closing, I hear his gruff cadence, warm breath lingering over my skin. “Be gentle with your mama, Phoenix.”

Damn him. Why can’t he go back to the Melek of before, ignoring me except for our nightly bedroom brawl? Desperate to hold back tears, I bite my tongue. He didn’t just call our baby Phoenix. He didn’t do that. It was my imagination. Kissing the stretch marks crawling up the sides of my stomach, our baby kicks him square in the face. I smile through the bubbling of suffering. Finally. Someone else who is sick of Melek’s shit.