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I lift his arm.
His very big, very heavy, tattooed, and muscular arm.
How can I be thinking of sex at a time like this?
But of course the second I manage to get out of bed, I wake him.
“Going somewhere?”
Shit.
“Ladies’ room. Were you actually sleeping?”
“I took a nap, yeah.”
I wonder how long he’s been here.
We don’t speak again, yet I’m trembling when I reach the bathroom door. I open it, shut the door wishing there was a lock, and do my business. I stay in here a little longer than necessary because I don’t want to face him, not like this.
I splash water on my face and brush my teeth, but the taste of the toothpaste does me in. Nausea roils through me like bubbling lava. I fight it, but the nausea wins.
Soon, I’m on my knees, emptying my stomach.
Great.
But this time, I’m not alone. I can feel him behind me.
“No, Lyam,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Too late.”
I feel his hands at my neck, lifting my hair, when the nausea hits me again.
If I wasn’t horrified by the idea of what he’s seeing or embarrassed to be found like this, I’d think it was almost romantic.
But we’re not there.
When I’m finally done, I rest my head in my hands. Exhausted. I make it to the sink with his help and rinse my mouth. I splash cold water on my face and my clammy neck, then lean against the sink for support. When I turn to go back to bed, I face the wall of his chest.
Wordlessly, he lifts me.
I tense in his arms and open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head.
“If what you’re telling me is the truth, I’ve got a duty to honor that. If you’re carrying my baby, I’ll have to be gentler on you. I won’t let you go, but while you’re pregnant and in my possession, I’ll have to take care of you.”
In my possession.
I’m… in his possession?
I don’t want to be. I want to be free. I want to be alone.
I don’t trust him any more than he trusts me.
Though given how this started, I won’t complain if he’s trying to be gentle. “How long does this last?” he asks, when I’m sliding back into bed.
I look at him in surprise. “Nine months.” He doesn’t know this basic fact?
“No, God,” he says, and I swear I almost see him smile. “I’m not that much of an idiot. The nauseous part. How long are you nauseous?”
