"I dunno. How do you start the conversation about being the dead-not-really-but-actually-lost-in-time first wife?"
The front door slammed open and shut. "Rosemary—"
"Oh, is that the hubby?" Hazel teased.
"Be quiet," Rosemary said. "I'm in here."
Mene entered. "What are you doing?"
"Watching Endless Hope and Suffering with Hazel." She waved a hand toward the screen. She watched the previous day's broadcast over her lunch break with her sister, who also watched on her view screen.
"Hi, Meanie." Hazel's voice sang out from the speaker.
"I am here to ensure that you consume adequate nutrition," Mene said, ignoring the soap opera on the screen.
"I had a sandwich."
His brow shot up. "You had sand?"
"A sandwich. Bread and meat. Together." She mimed holding a sandwich and eating.
"That is not adequate."
"I had two slices of witch, so plenty of protein."
His eyes narrowed as if he suspected she teased him again. "You said there was no sand in a sandwich. You expect me to believe there is witch in it?"
"Fine, I’ll eat an apple, but you better not be trying to make me fat."
"I find your form pleasing as it is." Genuine shock crossed his face, then his eyes narrowed. "You tease me."
Rosemary fell back into the sofa cushions, laughing.
“Is he always trying to feed you?” A new, male, voice came over the speaker.
"Lorran is with you?" Mene asked.
"Yes, I find this program fascinating. It is a real insight into the female mind."
"He just likes looking at the actresses," Hazel said. "But he has his uses. I make him bend over and get the stuff off the floor that I can't reach. This kid is huge, Rosie. Huge."
"When is he due?"
"Not soon enough. I have medical appointments every other day now."
Her lips pressed together. "Is everything okay? You know, with you and the baby?"
"Right as rain. Seeran is just being his overcautious self."
Rosemary twisted on the sofa cushions to face Mene. "What are you doing home so early?"
"It is expected." He opened the climate-controlled storage cabinet and rummaged for lunch.
"Yeah," Hazel chimed in from the speaker. "It's your honeymoon. No one is expecting him to work with a new mate in the house. You're supposed to be busy."
"With what?" she asked and immediately blushed, knowing the answer. They were supposed to be on their honeymoon, after all.
"Oh you sweet summer child," Hazel said with a snicker. "With you. Busy with you."
Face burning with embarrassment, she glanced at Mene. With an apple in hand, he nodded. "That is accurate. Now, disconnect this call, I wish to consume my lunch." His eyes fixed on her as he bit into the apple and juice trickled down his chin. He licked his lips and continued to hold her in his firm gaze. There was little doubt in her mind that when he said consume, he really meant consummate.
Sugar pops. She needed to distract him with something better than an apple. "Let me make you a sandwich. Gotta go, Haze."
"I'm sure you do."
***
Steam escaped from the open door of the cleansing room. Mene must be taking a shower. Rosemary had zero intention of peeking, but still caught a glimpse of toned, sculpted purple behind.
Shielding her eyes with a hand, she hustled across the room. A patron in the Tasting Room knocked over a bottle of wine, and now she needed to get a fresh shirt from the dresser. The dresser was nowhere near the cleansing room. Totally innocent. Not that she needed to justify being in her own bedroom in her house. If anything, he needed to apologize for leaving the door open.
Fresh shirt at the ready, Rosemary started to lift the hem of her shirt. She checked in the mirror to make sure she was... Well, alone was the wrong word. Unobserved, perhaps.
Mene stood in the shower, back to her.
He was perfect.
Err, she meant the situation was perfect.
His shoulders flexed and heaved. Rosemary stood mesmerized at the reflecting in the mirror. He couldn't be doing what she thought he was doing.
He planted one hand on the tiled wall and stroked himself. His hips pumped and his ass moved in a very distinct, unmistakable rhythm.
He was jerking off in the shower.
Transfixed, she couldn't take her eyes off him. Water rolled down his back, forming rivulets that glistened under the artificial lighting. What would he do if she joined him? If she knelt at his feet and took his member in her mouth?
Rosemary licked her lips, the taste of soap and masculine musk already on her tongue. He'd taste amazing, she just knew it. Not too salty, not stale, and not bitter. Perfect. She rocked back on her heels, imagining how his member would fill her mouth and her throat. She'd choke on his dick but swallow every inch until her eyes watered and she moaned with the joy it gave her to have him take his pleasure from her mouth.
He slapped at the wall, hand clenched in a fist, and he groaned out her name. He tossed his head back as he climaxed. The hair plastered against his scalp made his horns seem larger and more intimidating. He said her name again, louder with a possessive edge. “Yes, Rosemary. Just like that.”
Gasping, she stepped back and bumped the dresser with her hip. A glass of water wobbled before ultimately tumbling over.
"Sugar," she said and then slapped a hand over her mouth, like it could take back the words.
The water turned off. Mene strode into the room, naked and dripping and so, so delicious, as she mopped up the water with a dirty shirt. "Sorry. I just needed to change shirts. Some clumsy jack off— I mean person, I didn't see you jacking off— spilled wine on me."
She blushed hot enough to burst into flames.
