First Mate's Accidental Wife

by Eve Langlais

  “Sleep, princess. Or I’ll shove you out of this bed.”

  Given the bed was warm and soft and exciting, even if a certain male body moved to the other side, she elected to shut her lips.

  She also closed her eyes and managed to sleep.

  What she didn’t expect was how she woke up. Splayed across Damon’s body, wantonly pressing herself to him. Her leg draped over his lower half. Her palm flat against his chest. Her head tucked against his shoulder. His hand stroking her butt.

  About time he acted as he should.

  With a pleased grin, she flung herself onto her back and exclaimed, “I’m ready.”

  Chapter 5

  “Ready for what?” he asked. For his part, he was ready to fuck. What guy wouldn’t be? He’d just woken up with a hard-on, partially caused by a need to urinate, but also because he had a woman groping him.

  However, while he was good to go, he doubted she was. For one thing, she’d just woken up and he’d not touched her. Except for her ass. It seemed only fair he got to rub something since she took advantage of him while he slept. But women required more than a little butt rub to get their sexual engine purring.

  “I am ready for my deflowering.”

  The words froze him. Panic quickly followed. “Deflowering? You’re a virgin.”

  “Not for long,” she sang.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no? We are married. Consummation is required.”

  He clung to that word. Required. “In other words, if we don’t have sex, the marriage isn’t valid.”

  “Are you still trying to find a way to escape?” Her exasperation emerged loud and clear. “I told you, death is the only way out.”

  Rather than reply, he rolled out of bed. “Lights on.” They illuminated, partially dimmed to alleviate any shock to his system. He should have left them off because he got quite the jolt when he looked over at Michonne.

  Her hair had freed itself from whatever intricate design she’d had it in. Loose waves of it tumbled over her shoulders. The robe she’d gone to bed in the night before had obviously been shed during the night because she only wore a thin gown. A short one that rode up high enough that the leg she’d draped over him was bare. He’d felt it in that exposed strip between his shirt and pants.

  Without the artifice of before, she’d lost some of her cool glamour. Fresh creamy skin with a hint of freckles across her nose, naturally long lashes, but a lighter brown in color. Pink lips currently pursed.

  He glanced away and keyed in a code for some workout clothes. While he waited for the replicator to create them—because making clothes rather than storing and washing made more sense, especially since the dirty items were recycled to make new—he entered the washroom. Shut the door. It didn’t help him forget who was on the other side.

  She waited for him when he emerged. Wearing her robe at least, her hair pulled into a bun at the base of her neck.

  “Avoid it now, if you must. But as my husband, you will eventually come to me for your conjugal rights.”

  A good thing he faced the replicator chute because she might have seen the heat in his cheeks. “I don’t need you to get my rocks off.”

  “While I’m not familiar with a rock technique, I do, however, feel I should mention at this time that your seal precludes you from indulging in full coitus with any biological entities apart from myself.”

  He whirled, clutching his clothes to this chest. “Excuse me?”

  “The mark ensures fidelity.”

  “Which means what? I’ll die if I touch another woman?”

  “No. But you will find yourself extremely discomfited and unable to perform.”

  He looked down at his groin then back at her. “What did you do to my penis?”

  “Nothing. The seal causes a chemical reaction on a vascular level if you attempt coitus with someone other than me.”

  “Whatever happened to trust?”

  “It was betrayed too many times, so safeguards were put in place.”

  “The more I hear about your religion and culture, the more I’m thinking dying might be easier,” he grumbled. The shock of knowing he truly was stuck with one woman just made him ornery.

  “Am I truly that hideous to you?” The pompousness he’d already gotten used to gave way to a soft vulnerability.

  He almost fell for it. “Are you seriously going to play a player?”

  “Actually, I am being serious. Why are you so against us being together?”

  “Apart from the fact we’re strangers and have nothing in common?”

  “Most successful marriages are arranged ones.”

