She knows he's there, right behind her, with his hand raised in indecision as to whether he should actually touch her as she leans over the side of the ship.
She's taken to letting the salty wind soothe her troubles and muss her hair, rather than skulk below decks or wallow aimlessly and alienate the closest thing she's ever had to a family.
She says nothing to him, knowing as she does that he will merely turn away and head back over to help Gunnar chart their course on the maps within another moment or two.
She is not surprised when his touch never comes. She does not glance back over her shoulder, just watches the waves roll and thinks about amber eyes.
She knows she should stop herself, stop this addiction, but she can't. This is why it's an addiction, because it feels insurmountable to overcome, her need for him is like the greatest high when met and rock-bottom when ignored.
How she hates being ignored.
She rolls the empty barrel she is pushing along into the store room, knowing he is right behind her. His familiar hands come around her waist, pulling her back against his broad chest as he shuts the door behind them with his heel.
She wants to tell him no, scream that he can't have her and Nala – or any other woman he fancies, for that matter! – but the way he makes her feel, the heights he takes her body to, and the words he whispers to her when they are alone, just two heated bodies and mingling breaths...
Sinbad tells her he has to be quick because Gunnar needs him to take over at the helm. She is all too happy to oblige and get an even faster fix.
When they are done, their sticky and rushed fumbling resulting in flushed cheeks and rumpled clothing, he gives her a grin and rushes off in his usual manner, like a boy running home from school.
She makes to follow his example, going back to her duties, when she is arrested on her way out of the store room door by dark brown, almost black eyes. Those two orbs tell her he knows they were not putting away barrels.
She hates the grimy feeling that comes over her as she averts her gaze and walks away.
He's been trying to catch her gaze all day, but he has been unsuccessful. This is largely due to the fact that she is very good at playing this particular type of game and she has never lost before.
However, after supper has been served by Cook and eaten voraciously by the crew after a rather trying day at sea, she unwittingly gives him a moment to catch her.
Before now, at night, she has scampered off into the stern of the ship to meet with Sinbad, but she can't bring herself to do so again this night. Tonight she stays above decks and takes her place on the starboard side, leaning over the wooden rail and watching the moonlight play off of the rippling sea.
She is so lost in her thoughts that she does not know he is next to her until she turns slightly, watching a cresting wave before inadvertently glancing over to look into his dark eyes.
She's always thought it strange, ever since she's really grown to known them both, that Sinbad should be so reckless and haunted but have such bright eyes, and Anwar to be so pure and noble but have such black, piercing depths.
It's soulfulness, she knows, that is the difference between them, and Anwar's eyes make her want to blurt all her deepest sins. But she does not.
Instead she turns away, inwardly cursing herself for losing the stupid game.
"Lovely night."
She can't stop her laugh, even though she covers her mouth with her fingers. She glances over to see his eyes are shut and his face is twisted in something like embarrassment and self-chastisement. She assumes it's because this is the first time he's managed to really build up the courage to talk to her outside of their group, and he comments on the weather.
She wants to leave, taking advantage of his distraction, but another part of her wants to stay.
She is torn, and her indecision gives him another opportunity.
"I notice you're...not downstairs."
A nice way to put it, she thinks – most men would have just come out with it and substituted 'not downstairs' for 'not spreading your legs for Sinbad.' But then most men would not care at all that she is so freely giving it up to the reckless thief from Basra – most men would try to get a piece for themselves.
But Anwar is not like most men. Not at all.
She thinks it's why he scares her so much. She doesn't know what he will do next.
His fingers dither near hers on the railing. "You can... I'm always here. For talking."
She rolls her eyes and pushes away from the side of the ship, her amusement fading as quickly as it had come.
He had to emphasise the talking, like she only has one thing on her mind and he doesn't want it. He doesn't want her.
And that's fine, because she doesn't want him. She just doesn't like knowing how badly he thinks of her and what she does in her spare time.