He stood there with his hands on his hips and a grin on his face. On full display, his cock, even soft, was a club. Darker, almost plum in color, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Ridges ran up the side, promising to rub all the right spots.
She forced her eyes up, taking in the extensive tattoos across his shoulders and chest. They glowed with a silvery light.
Stars, he was gorgeous.
“See anything you like?”
“Just my shirt,” she yelled, randomly opening her dresser and grabbing the first thing on top. She raced out of the room and pressed her back against the closed door, panting.
She had no idea how she’d manage the rest of the day with that image in her mind.
Mene
His mate managed to take up the entire sofa. With her head at one end, her feet dangled off the side. After cleaning dinner, she declared that it was movie night. They watched a classic Terran film about an archaeologist searching for a lost relic. Rosemary said there were four films but only the first and third were enjoyable.
The archaeologist was incredible and bordered on the implausible. He spent more time throwing punches than in academic research. Of course, it was a historical piece and did not reflect the current academic environment on Earth. Still, he wondered. "Do scholars steal each other's research? Is that standard practice?"
Michael sat on the floor, hugging a pillow, with his eyes fixed on the screen. "It's just a movie," he said.
"I understand some liberties must be taken for the story, but even if it is only partially accurate, I worry for your planet," Mene said. The fact that Terrans made entertainment out of their scholars said interesting things about their culture, but the scholar was so violent. Many situations could have been remedied with stealth or even incapacitating the foe. Instead, this archaeologist used a gun in a sword fight.
It was dishonorable, yet his mate and son were riveted by the deeds of this scholar.
Mene sat on the floor, next to Michael. Rosemary's foot dangled between them. Her foot bounced to the music during dramatic sequences. It proved a tempting target. He wanted to snatch her foot and press kisses to the turn of her ankle and up his way up her thigh.
&nbs
p; He ignored that urge and ignored the dangling foot.
"Yeah, it's just a movie," Rosemary said, nudging his shoulder with her foot. "Relax."
"I will not. It is nonsensical. Why make elaborate traps yet leave a priceless treasure unguarded?" he asked. That, truly, had bothered him the most about the movie. Giant boulders, poison-tipped darts and a pit full of vipers. Ridiculous.
"There were traps," she said.
"Complex traps that should have decayed with age yet somehow remained operational. Why not use that engineering skill and build a box with a lock?"
"And your movies are so perfect? Did we not spend two hours watching a movie about a man in love with a statue?"
"It was a parable."
"I'll tell you what it is, it's two hours of my life I won't get back." She nudged him with her foot again.
With a playful growl, Mene grabbed her by the ankle. Careful not to apply too much pressure, he held her in place while he inspected the bottom of her foot. The skin was thicker on the sole. "What is this?" He stroked the rough skin at the ball of her foot and at the heel.
Rosemary giggled and rolled on the couch, trying to break his grasp. "Stop. I'm ticklish."
"Why is your dermis layer thicker here? Is it damaged?"
"It's a callus." Her laughter continued.
Intrigued, Mene continued to stroke the sole of her foot. "Why do you have those?"
"Because I work for a living, now let go." She kicked, and he released her. She moved to a seated position and tucked her feet under herself.
He moved to sit next to her and slung his arm over her shoulder. She leaned into him and did not protest. Little by little, he was winning his mate.
***
Sitting on the edge of the bed, his mate brushed out her wet hair and patiently worked it into a braid. When ready for sleep, she would curl up on her side, placing distance between them. During the night, she would toss and turn. Slowly, she would inch her way towards him. Once she nuzzled her face to his chest and he put an arm over her, did she settle into a true, deep sleep.
Stubborn, his mate's body accepted what her head would not. She desired him. She found peace with him.
He wondered about the males who had damaged her heart in the past. He knew about Michael's sire, Vince. She made brief mention of "other relationships" but those males did not warrant an explanation. Vince must be the one who hurt her.
As if sensing him watching her, she looked over her shoulder. "What?"
"I am admiring you."
"Really, because it's a bit like a hawk watching a field mouse."
He did not know what those were but he inferred a Terran predator and prey animals.
Her sunshine yellow hair darkened when wet to a dull blonde. He liked the way it gleamed in the light and the sound of the brush made with each stroke. The soaps his mate used had a light floral scent that he now only associated with her. He admired the strength she carried in her back. He admired his mate's courage despite her fear. However, he suspected that same fear made her overly cautious.
He bore his scars on the outside. Hers were hidden away on inside.
Mene took the brush from her and placed her on his lap.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"You do not braid evenly. I will remedy that." He undid the partially finished braid and fanned the damp hair across her shoulders. He leaned in and took a deep breath of that light, floral scent.
Perfection.
His.
"I'm only sleeping. It doesn't have to be perfect." She spoke words of protest but her tone implied that she wanted to be pampered for a moment. She was a female unused to having someone else care for her.
"Let me do this for you," he said and worked the brush through her hair in long, even strokes. "Tell me about Earth."
"It's mostly water. Green and blue."
"That is not what I mean."
Her back tensed. He continued to work the brush through her hair, letting the rhythm soothe her. "You want to know about the Invasion," she said.
"I want you to tell me about your life experiences. Help me understand you."
