Page 46 of Adrift!

They moved together, finding a rhythm with more patience than they’d fought for their harmony. No mission this time, nothing to save—just the savoring of each sensation. The whisper of skin on skin. The catch of breaths. The small sounds of pleasure that needed no words.

His biomech hand cradled her cheek with unfailing gentleness while his other hand found hers, fingers interlacing above her head. But when she arched up into him, seeking more, he answered with a deeper thrust that made them both gasp.

“Together again?” she breathed.

The pleasure wove between them ever tighter, like a song gathering toward its crescendo. She felt it in the tension of his back as he kindled her with pressure and friction, the quickening pulse of his augments arcing between them and tingling from her swollen nipples to the slick, wet nub between her legs, the way his breath gusted faster against her neck when she moaned his name. When he reached down between their joined bodies with his magical mech hand, stroking in time with his thrusts, he released another one of those tiny, delicious jolts, exactly as she wanted, and she shattered.

She cried out, still no words, only ecstasy as the orgasm seized her. He followed a moment later, his forehead against hers, their matched heartbeats a wild ovation in the hollow between their sweat-slicked bodies.

One more instant of suspended elation, and then he crashed down upon her.

She squeaked out a breath.

“Can’t hear you,” he muttered into her hair. But he rolled, hauling her with him.

Always with him, she mused dreamily.

They lay entwined, and she imagined the resonark in its cradle of yarn. Evens said it had been seeking, casting out quantum entanglements like a call awaiting a response.

If she had found a connection, despite apparently scoring a zero in the IDA dating game, did the manifestation of love have a match…somewhere out there?

“Maybe I’ll get a tattoo,” she mused.

“Me too.” His clear baritone was burred with sleepiness. “We’ll match.”

Had he caught that word in her head? A lingering side effect of entanglement? The possibility felt…right.

She nudged his shoulder. “You’re running out of room.”

He tightened his arm around her. “No, I’m not running anymore. I’m right where I want to be.”

The declaration brought tears to her eyes. His half-moon eyes glowed back—with her reflection.

“Me too,” she repeated.

When they kissed again, their shared breaths were too soft and slow to be music. And yet a tune came to her anyway. Something tender and romantic, probably too starry-eyed—with a touch of synth, of course. Primed for a club remix even?

Half asleep, she pondered lyrics. Maybe not so different at heart from her old songs, because she hadn’t been wrong to believe in her voice.

Broken things still catch the light, and drifting in your arms is flight

Done with silence, I’m singing of my heart entwined with yours, my lo—

“Look.” He hefted her higher on his tattooed chest to peer over him. “Wait, let me tune it so you can see.”

In the viewport—she’d almost forgotten it was a window considering it was always black—delicate streaks of distant starshine cut shimmering lines through the night like an alien musical notation made of light. All that was missing were the notes.

“The ship is no longer adrift,” he said. “We’re underway.”

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