Rosemary

 

 

The day kept getting weirder and weirder. She didn’t have the energy to process it all and the bottle of wine didn’t help.

Rosemary glanced down at the stain on her lap.

Well, part of a bottle of wine.

Nothing about Mene’s offer felt like a trick or a trap. It was unexpectedly kind. She didn’t know what to think about it, or him. She had a terrible track record with judging men. Still, there was one man in her life whose judgment she trusted.

Michael sat at the kitchen table, pencil in hand and tongue poking out in concentration.

“What are you writing, honey?”

“The alphabet. Want to see my name in Sangrin?” He held up the workbook page. The letters looked for all the world like disjointed squiggles to her. His penmanship had improved since the day he unknowingly wrote boobies in front of the school admission officer.

“Oh, wow. Is that your whole name?” She admired his work before sitting down.

Michael wrinkled his nose. “You smell funny.”

“I dropped a wine bottle on me today. Sorry.”

“No. You smell funny in your mouth.”

“I had a glass.” Or two. Or half a bottle.

“You shouldn’t drink when you’re sad,” he said, returning his attention to practicing letters.

Rosemary frowned. Sometimes she came home from work smelling like a bar. She was a bartender, after all. Occupational hazard. However, she never drank at work and seldom drank socially. She never, ever drank to cope with stress.

Until today.

“What makes you think I’m sad?”

He shrugged, not looking up. “I dunno. You look like you want to sleep.”

“I need to talk about something important with you, honey. Can you stop that for a minute?”

He set down the pencil and swung his feet, waiting. Rosemary’s mouth dried up. She didn’t know where to start. Might as well rip the bandage off quickly. “Mene asked me to marry him.”

“Okay.” Michael returned his attention to writing, as if his mother marrying an alien was a total snoozefest.

“You’re okay with that?”

“Are we going to live with him or is he going to live with us?”

Good question. She didn’t ask. “I’m not sure. Do you want to live with him?”

“I like it here. I don’t want to make friends again.”

“Sounds good. Mene can move in with us if he wants.”

“Is he going to be staying in my room?”

Another good question. “He’ll be in my room.” In her bed, with all of those muscles and those horns that begged to be stroked.

“You’re not going to be kissing and stuff?” Michael wrinkled his nose again and scowled.

Rosemary laughed at his expression. “Kissing is pretty gross, huh?”

“I don’t know why adults like it. It’s wet,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“So if your mom was to give you a big ol’ sloppy, wet kiss on the cheeks, that’d be gross?” She leaned in and smacked her lips.

He pulled away. “Ew, Mom. Stop. I’m too big to kiss like that.”

“You’ll always be my baby boy.” She gave him a quick hug, which he protested mightily. Pulling away, she asked, “Are you really okay with this?”

“I like Mene,” he said. “He lets me do messy stuff and he has knives.”

Her heart lurched into her throat. There were so many ways for him to be hurt and he kept finding new ways. “No playing with knives.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “I’m not a baby anymore.”

Right. He wasn’t a baby, so that meant he could play with knives. Flawless kid logic.

“I need you to go over to Tani’s tonight. Mene and I have to talk.”

Michael hopped out of the chair and crammed his workbook into a satchel. “If Mene is my new dad, does that make Tani my grandma? Officially?”

“I suppose so. You okay with that?”

Another eye roll. The kid was a champ. “All the other kids have a dad, a grandma and a grandpa. Now I do, too. It’s good.”

A knock sounded on the door just before Tani entered, carrying a heavy stoneware teapot and a bundle of folded fabric. “I wasn’t sure what color you’d like, pink or cream, so I brought both.”

She unfurled the bundle, displaying two silken robes. Both were finer than anything Rosemary owned.

“They’re lovely, but what are those for?”

“For the ceremony, of course. I also brought the tea and a pot, in case you didn’t have one.”

“Thanks?”

“Did Mene not explain?”

“We haven’t really got that far into the conversation,” Rosemary admitted, rubbing the back of her neck.

Tani nodded, as if she expected as much. “Sangrin marriage is simple. You share a drink. You talk about the future.”

“He makes his mark,” Rosemary said.