She pretends it doesn't hurt to be looked down on.
She's been crying all day in Nala's quarters after locking herself in. She hadn't expected it, they had been so careful, and she had been so sure she was barren, as dead and unfertile down there as the land she had come from before being sold by her family.
Nala had discovered her first, the locked doors indicating something was wrong, but she had been unable to coax Rina out and had then left it to Gunnar, before hopping the ship.
Sinbad and Cook had left for supplies an hour or so before Nala had come across the locked doors, when they had pulled into port. Anwar had left soon after.
She can still hear Gunnar outside, sitting heavily against the door she had barricaded with the heavy table earlier. He stopped talking to her an hour ago, stopped trying to get her to tell him what was wrong, but he hasn't given up.
He never seems to give up. She hates it sometimes, but today? Well, it just makes her cry harder.
With her back against the wall of the ship and her knees pulled up to her chest, she sobs into her wrist and tries to choke back the tremors shaking her body.
She's so late – so terribly, terribly late – and when she threw up... She feels nauseous even now at the thought that there could be a child growing inside her, a little piece of her and Sinbad...and, Gods, it's not the right time. She will not be a good mother, she knows this, and Sinbad will be a horrible father, because she knows he does not love her. How will he love their child if he cannot love its mother?
And then there's the sailing, the adventures, and all the other things she doesn't want to give up but the things she will have to. She may be a wretch and a horrible parent, but she will never knowingly kill her own child. She can't bear the thought of throwing a baby away the way her parents did to her.
She knows instantly when he's arrived back on the ship. She hears movement, footsteps, across the deck above her head, and the silence that has reigned for so long is shattered as Anwar makes his way below decks.
"What's wrong?"
She watches through the slim slits of the shutters as he comes about the corner, hair tousled from the breeze coming off of the sea and dark eyes on Gunnar, who is merely a large black shadow against the bottom of the door.
She hears the blond giant shift. "She's been in there for hours. I can't get her out."
"Who?" Anwar frowns. "Nala?"
"No. Rina."
And like that, his expression transforms from curiosity to worry and his eyes try to find hers through the slim gaps in the shutters, but the room she is in is unlit and he can't find her. He looks panicked. It puzzles her.
"Rina?"
"She won't answer," Gunnar sighs.
"Well, do you know what's wrong?" Anwar asks, stepping up to the door and giving it a shove.
The doors do not move. She hears Gunnar sigh again.
"I saw her, earlier – she was ill."
"Ill?"
"Sick. Vomiting. I thought she might have just needed to sleep, but now..."
Rina bites her hand to stop her crying. She hadn't known she had been seen.
When she glances up again, through her tears, she sees something pass over Anwar's face that she can't quite place. There is realisation there in his eyes, and displeasure in the set of his mouth, but there is also worry, for her, and she watches as he screws his eyes closed and sighs.
He comes closer to the doors, until she can only see his shadow, tall beside Gunnar's seated form. His voice, when it comes, is just a whisper.
"Rina. Let me in. You..." Even quieter, he murmurs, "You know I can help you."
He's a doctor, yes, but there's a stubborn part of her that doesn't want to confirm the existence of her child and an even bigger part of her that doesn't want Anwar anywhere near it. She is ashamed enough as it is, and she doesn't need to feel worse.
He knocks gently. "Fine, just...come to the door. Please."
Gunnar's shadow shifts and grows. "I'll be...above."
He leaves, his footsteps sounding heavily against the wooden stairs, and then it is just Anwar and her.
Reluctantly, she slips over to the door, quiet as anything, and perches on the edge of the table.
"I'm here," she says, and she looks through the shutter to see Anwar's eyebrows rise, as if he hadn't expected her to reply at all.
"Rina?" His brow then instantly furrows, his eyes searching for hers in the dark. "Is what Gunnar said true? Are you ill?"
She bites her lip. "I think... I think I'm..."