She chuffed, almost a laugh. "I see what you're doing. You want me to talk about the Invasion and how scary it was. Then you'll tell me that I'm overprotective because of that. Well, news flash, I already know."
"Then tell me." He divided her hair to work into a braid. Taking the first hank, he pulled it taut but not too tight.
"You have no idea what it's like to be helpless, you know. Even if you have zero weapons and you're down to just your bare hand, you're still... you."
"A warrior."
"A super soldier, yeah. I hate feeling helpless. I was young when the Suhlik came. Too young to pay attention to the news reports. I just know that one day there was no more school. One day soon after that, my father didn't come home from work. Maybe he got caught in a raid and was injured? Maybe he was waiting for us in a safe location? For the longest time we hoped to find him in a refugee camp when it was all over but we never did. Then there were fires from the raids. Then we had to leave our house. It was chaos and I was completely and totally helpless the entire time."
He worked the braid, keeping his voice soft and calm. "You survived."
"Right, by luck more than anything. And yes, I know I'm always comparing Michael to what happened to me at that age. So I don't want him to get hurt? Big deal. The world is pretty horrible place that hurts people all the time. I'm not a monster for wanting to protect him. And I'm not sorry for trying to spare him the pain and fear that I went through."
He wanted to see her face to better gauge her emotional well-being, but he suspected that facing away from him was the only thing that enabled her to be so candid. "I make no criticism," he said.
She sighed, and her shoulders slumped. "But that's a criticism right there, implying that you could criticize but you're holding your tongue."
"My little prefed, that is not what I intended." He finished off the braid and draped it over her shoulder.
"I know." She turned to take the brush. "What does that mean? Prefed?"
"It is a burrowing insect. They eat wood and destroy buildings. Very invasive and troubling."
She grimaced and stuck out her tongue. He could think of many ways to use that tongue. "Sounds super cute," she said.
"They represent the way you have burrowed into my heart."
A smile flickered across her face. "See, that's sweet but you're still comparing me to what sounds like a termite."
"Do not over think." He stretched out on the bed and motioned for her to join him. With hesitation, she crawled under the blanket with him. He pulled her to him, savoring her light, floral scent and the softness of her curves against him. "Just sleep for now, my prefed."
Chapter Twelve
Mene
"The weather is agreeable. Seek your mother's permission."
Michael ran into the house, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Springtime weather was notoriously unreliable. Sunny and warm one day, cold and rainy the next, followed by snow which would only melt the next warm day. Mene had been reluctant to agree to any outdoor plans with Michael. Once Mene mentioned fylle riding as a possible skill Michael would need for the anwynhil, he latched onto it. Every day began with "Is the weather good enough today?" Every evening ended with, "Will the weather be acceptable tomorrow?" Mene knew Rosemary would not agree to the excursion if the weather was less than ideal, so they waited for the perfect, bright and sunny day.
The back door banged shut. He needed to repair that. "Can you explain what my son is babbling about?"
"The weather is good. I will take him fylle riding today." His mate's eyes narrowed as she regarded him with suspicion. The mistrust pained him. One day, he would earn her trust. "It is safe," he added.
"Safe like when you dragged home that giant crab?"
Always with the cranc. Yes, that had been a misjudgment on his part. If he had known how poorly she would react to the cre
ature, he'd have brought the carcass to his mother to be butchered. Mene thanked the stars that he never mentioned the cranc he and Michael hunted had been a juvenile.
"It is similar to your Terran horses," he explained. "They are common domestic animals. Many ride them for pleasure as well as utility."
"Please, Mom," Michael asked, voice climbing in pitch.
"No tricks?"
"How do you mean?"
"I don't know, Mene. You describe something one way, let me make assumptions that this fylle is basically a horse and then it turns out your common domestic animal breathes fire or flies."
Michael's eyes went wide. "Do they?"
"No." Flying fylle. The idea was beyond ridiculous. "You encouraged Michael to play less video games. This activity complies with your request."
The look of mistrust returned. "Something's up. What aren't you telling me?"
He stretched his neck slowly and rolled his shoulders. He did not miss the way her eyes followed the movement or the way her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips. Interesting response. Perhaps reassuring his mate of the safety of the activity was not the best tactic. "Come with us. See for yourself."
"What?" She took a step back.
"That'd be so great. Come with us, Mom."
"You do not work today. Accompany us." The Mahdfel took the safety of their mates and their progeny very seriously. He would never endanger her life, not that fylle were dangerous. Not unless you had the misfortune to ride one in a particularly foul mood.
"I had plans."
"To do what?" His mate worked hard. Too hard. Even on her days of rest, she cleaned and organized the house, she did shopping and often prepared baked goods. Cookies, she called them, which were tiny cakes to be eaten in one hand. His mate had exposed him to many Terran style foods recently. Michael had a fixation for the item called pizza, which was a flatbread based covered in a vegetable puree and melted cheese. Rosemary had prepared it several times with local ingredients to emulate the dish. Mene approved, even though she insisted the puree was made from a vegetable, the tomato, when he knew it was classified as a fruit.
Alien Warlord's Passion (Warlord Brides Index Book 2) Page 16