Tani had the decency to blush, her lilac complexion darkening. She fingered the collar of her robe, revealing an old scar where her neck met her shoulder. Despite the years, the bite mark was unmistakable against her unblemished skin. “So he mentioned that much. I’m sure he will be skilled. His father is.”

Yeah, making a mark did not sound innocent. It sounded like the inevitable next step from kissing.

Her core tingled with excitement at the idea of Mene making his mark as he claimed her.

Was she ready for sex and all its complications? Her body was on board, but her body was a traitor and made terrible decisions. She had to use her head and slow things down.

Rosemary chose her next words carefully because little pitchers had big ears. Little pitchers had also declared kissing to be gross and wet. “So after that, we go to the Ministry tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Tani smoothed down the front of her robe before smiling warmly at Michael. “Will you have dinner with me, my love? Your mother and my son—”

“Need to talk. I know.” Michael grabbed his bag with a dramatic sigh, summoning all the gravity of an inconvenienced seven-year-old.

“Don’t be such a drama llama,” Rosemary said.

Tani chuckled as Michael dodged his mother’s attempts to ruffle his hair. “I want to try more Terran foods, so you will have to help me cook.”

“We should make chocolate cake for dinner.”

“No cake for dinner,” Rosemary said immediately.

Tani winked and pushed the pink robe into Rosemary’s hands. “I’ll take care of his dinner. You go change.” She clasped Rosemary by both shoulders and smiled. “I am very happy to call you daughter.”

“You already called me daughter.”

“And see how I bent the universe to my will.” With a wave, she and Michael left for the big house.

Rosemary clutched the pink robe to her chest, stunned. Mene claimed his mother didn’t have the patience for the long con.

He knew nothing.

 

***

 

Rosemary stripped off her wine-splashed clothes and tossed them in the cleanser in her en-suite bathroom. She washed her face and frowned at her red eyes and the hair falling out of her braid. Her dingy beige bra had seen better days. She was a hot mess.

Sighing, she brushed out her hair. It fell in loose waves over her shoulder. Briefly, she entertained the notion of changing into a better pair of bra and panties, just in case.

In case of what?

She already decided not have sex. No one would witness the worn out elastic in the bra’s back band. Still, a pretty bra would boost her confidence. She needed every bit of self-assurance tonight.

Rosemary changed into a fresh bra and panties—a matching set, even— and ignored the little voice that whispered, “Just in case.” She had no plans to have sex with Mene.

Sure, he was a sexy beast. She felt a raw attraction to him the moment she first laid eyes on him and all his muscular bulk and confidence. Back on Earth, Mene would have been exactly her type.

She wasn’t on Earth and this wasn’t exactly a date, though, was it? This was marriage. Mating. He reluctantly offered. She reluctantly accepted.

But Michael adored him. That counted for a lot. Mene seemed to hold genuine affection for Michael, which counted a bit in his favor. Just a bit.

Rosemary rubbed at the stretch marks on her belly. Faded but still visible, they crisscrossed her lower abdomen. Her body had never returned to its pre-baby shape, but she didn’t mind the soft padding on her stomach or the thickness in her thighs.

In the months since moving to Sangrin, she’d seen lots of local women in all shapes and sizes. They weren’t so different from her. None of the men she’d dated had complained, either. Would Mene like her?

She liked her body, stretch marks and thick thighs included. It made a person, after all. Correction, it made an awesome person. Familiar confidence filled her, straightening her back and lifting her chin. If Mene didn’t like her, so what?

She dressed in the pink robe, finding it about four inches too short. All the important bits were covered. Suitably dressed, Rosemary went downstairs to negotiate the terms of her marriage.

Mene banged and clattered in her kitchen. Unfamiliar with the layout, he opened drawers and frowned at the contents. He wore a robe the color of a sunset, cut very similar to hers, but it was obviously made to fit his height and broad shoulders.

“Can I help you find something?”

“Spoons? Don’t Terrans use spoons?” He opened another drawer and slammed it shut, not bothering to look at her.

“Oh no,” she said smoothly, “we just scoop up our soup with our bare hands.”

His back went straight. He paused but did not turn toward her. “You tease me.”

“Every chance I get. Spoons are here.” She opened the drawer next to him. “But what are you doing?”