He closes his eyes tightly and releases a short breath through his nose. "Right."
"I didn't know," she whispers.
"Most women don't. It's common." He seems to force himself to say the next words to leave his mouth. "How long since you and...Sinbad..."
"Weeks."
He rubs his eyebrow, eyes opening slowly. "And how late–"
"Days."
"There's..." Anwar's eyes try to find hers through the shutters again, but his search is fruitless. "There's not much I can do, except give you some remedies for the coming months and advise that you...you go ashore."
Her face crumples and she cannot stifle her sudden sob quickly enough. Anwar hears it, and his face becomes panicked. He grasps at the shutters, shaking the door.
"Rina, please, open the door. I know you love him, but you don't have to leave him. We could work something out, to do with the curse, and you two could... I don't know! Please, just let me help you."
She is crying heartily now, sucking in harsh breaths between sobs and trying not to open up to the one man who wants her to, especially not when she is so vulnerable. But she can't help it.
"I don't love him," she gasps. "I don't...a-and I'm terrified."
Suddenly, Anwar is pushing and the door is moving and...Rina isn't stopping him. But he doesn't get far, only an inch or two but enough to have her decide whether she wants to let him in or not.
She gets off of the table, but doesn't do much else. Anwar, it seems, is more determined than both Nala and Gunnar to get to her, and he shoves at the door until the table scrapes noisily across the floor and he can just barely get inside the room.
She sees him blink a few times, his eyes adjusting to the dark, before he sees her and immediately takes her into his warm arms. He is surprisingly gentle, and soft, and he smells like a bakery.
Rina clings to his white robes, her chest heaving once more. His hands hold her to him, making soothing motions as he mutters against the top of her head.
"It's alright. We'll find a way. You have me."
Absently, she wonders at the difference between the man who had been so nervous around her before, unable to talk to her, and the man who now holds her, telling her that it's alright to be afraid and that he'll help her, even if it means taking himself off of the Providence as well.
He tells her ridiculous things as they stand there in the dark, embracing – things like he bought her a tart from the bakery in town to ensure a few moments of her time, and that he went for a walk on the cliffs to think about her, and that he decided he would tell her he likes her, more than a crewmate, and that he hates seeing her scurrying from the storeroom because it reminds him of his father's extra-marital 'friendships'.
In that moment, alone with him and her tears being dried on his shoulder, she doesn't know why she's been giving him such a hard time, or denying him so much.
"It's alright," he tells her again, when both of them become overwhelmed once more. "It's alright."
She sits cross-legged on her perch at the bow of the ship as the Providence cuts through the choppy, sunlit water. She darns the things on the ship that need darning with precision, avoiding her thoughts.
They sneak up on her anyway.
She thinks about Sinbad, his easy smile, and Anwar, his eyes when she told him in hushed tones about her sudden relief the night before.
She had awoken on her hastily put together pallet to find her thighs sticky with blood and had wept with relief. No one had been any the wiser, not of her initial scare three days previous or her salvation from that fantasy child.
Sinbad had been oblivious, going about his usual routine and trying to sneak her away a few times, but Anwar had been there, at her side, day in and day out, helping her. He had made excuses for her, kept her calm and sane, and when she had found the blood he had been...well, she had rushed off before he could say much, but she knew he was relieved.
Now she merely sits and thinks about the change in her hastily-built friendship with Anwar and the difference in her crumbling one with Sinbad.
It's not his fault, she knows. Sinbad is a free spirit, and he's never promised her anything – she was quite happy to be around his easy nature and quick wit, and even happier to move into those store room visits.
'Was' being the operative word, of course.
Because now, looking at Sinbad as he goes about making repairs to the deck and laughing with Gunnar, she doesn't feel the endless hunger she felt for him before. She doesn't even feel that insatiable heat in her belly or between her thighs.
