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SANEM POV
Galapagos Safari Camp
The fan above my head whirls around and the breeze blows me awake. It's early but I can feel the heat of the day has already begun to warm the air and the natural materials of our cosy little nest dwelling. Bigger than the hut, with a bedroom living room and kitchenette, it has a sail cloth canopy and a small decking and sits on a raised platform with steps that you have to climb. Lush green leaves and exotic flowers surround us. Birds flutter and jump, singing and chatting to one another throughout the day, right outside the windows. Rustic charm meets bijoux decadence. And the view over the trees to the turquoise sea is just too beautiful to describe. It's perfect and typical of somewhere that a romantic adventurer like him would choose.
Can's sculpted bronze arm is laying heavily across me and I carefully pick it up and wriggle my way out from underneath it. He scrunches up his nose and makes a grunt but doesn't open his eyes. His breathing falls back into a steady sleepy rhythm.
One of his baggy white T-shirts is strewn across the end of the bed on his side. I pick it up and bring it up to my nose, sniffing into it deeply, before standing up, putting it over my head and letting it slide down my nakedness. It smells of his skin. His natural body musk mixed in with some sun screen and his cologne. It's a lovely, hot, sexy, honeymoon scent and it immediately makes me girly and love giddy.
There's a small wooden desk and director style chair across the room, sat just by the doors that lead out onto the balcony, and my bag is laying by the side of it. The chair squeaks, as I sit down and reach to get my journal from one of the zipped compartments. I freeze to look over at him again and get totally distracted from my task, as his arms move to rest above his head. Elbow on the desk, I lean my chin on my hand and sigh.
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I used to think his twinkling chocolate brown eyes were his best feature. Whatever body language he was displaying, however his clothes or hair were styled, it was his eyes that I would talk to because they seemed to connect me to his soul.
But yet now, even when he sleeps and his eyelids are down, I'm watching him, still having that intense sense of him as a man. Maybe because I know him now as a lover, as my husband, and can trace his chiselled jawline and perfect profile, down his corded neck and onto that impressive domed chest. His black and white Albatross tattoo which I love so much because it's special and unique, not just to him, but to me and my life and story, stands out, even against his tan. The symbol of our serendipitous bond. His strong but gentle hands, static at the moment, have given me pleasure in so many ways, from the simple husbandly acts of watching him do up my seatbelt and tasting food from his fingertips, to the more...erotic manoevres that end up with me spiralling towards the heavens, in the height of passion. And that thought sends a tsunami rolling and crashing in my stomach. I press my palm to my abdomen and remember when I mistook that out pour of love for him, as hunger pangs. Smiling to myself at my own naivety, I put pen to paper...
