Trust games

Nestled into the magic quilt, it's dark and still and we're laughing. In the dark, it's hard to see, but I suddenly realize that he's hovering near my stomach with intent, and I instinctively wrap my arms around my belly, and he laughs.

Hands up, he says.
No! I protest, mock-glaring at him.
Come on, trust me! he cajoles.
No! I say, but I'm laughing.
I won't do anything!
I don't believe you.
You can trust me. Come on, hands behind your head.
Like a police line-up? I tease, my hands still wrapped protectively over my belly.
He laughs again. Trust me.
I'm trying, but I can't!I wail. I'm not lying either. I can feel the skin on my stomach tremble as neurons fire madly in anticipation of an all-out assault and my hands twitch as I try and force them to move.
Look. I'll just going to kiss you. One kiss.
No you won't!
I will! You can trust me.
No such thing.
He looks at me, and I can see the curve of his smile even in the dark. So with a massive effort, I lace my shaking hands together and put them behind my head, my entire body thrumming with nerves and my muscles tensed. He leans over, I squinch my eyes shut and try not to flinch while I prepare myself for total sensory annihilation.

And his lips brush the skin of my belly in a soft butterfly kiss.