No, she realises that Sinbad isn't the one for her. And not in the sense that he's not her knight in shining armour, because he's saved her life a few times and she's sure he'll save her a few more, but in the sense that all those men she's had (Sinbad included) used to be what she wanted.
She's changed in a matter of days, and her outlook is different now. She doesn't want the casual, flimsy thing she's been doing for most of her life, avoiding commitment and affection like the plague.
Rina has finally realised from the family she has made with the crew that commitment is not so terrifying, and love and loyalty do not make you weak, they make you stronger.
And so she sews, and when Anwar appears at the top of the stairs across the deck and catches her eye, she smiles for what feels like the first time in her twenty-two years of life.
Her smile seems to stun him, catching him off-guard, and she laughs as his distraction leads to an accident with a warped plank and a bucket of tar.
She is inwardly thrilled she can affect him so much, and she smiles as she goes back to her sewing, listening to Cook berate Anwar for being the most careless healer he's ever known.
They have just pulled into port for the first time since Rina had her phantom child, and she is so eager to be off of the Providence and on land once more, she jumps ship and rushes off into the sunny, packed market stalls without a word to the others.
Scents of spices and breads and fruits fill her head until she is dizzy, but she doesn't steal a single one of the delectable treats gracing the busy stalls surrounding her.
At least, not yet.
She takes in the dusty streets, the peeling signs swinging above her head, the little alleys that make her feel at home, and the shopkeepers around the town, shouting their glittering wares.
Her fingers itch when she sees a pair of golden earrings or a precious stone set into a fine ring, but they are not what she wants.
Her skirts swish about her bare legs as she goes from place to place, her bejewelled fingers excitedly twist the hem of her thin vest, and her bright eyes, outlined in dark green, flick to and fro.
Eventually, she spies the sort of shop she wants, the sort she has never entered in her life nor had the interest to. The shop she gingerly sets foot in is a bookshop, full of tomes and scrolls and leather-bound journals, and her palms sweat at the knowledge that surrounds her.
The ageing proprietor eyes her warily from where he stands behind a long, polished counter. He looks down his beaky nose at her.
"And how can I help you?"
She hates these types – the ones that think they're better than her and everyone else, the ones that can afford a shop and not have to work out under the sun in the market – but he has what she wants.
For a fraction of a moment, she considers stealing from him, just to teach him a lesson in manners, but the heavy purse around her neck and nestled safely between her breasts is burning a hole right through her chest.
Rina presses her hands to the shining counter and stands up straight, looking him right in the eye like she isn't a clear foot shorter than him.
"I'd like to look at your medical journals, please," she says politely, though her teeth are very nearly gritted.
Reluctantly, he reaches under the counter and pulls out three thick scrolls and two dusty books. She dismisses the books and points at the scrolls.
The man undoes the binding like the ribbon is made of pure gold, before spreading open the parchment. There are lots of diagrams and blocks of scrawled, spidery handwriting, and though she hasn't a clue what she's really looking for, she doesn't remember seeing Anwar with any text like this.
"I'll take it."
The man sniffs, as if preparing to deny her, but stops himself in his tracks when she pulls her purse over her head and takes out a few gold coins. Now he has suitably estimated her wealth – no matter how illegal the gain of such money was – he is all too happy to sell her all three of the scrolls for the gold she has put forth.
Rina leaves with a sense of satisfaction as she carefully handles the scrolls beneath her arm. She wonders, as she takes the longest route back through the market and to the docks, whether everyone feels this sort of good wellbeing when they pay for things.
And though she knows she will never renounce her fox-like ways, she thinks Anwar might appreciate her honest approach to buying him gifts.
Rina dawdles in the market, slipping a couple of apples and a handful of nuts into her skirt pocket, before returning to the Providence for the prearranged time for supper.
She delicately arranges the scrolls to one side of the map table where Anwar spends so much of his time, before moving below decks to help Cook and allowing herself a quick grin at Anwar's imagined reaction to her gifts.
