I wasn't sure who pulled away first, or if we were even awake when we did, but when I woke up to use the fresher, our hands were back to ourselves and he had turned the other way, deep in sleep if he wasn't faking it again.
Despite the seat being uncomfortable, I stayed in the fresher longer than necessary, staring at the seams in the bare wall and the way the rivets-a few of the only shiny parts in the room-reflected the low lighting.
But what caught my attention more, unnoticed until my eyes wandered higher, was the net hammock off to the side of the wash stand. It was small, not even big enough for a decently sized baby, and it looked well-used, but not lately.
And it peeved me to no end.
As I cleaned myself up, I couldn't decide if it was the fact he had-or had had-a child, or the fact that he'd had his hands all over another woman that upset me more. I tried to tell myself it didn't matter now, now that he was technically mine, but then I had to wonder why it even mattered to me.
My possessive streak had always been strong, but this was reflecting too much on sex-oriented affection, of which I wouldn't be allowing. So maybe he'd made me feel good for a handful of seconds.
Other men had, too.
No they haven't, my mind reminded, as if I was too stupid to realize that.
"Shut up," I muttered, trying not to trip over the threshold as I left the fresher, determined to find something to do that'd take my mind off prior events, at least for a little while.
When I snuck back to the sleeping closet, I found exactly what I'd be doing, and it was in the form of Mando on his back, groaning quietly as he got himself off. Apparently he didn't see me on the edge of the doorway, watching with silent lust as he fucked up into both fists, filling one and just half of the other.
Fuck, he's perfect.
Despite my abhorrence of prostitution-and technically sex with him wouldn't be that-my body was begging for the taste of sex. Of sex with him, no less.
Maybe last night had been an accident in sleep, but right now it was obvious he meant every single thrust he made, and Force, I wanted to crawl in with him and take him for everything he was worth.
But maybe he'd been at it for a while, because he gave a pathetic moan and must have came, because his back relaxed and he sunk back into the bed, either having nothing to clean up or not caring, because he rolled onto his side without further ado.
My legs were shaking and I wanted something to mount. Preferably him, but with him now indisposed, anything would do.
The ship was fucking dark, and as I looked for a private nook, I didn't find anything short of the cockpit. But the passenger seat looking impossibly inviting, and I used the worn, lumpy corner to get myself off, groaning to myself at how low I'd stooped just for a single orgasm.
As I rode out the high, squeezing every ounce of pleasure from the leather before taking a seat in the bony chair, I realized this was going to be one long marriage.