  “If they’re successful because you don’t allow divorce, then I’d say your information is flawed.”

  Her lips quirked. “Actually, this comes from an observation of many cultures, which was part of the reasoning for the foundation of the Dkar religion.”

  “Just because you claim arranged marriages work out doesn’t mean I believe it. And let’s not forget the small percentage that don’t.”

  “Perhaps they would have if both parties tried.”

  Her determination to be married frightened. “You can’t expect me to just reverse a lifetime of expectations.”

  “Perhaps if you saw some of the benefits, you’d be less hesitant.” She moved toward him, the sway of her hips riveting. She stopped in front of him and met his gaze with a tilted chin. “I promise we’ll be very compatible.”

  He didn’t have to ask in what way because she showed him. She stood on tiptoe and brushed a kiss over his lips. A light touch. Her hand curled around his nape to draw him nearer for a deeper embrace where her mouth tugged his, caressing the top and bottom with a sensuality that saw him unconsciously gripping her around the waist. Tugging her closer. Giving in…

  Argh. Don’t let her fool you.

  He pulled away.

  She cupped his cheeks to pull him back. Being a male, and a weak one, he didn’t fight it.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” he mumbled between kisses.

  “I think we should do more.” She slid her hand down, tracing the firm outline of his muscled arms then over to his waist, his buttocks. She gripped and pushed against him.

  This time his erection was one hundred percent because of her.

  She cupped him, and he hissed. “What are you doing?”

  “Touching you.” Said in an isn’t-it-obvious kind of way.

  “I thought you were a virgin.” Didn’t that mean innocent? Yet how many innocents acted so wantonly?

  “Part of my lessons included that of eroticism and the many techniques to achieve favorable intercourse, important elements for a strong marriage bed. I’ve practiced in the holodecks for this moment,” she admitted as she left soft nibbles along the ridge of his jaw.

  The words penetrated. “Odd choice of lessons for a virgin.” If it was true. The very idea terrified him—while, at the same time, roused something deeply primal within.

  “I was taught to not indulge in unmarried coitus. I was waiting for my husband.” She bit the tip of his chin and whispered, “Waiting for you.”

  If ever there were words to make a man want to throw a woman onto a bed and slam into her body, she’d just used them.

  The urge to claim her, to make her his, rode him hard. And as her husband, it was fully his right.

  I’m her husband.

  Shit.

  The shock of it hit him again, and he had to push away from her. From the situation. “I’ve got to go. I always meet doc and the boys for some morning exercise.” He didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t look at her either lest he succumb to her allure and end up buried balls deep.

  Exiting the room, he half expected her to follow, hence his stiff shoulders until he entered the holodeck he kept permanently reserved every morning at this time.

  Being at space for long periods of time meant needing a means of entertainment and exercise. The holodeck provided both. In the antechamber, he took a moment
to strip and put on gym clothes he still gripped that held the appearance of vintage twenty-first-century style. The shorts brightly colored with an odd symbol on the side, symbolic of the start of the Nike Galactic Corporation. They’d moved out of clothing centuries ago into space travel. Now their swoosh signature was how they built their ships.

  Dressed, he palmed the panel to enter the holodeck itself, transformed into a space meant to play basketball, the ancient kind before the use of tiered nets and anti-grav shoes.

  The floor took on the appearance of a driveway, the kind that used to house old combustion engine vehicles on wheels. Talk about ancient technology. Hover ability was the most basic mode of transportation nowadays. On some planets humans discovered, even the animals had ways to get around that didn’t involve touching the ground.

  Ivan and Karson were already there, dodging around the double-wide driveway. Ivan lunging to block as Karson slipped around him, leapt and dunked the ball into a net suspended from a replica holographic nineteen-nineties garage.

  One day, if he ever did retire, he was going to build what became known in the nineteen-nineties and early two-thousands as a cookie-cutter home on a piece of land. He might try and recreate the nostalgic days gone by. Maybe even see if he had enough credits to get one of the original combustion-belching cars.

