Bethany had a friend with them, a woman named Moriah. She would probably want Moriah there when the baby was born. In fact, if she had Moriah, she probably wouldn't need him.
That was the real problem, he admitted to himself. Part of him was actually hoping things hadn't worked out for Logan. If they didn't have a place waiting for them with him, then Bethany would still need Jess to take care of her. Or at least he hoped she would. After her outburst on the ship he wasn't so sure anymore.
For so long he had thought of her as being dependent on him. He liked her dependency. It meant that she couldn't leave him, not as long as she needed him to take care of her. When she'd tried to leave him before, it had been like a knife stabbing though his heart. The kind of pain he'd felt when he'd realized Calla was gone…
Once upon a time he'd had Calla in his life. He had taken care of her, they had always been together. He knew his purpose in life. Then he failed Calla and she died. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn't fail Bethany. He would keep her safe and provide for her. But now that he was in the position to do so, she didn't need him.
She could go to Logan, to Moriah, and she would be safe and happy. She wouldn't need him at all.
He shook his head, forcing the thoughts away. He didn't like acknowledging that a part of him actually hoped Logan hadn't left a message because the implications were impossible to consider. It was better to simply check for the message and get it over with.
He touched the keys and the terminal flickered to life. Within seconds he navigated through the main station menu to the traveler’s bulletin board. He typed in his query, and then a message icon appeared before him. Holding his breath, he typed in the keyword, and the message opened.
Bethany woke as Jess slipped under the covers. She gave a sleepy whimper, protesting the cold air he brought with him. His arms came around her, and then he was rolling her to her back. His hand came down to touch her stomach, fingers dancing lightly across the skin.
His head dropped down, lips whispered against the mound of flesh. What was he doing?
He was talking to the baby, she realized. She lay still, not wanting to do anything to disturb him. It was the first time he'd displayed any real interest in the child within her. Against her will, moisture built up in her eyes. He really did care…
He stayed that way for several minutes, whispering and rubbing her stomach. Then he moved back up the length of her body. He kissed her mouth gently and pulled her body against his. She started to speak, to tell him how much it meant that he wanted to communicate with their child. He cut her off, lifting one finger and pressing it against her lips.
"Shhhhhhhh…"
His mouth grazed her chin, smoothing kisses along her jaw and cheek. He kissed her eyelids, her forehead, her ears—each touch soft and light as a whisper of silken fabric. A shiver of sensation wafted through her. How she loved his touch!
His body was warm and naked against hers beneath the covers, bare flesh pressed to bare flesh.
There was a special kind of heat to him, one that called her body in a way that no other source of warmth ever could. She stretched, enjoying the slide of her skin against his. Every hair on his legs, the calluses on his fingers, told the story of their time together. She could remember the first time she'd touched him like this; the excitement she'd felt when she'd seen his body on the floor in the mining complex.
Everything about him was precious to her.
She shifted, rolling into his body and raising one knee to hook his leg with hers. His thigh slipped between hers, and she could feel the rise of his erection against her side.
She ran one hand down his back, feeling the taught muscles of his shoulders as they tapered down to his lean hips. His butt was tight and firm in her grasp. She could feel his strength everywhere she touched him. She trailed her hand back up again, raking him lightly with her nails, reveling in the power she held over him. With that one gesture he stilled, every nerve strung tight in anticipation of her next move.
She froze for several heartbeats, stopping time for a moment. Then she pushed him back, pressing him to one side. He followed her unspoken directions, rolling on to his back.
He laid back his head, closing his eyes.
It seemed a signal of submission to her, as if he were giving himself to her this time. He put his faith in her, his pleasure in her hands. He trusted her.
She took a deep breath, then sat up beside him. She reached out with both hands, gripping each of his shoulders with firm fingers. She squeezed, hoping to ease some of his tension by massaging him.
Letting go in any way was a big step for him and she would do whatever she could to make it easier.
After several minutes of working his shoulders she allowed herself to move lower. Each of his nipples stood taught as she rubbed the strong, smooth muscles beneath them. Squeeze and release.
Squeeze and release. The rhythm mirrored another rhythm, that of their bodies moving together in sex.
She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax into the comfort of the motion. How many times had they moved together like this? Sometimes it was passion, sometimes comfort. At least once in grief.
Now she tried to infuse each touch with the love and need she felt for him, the unity that had come between them in the conception of this child. They were bound together with ties that could never be broken, ties that made them stronger and better. They were more than the sum of their parts.
His flesh grew warm beneath her hands and she felt some of his tension draining away. He looked less tense, too. He had draped one arm up and over his head, his breathing was slow and steady. Even his erection looked less urgent. He was still hard, but without the tightness that she associated with his greatness need. He was content in the moment.
She moved her hands lower, rubbing his upper stomach.
A new tension was building in him now. His muscles were tightening back up. He threw one arm over his eyes, and allowed other hand to grip the sheet. She continued her slow, steady motions and the skin of his fingers grew white with tension. His stomach muscles hardened with every touch, then he gasped.
"I can't take too much more of this."
She laughed, bracing her hands against his chest and swinging one leg over him.
"I'll be the judge of how much you take," she said lightly. He grunted.
She positioned herself so that the head of his erect penis just brushed her opening. Then she lowered herself just a bit, teasing him with her touch. He shuddered and tried to thrust up at her. She pulled away.
"None of that."
He nodded beneath his arm, lips tightening. Bethany paused, waiting for him to settle down.
She lowered herself over him again, once more teasing his most sensitive spot. He shivered, but this time managed to keep still. Encouraged, she pushed down slightly.
She could feel the wide head pushing into her, and for one moment she nearly sat straight down on him. It would be so easy, so fulfilling to simply swallow him with her body. She knew that if she did, his hands would come up around her hips, guiding her movements. They had done this what seemed like a thousand times—he always ended up in control, bringing her to pleasure. She had insisted earlier today that they be partners; this was her chance to express that partnership. His needs would come first. She couldn't just let him take over and do the work for her.
So she gritted her teeth, lowering herself once more. She could feel him slowly sliding up into her body. His length pushed her open, inch by agonizing inch. She paused again, forcing herself to stay controlled. Breathe, she reminded herself. Remember to breathe.