Cook is in full swing in the galley when she descends the steps, and he doesn't hesitate to show her all the new spices he bought today in the market. They amuse themselves with trying them and adding them to the stew for supper.
Rina chops, Cook stirs and talks, and soon enough she hears the trampling of the rest of the crew above their heads, back from port.
They sit around a fire Nala has built and try not to comment on the woodpile's wonky nature, but Sinbad can't resist and soon enough they are all laughing as they eat their supper. The late evening turns to night and slowly, one by one, the crew head off to rest in their pallets and hammocks.
Rina and Anwar have the watch tonight, and she wonders if one of them inadvertently engineered it, or whether it's just fate.
They sit by the dying fire, side by side, and Rina pulls out her stolen spoils from the market to share.
Anwar smiles down at the shiny apple, before taking it from her proffered hand with murmured thanks and biting into it. The crisp sound his teeth make as they bite into the fruit draws her attention toward his mouth.
She is unashamed to admit that it's not the first time she has imagined what it would be like to kiss him. He has those sort of lips that look intensely inviting and soft, and Rina isn't immune to the draw of the soft, dark hair across his lip and jaw.
She stealthily watches his hair lazily flick about his face in the sudden, cool breeze off of the water, and her fingers itch to touch.
But there's something beyond the physical, something strange and unfamiliar, intangible, and she thinks it might be trust, and respect, and a whole other tangle of feelings and emotions that she's never really tapped into before.
They share the nuts once they've polished off the apples, and then there is quiet except for the wind and the water and the creaking of the ship against the dock.
Anwar is the first to speak. "Did you have a good day?"
She smiles, because he's still rubbish at starting a conversation with her, even after all they've talked about and been through.
Rina nods and throws him a line. "It was nice. What about you?"
"It was good." He gives her that half-shy smile. "Might have been nicer if we looked around together, though."
Anwar looks into the low fire, but she feels as if his eyes are on her.
"I had things to do," she tells him, glancing over to the map table where her presents still sit. "Maybe we should–"
She is about to suggest they look at the maps just so she can get him over there, when Anwar suddenly turns his head and kisses her.
His lips shock her into stillness and silence, but his kiss and his soft touch to her neck and jaw drive her nerves wild with frenzied anticipation and semi-fulfilment.
He pulls her close with his arm around her waist, and the gentle jolt spurs her into action, making her breathe into his embrace and kiss him back just as softly.
He smells clean and fresh and he feels so solid, so warm, under her questing hands. Her fingers climb his chest, causing his breathing to falter, and when her tongue gently touches his, past his soft and parted lips, he makes a noise that sets her bones alight.
She wants to climb atop him and kiss him stupid, digging her slim fingers into his unruly, dark curls, but she knows that she is not yet ready to go barrelling into the physical side of what she feels for him just yet. She doubts his readiness as well.
Despite the feelings his gentle touch and exciting kiss evoke, she pulls away, kissing him one last time.
Their eyes both open at the same moment, and his, though a little glazed, show his confusion, as well as a little hurt.
Rina presses her hand to his cheek, breathing a laugh. "That was wonderful."
His lip curls upwards at one corner, and he asks in a murmur, "Really?"
"Of course." She nods. "Surely you've been told how soft and warm your mouth is before? It really is wonderful."
She has to lean in and steal another kiss from his slightly parted lips, before licking her own and tasting warmth and apple. His mouth really is enticing.
He is slightly breathless when she is finished with him, his hands curling around her waist.
"Well..."
His expression confuses her, so she asks, "You haven't been told? That's a crime."
Anwar looks almost dazed by her mere presence, let alone their embrace, and his sudden wince seems completely unintentional.
"Er...well, I was so busy with school and...other things, that I never really..." He closes his eyes for a moment, before opening them a fraction, his wince growing deeper. "I never really..."
She looks at him expectantly, and then it hits her without him having to say another thing. She feels her eyes widen a fraction.