“Preparing the tea.”

“That’s important?”

Finally, he turned to face her. “It is tradition.”

“Can I at least help you?”

“No. It is important that I do this for my mate.” He said nothing more and went about the business of tempering the stone teapot before adding boiling water, adding tea leaves, and finally adding the boiling water.

He set the pot and two mugs on the table but did not join her at the table. He stood stationary, like a soldier at attention. “You want to sit?” she asked.

“I am nervous,” he blurted out. The color leached out of his lilac face, then he grew heated and blushed, the color rushing back.

“I’m right there with ya,” Rosemary said. They were really doing this. Marriage. Mating. Whatever. They barely knew each other. A few months ago she would have sworn up and down that she’d rather chew her arm off than marry a Mahdfel warrior, but here she stood in her kitchen with the sexiest man she ever laid eyes one, who just so happened to be a Mahdfel warrior.

Crazy, right?

“How long do we have to let that steep?” She gestured to the teapot, desperate for a new subject.

“I am unsure. I have never had a mate.”

Fair enough. She hadn’t been married, either. Mene peered into the teapot. Satisfied with the results, he poured two cups.

“I’ve been thinking. If we’re going to do this, really do this, we need rules,” she said. They needed to discuss their shotgun wedding and rules before it got complicated. She accepted the cup from him. A pungent aroma from the brew slapped in her face.

“I agree. List your conditions, and we will negotiate.”

“This isn’t a treaty.”

“Marriage is a contract with Terrans, yes?”

“On a basic level, but it’s more than that. I mean, legally, we’ll have an obligation to each other and be granted certain rights about things like money and making decisions if you were ill. Marriage means more than that, though. It’s about being committed and caring for a person, loving them and building a life together. A partnership.”

Mene grunted. She had no idea what to make of that. Did he agree? Find value in her people’s traditions? Or think the entire concept was bunk?

The warmth of the cup soaked into her hands. “Do we say words or anything?” she asked.

“Do Terrans?”

“Well, sure. We stand in front of family and friends and make vows to love, honor and cherish one another, in sickness and in health. You know, for better or worse.”

“More conditions,” he said with a derisive snort.

“Oh, if your way’s so great, explain it.” She really wasn’t in the mood for his contemptuous alien superiority.

“This. We wear traditional garments. We share a drink of tea. We contemplate our mating.”

“What, that’s it? Drink tea in a fancy costume.”

“This is not a costume; it is the traditional robes of my mother’s people.” He plucked at the front of his robe.

“But there’s no special vows or time-honored oaths? If I invited someone over for tea and cookies, did we accidentally get married?”

“Who are you inviting over for tea and cookies?” His nostrils flared and his grip tightened on his teacup.

Interesting. The Purple Meanie didn’t like that idea. “Just you. Chill,” she said.

“Do not tease me.”

“I’m just asking for clarification.”

“Mating is simple. It cannot be mistaken for anything else and does not require all your Terran rules and negotiations.”

“Fine,” she said, voice flat. At least with all the rules and formality of a human marriage, you knew it was happening and didn’t accidentally get married when you thought you were having tea and cake. “For better or worse.”

Rosemary raised her cup up in a salute, tipped it back and drained it in one swallow. Immediately, she sputtered and coughed, the bitter tea choking her. “That’s vile. Is this some sort of joke? Tease the human? Make her drink poison?”

His eyes widened, and his face grew serious, more serious than usual. “Never poison. I would end my life before bringing poison to your table.”

Right. Her joke hurt his warrior feelings. “Sorry, but that’s really disgusting.”

“It is the traditional blend.”

“Yeah, well, either your ancestors are having one over on you or someone wrote down the recipe wrong. Go on, try it. You’ll see.”

Mene sniffed the cup and arched a brow in a skeptical look. “It does not smell that offensive.”

“Put that in your mouth and tell me it’s not disgusting.”

He tilted his head back and drained the cup, much as she did. He hissed and slapped the table.

“Lovely blend, isn’t it?”

“Tradition is not always pleasant,” he said stoically.

She snorted and grinned as he eyed the teapot with suspicion. Tea was nice and all, but she needed something stronger. She retrieved a bottle from a high cabinet, well out of reach of little hands.