  “There’s the married man.” Karson spun around and smirked as he hit the ground, lazily reaching out to catch the bouncing orange sphere.

  “Look at the face on him. Already he has the appearance of a husband.” Ivan scrunched his features into a scowl that only served to deepen the one forming.

  “Fuck off. This isn’t funny.”

  “Nor very satisfying apparently,” Karson noted, pitching him the ball. “What’s the matter? Your new wife not like your mug?”

  “You could try wearing a holomask of my face,” Ivan offered.

  “My wife likes my looks just fine.” Damon winced even saying the word.

  “Do you always look angry after sex?” Ivan asked.

  “We haven’t had sex.” Yet.

  Hold on. Never. This marriage wasn’t real. No matter what everyone said.

  “No wonder he’s pissed.”

  “I am not pissed,” he said, thrusting the ball at Ivan, who caught it with a laugh.

  “If you say so.”

  “Shut up about my sex life and play.” He lunged at Ivan and, for the next while, forgot his woes as he played. The exertion did much to revive him and expel some frustration.

  But once they were done and in the cleansing units, the dilemma returned to plague him. He leaned his face over the stall door as the laser units passed over his body, destroying all dirt and sweat particles. “What do you know of the Dkar religion?”

  Karson whistled. “I’ve heard about it. That’s for the rich folk.”

  Which probably explained why he didn’t know much about it. “Is it strict?”

  “Wouldn’t really know. It’s not openly taught. What I do know is it’s part alien and part ancient-Earth Scientology. Once you’re part of it, there’s no getting out.”

  “Not exactly reassuring.” He wasn’t one to worship at altars to false idols.

  “Maybe you should have thought of that before marrying,” was Ivan’s riposte as he joined in.

  “It was spur of the moment.”

  “Did you at least get her name?”

  “Her name is Michonne.” Something or other.

  “Michonne what?”

  “I don’t know.” Because it wasn’t in the file. Jameson had only given him the barest outline. Which should have been fine if the woman hadn’t tied him down.

  Karson let out a low chuckle. “I can’t believe you married someone and you don’t even know her last name.”

  “It wasn’t like I had a choice.”

  “Is that what you’re going to tell everyone? That she’s your accidental wife?” Ivan asked. “That probably won’t go over well.”

  “If what I know of the Dkar is true, she’ll be a widow fairly quick,” was Karson’s more ominous addition.

  “What else did you hear?” He turned and gripped the edge of the stall to better see his friend.

  “Just that the Dkar don’t like those outside their social circle marrying in without proper vetting.”

  “If they don’t like it, then why not kick her out?” And in the process, kick him out.

  “You don’t just quit the Dkar,” snorted Ivan.

  “How would you know?”

  Ivan, a bulky blond fellow, faced away but still replied. “All I know is rumors. Rumors that say you have to be approved to join. Given how rich I imagine your new wife’s father is, he won’t like her marrying a commoner.”

  “I’ve got money.”

  “Not that kind of money. But don’t worry, I have a plan,” Ivan declared. “We’ll announce to your wife that we’re lovers and that she must run before I kill her in a jealous fit.”

  “As if anyone would believe I’d sleep with you. We both know Gerome would skin me alive.” Gerome being Ivan’s partner.

  “He would. The man gets so jealous. But the lovemaking after a fight…” Ivan grinned and winked. “Well worth it.”

  Karson groaned. “Always with the games. Can’t the pair of you just have normal sex? Like a normal couple?”

  Damon snickered as Ivan uttered an emphatic, “No.”

  “I wonder who her father is,” Damon murmured aloud. Because Jameson never said. Just gave him the basics, along with her name, first only, and a picture.

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Because asking her meant talking to her. Looking at her. Being tempted by a woman who’d saved her maidenhead for her husband. A woman who wanted to be seduced.