"You've never had sex?" She slides her fingers down his neck and just under the split in his white shirt, making him shiver. "Unfortunately, I can believe that."
He breathes out a half-laugh, his wince lessening, before telling her softly, "Rina, I've never even kissed a woman before you."
She feels like scratching her head. "How can that be?"
"I've always been very studious– Oh, yes, laugh away," he grumbles, but he's smiling.
She does laugh, snickering softly at him thinking he has to tell her he's studious, as she runs one hand through the soft, tempting hair at the nape of his neck. He restrains a groan as her nails scratch against his skin lightly, and the noise reverberates deep within her.
"I've just never met the right woman, always had better things to do, but now..." His smile is soft, his eyes even softer. "I've met you, Rina, and I live with you, and I've seen you at your worst and best, and...and I can't tell you how much I..."
She halts him with an apologetic wince and her thumb against his lips. "Too soon."
"Of course." He laughs and leans in to kiss her cheek. "I'll be here. Waiting."
Rina sighs and leaves his arms, heading over to her usual perch by the wheel. Anwar watches her take her seat, cross-legged, at the junction of the two wooden rails, and she notices how soft his eyes still are as they linger on her.
She can't help the smirk that curls her lips. "Why don't you go to your nest of maps, lover boy."
He shakes his head, smiling, and goes to the table. His brow creases as his eyes find her presents, and his fingers stroke the curled lengths of parchment. He opens the scrolls, and his face is like a boy's, full of joy and wonder.
"You're welcome," she says nonchalantly, picking at her nails.
"You..." His head snaps up, his mouth opening and closing. "You got me these?"
"Paid for them and everything," she sighs, feigning disinterest even as her happiness ascends at his obvious glee.
He drops down into his chair as if she's told him she's pregnant again, but the firelight illuminates the gleam in his eyes.
"Thanks," Anwar tells her sincerely. "Thank you, Rina."
"Least I could do," she replies just loud enough for him to hear, before turning to gaze out at the open sea and the lights of the town, the conversation effectively over.
She hears a blissful sigh come from him and can't help but smile to herself.
"So, you and Anwar."
Another difference, if she really cared to note it, between Sinbad and Anwar is the latter of them has tact. Sinbad goes in for the kill, conversationally, as easily as a bird of prey might.
She doesn't bother opening her eyes and looking at Sinbad from where she is escaping the hot morning sun in Cook's hammock, lying in the shade beneath the stairs. Her arm covers her face, staving off her previous headache, and she is quite certain she will not move, not even for this conversation.
"It's too hot," she says.
This does not deter him.
"Do I have to drag it out of you?"
Rina glances at him from beneath her arm. He doesn't look angry, or upset, in fact he looks slightly resigned and extremely calm.
She takes her arm from her face and places it across her stomach with the other. She looks at him narrowly.
"Go on, then."
"You. Anwar," Sinbad reiterates. "Come on."
She gives a short sigh. "Yes."
"How?"
"It's a surprisingly long story." She rubs her hand over her face. "The short version is...he was there for me – he is there for me – and I...well, I'm sorry I didn't tell you before now."
He leans against the hammock, eyeing her gently. "Why didn't you?"
"You and I, we had...something short, something different, and I never knew Anwar and I could be so... I...didn't know he meant so much. To me," she finishes shortly.
Sinbad gives her a slow smile. "We were brilliant."
She watches him, silent. He continues.
"But you and him? I've never seen you look at anyone like you look at him." Sinbad seems wistful now. "I haven't really seen love up-close before. It's sort of...mesmerising."
Rina gives a soft half-snort and goes back to her shady nap. Sinbad does not give in.
"I'll always look out for you, you know," he tells her, leaning in close to surprise her with a kiss to her cheek. "I don't hold this against you."
She glances at him through her lashes. He can be oblivious sometimes, and unthinking, and maybe he's not the right man for her, but he's still so very good at heart, and she gives him a strong smile for it.