The bottle of brandy landed with a solid thunk on the table. “I’ve drunk more today than I have in a year,” she said. She poured out slightly more than a shot into her cup and moved to do the same for Mene.

“We cannot.”

“I hear you about tradition, but isn’t the point to share a drink? You shared yours, now I’m sharing mine. This is the finest brandy you can buy on Earth for twenty bucks.” That meant it was slightly better than paint stripper, but it was good enough for her. “Unless you’re afraid of a wimpy little human drink.”

Mene growled but accepted the cup. He sniffed it, uncertain. “The smell leaves much to be desired.”

“No false advertising, that’s for sure.” She kept the bottle around for medicinal purposes but never actually had a reason to open it. Her mother kept a bottle of brandy and Rosemary had vague memories of being given small sips when she had a head cold. Home didn’t feel like home without that bottle sitting in the back of a cupboard.

She held out her cup for a toast. When Mene did not respond, she lightly clinked her cup against his. “Cheers.”

The brandy burned its way down her throat, chasing away the rank flavor of the tea. Eyes watering, she forced herself to swallow rather than spit it out.

Mene sucked in a long breath before slamming the cup down on the table. “Terrans have much to explain.”

She couldn’t help her smirk at his discomfort. His handsome, scarred face frowned and flushed with the heat of the cheap booze.

He returned her smirk with his own, accompanied by an assessing gaze. As his eyes swept over her body in the ill-fitting robe, her skin flushed in a manner not related to the brandy. She adjusted the front to better conceal her cleavage. “So, the conditions,” she said.

“I am prepared to negotiate.” Mene poured more brandy into their cups.

“Good. About sex—” His eyes brightened. “It’d be stupid to claim I’m not attracted to you. We have chemistry.” The air hummed with the electricity between them. Attraction wasn’t the issue. She didn’t trust her judgment. All her past relationships started with strong physical attraction and they all fizzled. Or burst into flames, as was the case with Vince. Michael adored Mene. She liked him. She liked her life here. There was too much to lose if she messed this up. “This is really fast.”

“We are acquainted for multiple months now.”

That must seem terribly sluggish by Mahdfel standards.

“I’d like to take things slow,” she said.

“Slow? Explain.” He tilted his head to the side, horns dull in the light.

“You know, sex complicated things. Clouds your thinking. I’d like to hold off on sex for now. Ease into it.” She held his gaze until he nodded.

“I will not touch you without invitation.”

Good. He took that surprisingly well. Rosemary continued, “And no sex with other people.”

A rumble sounded in his chest. Jealousy? Anger? She couldn’t tell from his expression, but her skin prickled with awareness of him. “We need to look convincing, right? Don’t sleep around.”

“Mahdfel do not sleep around with females once they are mated. Do Terrans do this?”

“Unfortunately, yeah.”  The idea of cheating turned her stomach. She’d never, ever cheat. Sadly, the men she’d dated in the past didn’t share her idea of monogamy. She couldn’t stand by and watch Mene with someone else.

More rumbling, this time the sound comforted her. The tension in her neck and shoulders drained away. She chased the feeling with another gulp of brandy.

“Who did that to you?” he asked, voice low.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.” And on another planet.

“They were unworthy of you.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest, as if unhappy with the idea that those who wronged her were out of reach.

“Okay, next item. We live here, not on a military base. Michael likes his school. He has friends. We’d like stay.”

“That can be arranged,” he said.

“We have separate bedrooms for now,” she said.

“Unacceptable. We share a bed.”

“No. That’s not negotiable.” She would not sleep in the same bed as him. The idea of lying by his side, night after night, unable to touch him, listening to him breathe, was too much. “I sleep in a tee shirt. I won’t change that.”

“I sleep nude.”

A heated blush crept up her cheeks. Had to be the brandy. She cradled the cup in her hands, resting her elbows on the table.

Mene leaned forward; his hand nearly touched hers. “If I claim you are my mate, there are many who will accept my word without proof. However, for my peace of mind, you must have my scent on you.”

“Your peace of mind? What do you think will happen if I don’t smell like you?”