  Heading to the bridge, and his duties, he resolved to find out more before confronting her again. Once he did get a name, a name that punched him in the face, he delayed that meeting to get drunk. Really, really drunk, because finding out he was married to the daughter of one of the universe’s biggest crime lords was enough to throw him off-kilter. He needed booze to numb himself to the dilemma he found himself in.

  His new wife didn’t appreciate his inebriated state, or so he assumed, because she met him with a yell and tried to clobber him. She missed, the boot bouncing off his stomach.

  “My turn,” he slurred before reaching for her. But he misjudged, or she moved, and he hit the bed face-first.

  “Mmm. Soft.” Comfy. Zzz...

  Chapter 6

  Michi stared at the snoring shape of her husband, passed out drunk on the bed.

  She planted her hands on her hips and glared. “Jerk.”

  He didn’t move. Or apologize.

  “Do you have any idea what you did?”

  He stayed silent except for some rumbly snores.

  “You left.” Left without saying when he’d return. Without a goodbye. Nothing. Left her in a room where she couldn’t do a damn thing because he’d made the room only obedient to him.

  He didn’t drop to a knee and beg her forgiveness.

  “Do you have any idea what it’s like being locked in a room by yourself?” It meant pounding on a door, a door no one opened. Stupid soundproof space ships. “It means not being able to ask the computer to play music or a movie.” Or calling her daddy and whining about her new husband. The jerk who’d left her all alone after refusing coitus, as was her right as his wife.

  He snored.

  It said he didn’t care. She lost her ladylike mind for a moment. “Damn you.” She hit him. Again and again. He didn’t flinch, move, or do anything, and she suddenly stopped.

  What am I doing?

  Acting crazy that was what. She’d been knocked off balance and needed to regroup.

  How am I supposed to do that? With him passed out, she was still unable to get out of this room. And while the replicator worked by simple button press, she wasn’t sure where she’d go if she did escape this room.

  In her culture, you
were either married or living with family waiting for marriage. Single people of any age had no rights.

  I’d have some as a widow, though. But only if she wasn’t caught. Her religion had strict punishments for those that killed their partners without just cause or permission.

  She stared at the sleeping shape of her husband. A man who’d gone through a culture shock, a man who did desire her even if he fought it. A man Father would hate. But who intrigued her.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and ran a finger down his back. Firm flesh encased by fabric. She ran her fingers to the edge of the shirt and slipped under it. Hot skin met her fingertips, and she stilled.

  This was wrong. The touching while he slept. The lusting. She snatched her hand away and bit her lip.

  He’s my husband.

  Barely.

  She needed to change that if this marriage was to survive her father’s arrival. She had no doubt that would be soon.

  Kneeling, she removed his footwear. Tugged off his trousers and did her best to ignore the perfection of his bare buttocks. She tried removing his shirt, but he proved too heavy.

  Yank, push, shove. All she did was cause herself exertion and annoyance. She paused, kneeling on the bed beside him. “Dammit, can’t you cooperate with one thing?”

  He opened one eye. “Wassa matter, princess?” he slurred.

  “I need your shirt off.”

  “Okay.” He tugged if off and then rolled to his side, giving her an eyeful. She turned her head, a heated blush in her cheeks. The holodeck simulations might have shown her what to expect, but faced with the real thing, she felt suddenly inexperienced and shy.

  “Come here,” he ordered, squinting in the dim light he’d left on all day. He crooked a finger. “Come here, wifey poo.” Crooned with a crooked smile.

  “As you wish, husband.” She shimmied out of her skirt to his appreciative gaze. Then got stuck a moment in her shirt trying to take it off. She tossed it to the side and thrust out her chest, only to realize he snored again.

  “You have to be joking.” Why did this man persist in making this difficult? Well, he wouldn’t win, not this time. She climbed into bed, took a deep breath, then lay beside him, as naked as he was. Inched closer and closer until their skins touched, then froze.