"Go on. We've done enough talking," Rina says. "I can hear Cook calling for you."
She can't, and Sinbad knows it. He smiles and shakes the hammock.
"Lazy!" He teases, before striding off the way he came, back up the stairs.
When Rina is once again settled, another voice surprises her.
"You and Sinbad?"
She sighs and looks at Anwar from beneath her wrist. "We were talking."
"I know," he says, stepping closer. "I heard."
"Good," Rina grunts, covering her eyes once more. "Then I don't need to explain anything to you."
She listens to his silence for a moment, before she hears him moving closer and feels the hammock shift with the added weight of his resting arms. His mouth, when he speaks, is surprisingly close to her ear, and the gentle touch of his lips makes her tingle.
"You didn't deny it, what he said, about us being in love."
She glances from underneath her arm to see his eyes are dark and his gaze is heavy. He looks like he wants to devour her whole.
"I know," is the only reply she can give.
Because she's not sure what she feels is necessarily love, but it's so intense and pleasant that she can't say for certain that it's not.
He smiles against her ear, murmuring, "I don't not love you, either."
She can't help but laugh and hold his face to hers.
"That's beautiful."
"I know. I worked on it for hours."
They share breathy laughs and reverent touches for a moment, before he turns her face to his with the lightest of touches and looks her straight in the eyes.
"Come with me?"
She hardly hesitates, letting him help her out of the hammock before leading her down to Nala's cabin. Rina looks up at Anwar as he closes the shuttered doors behind them.
"They're all busy," he tells her. "Cook has them fussing over some coastline on the map that wasn't there last night."
"Aren't you interested?" Rina asks.
"Not really." His smile is a little wicked. "I drew it there."
She wants to laugh, because she now understands that this is Anwar's attempt at seduction. He's given them time, and she thanks him for it with her arms around his neck, pulling him on top of her as she falls back on to the soft bed.
The room is warm from the sun beating down on the ship, but if Rina is uncomfortable from the heat she hardly notices it, not next to Anwar's warm skin on hers.
Their clothes fall away under her practised hands, and though he is visibly nervous, he lets her take him in hand – quite literally – and show him how this age-old dance works.
She recites some steps – kissing his jaw, biting his ear, licking his pulse, canting her naked hips against his – and he follows her example with a few choice moves of his own. He explores her flesh like the books and scrolls he pores over, mapping her scars and freckles as he tastes his way across her skin.
When he takes a nipple in his mouth it's like finding new land, with a rush of victory and euphoria for the both of them and a counterattack from the natives. Her fingers rush to tease him, trail his spine, squeeze his thighs, score his back, but he doesn't give in like the tender virgin he is, allowing himself to taste that pleasure that is as unknown to him as being unkind.
Instead, he increases his pace, making the bed match Rina's noises, and the feel of him between her thighs, heavy and solid and moving, has her crumbling from the precipice she had run to and falling into the icy-hot waters below.
Her bliss leaves her boneless, breathless, and overjoyed. She is his Newfoundland as he cries out into her neck and pulls out of her to come apart across her thigh. She is conquered.
Anwar slumps against her, panting and shaking and grinning ear-to-ear, his hair damp and mussed. He gathers her against him and plants his flag in a kiss against her parted lips.
She can't help but laugh as their sweat-slicked skin dries in the warm, sweet air. He's already dozing, body wound around hers with his head tucked into her neck as his breathing deepens.
She knows it will never be truly this easy for them, but there, in that bed, with his dreamy murmurs pressed against her pulse, she lets her guard finally fall.
And it is the best sleep she has ever known.
Author's note: Yeah, I did it again, but this time with Rina/Anwar. Rina is my favourite character, in case you couldn't have guessed, and I love pairing her with Sinbad and Anwar. This can be read as a possible sequel to 'Turnabout,' but Rina/Sinbad becoming Rina/Anwar was not my imagined outcome.