“The failing is mine. If another male speaks to you, I will grow jealous. You must smell like my female. Typically this is done with sex, but you have forbidden it for now. So we will share a bed. You will wear my tunics as you sleep, and you will not wash off my scent in the morning.”

Rosemary frowned at her hands. Sleeping in his tunic sounded nice. Dangerous, actually, like a gateway activity to affection. She showered at night, so that wouldn’t be a problem. “Fine, but no touching. And you wear sleep pants.”

Mene leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Michael is my son now.”

“What, like you’re adopting him?”

“He is part of my clan. He is mine.”

“That’s fine, I guess.”

“As a young Mahdfel, he will begin his warrior training.”

“Wait, no. Michael is not a warrior, and he is not one of you.” Warrior training sounded dangerous, and Michael was just a kid. A human kid.

“He is my son.”

“Are we speaking the same language? He’s a kid. About this tall?” Rosemary gestured with a hand.

Mene’s mouth fell open. “You do know we are not speaking the same language? The translators are very good, but your words are Terran.” He spoke slowly to avoid any misunderstanding.

“Aliens,” she muttered and grabbed the bottle of brandy to pour herself another shot. “Yes, I know how the translators work, Meanie. It’s a figure of speech. You go on and on about how Terrans are weak with little bird bones, and now you want to, what, enroll him in Mahdfel martial arts?”

“I understood every word you said, but I do not know why you are upset.” He pushed away from the table.

“He’ll get hurt!” The problem seemed obvious to her. “You guys are made to fight. You’re like super soldiers. He’s just an ordinary human.”

“I would not allow—”

“Accidents happen! What if they’re playing, I don’t know, football, and he’s tackled too hard? Bones break. Kids aren’t exactly careful.” Her own many accidents and childhood spills came back to her. Rosemary always had a sprain, a bruise or stitches. The worst happened after she fell off her bicycle and caught herself on a chain link fence, slicing open a finger on the barbs at the top. Boys were worse. Everyone knew that.

Mene set his large hands on her shoulders. He peered down at her, eyes unexpectedly soft. "Hear my words, Rosemary Rovelli. I claim you as my mate. I claim Michael as my son. No harm will come to him. I will sacrifice my life to protect him and you. Do you hear me?"

She nodded. His words hit her with an unanticipated intensity. He would sacrifice him for Michael. For her.  "I hear you."

"You cannot protect him from every bump and bruise." Wow. The rapid change in direction from sweet protector to critic jarred her. Rosemary pulled back, but his iron grip kept her in place. "Hear these words also. He will train with wooden weapons. Wood, not steel. No sharp edges. He will be paired with students his size and skill level, as he is with his sports team."

"But Mahdfel kids are so big! He's only human."

Mene pressed his forehead to hers before speaking. "I am learning that there is no such thing as only human."

"I know him. You let him throw axes—"

"Dulled. Harmless."

"But still an ax, Mene. And he'll keep pushing. He'll get a knife or even just a pointy stick and believe he's a master swordsman. He'll think he can take on a giant crab monster all on his own. He'll sneak out behind our backs or in the middle of the night, and we won't be there to save him." The chain of events from innocent activity to mortal peril was long, but Rosemary saw every link clearly. How could Mene not see it?

"A warrior's training begins with defense. No one expects or wants a child to wield a sword. We want our sons to be smart enough to avoid unwinnable battles and survive."

"But you are training them in the art of war."

"Yes, with hand-to-hand techniques to build agility and coordination. With meditation to build patience and control."

"Meditation?" That seemed unlikely. Nothing about the solid mass of muscles that was Mene suggested he sat in the lotus position and meditated to the birdsong or falling water. Then again, she never saw him lose his temper. Not once. Not even when she shouted or flung mud at him. He had proven himself the soul of patience, time and again.

He placed a hand on his chest, over his heart, she assumed. "There is much in us that demands blood and battle. Giving over to these instincts makes a warrior reckless and dead."

Rosemary swallowed. "I don't like the sound of that."

"So we train our sons early to control these reckless impulses."

When he said it like that, it didn't sound so scary. "But why Michael?"

"He is my son." Mene's tone implied that was the obvious answer. The only answer. "He is clan. He will complete challenges and gain standing in the clan. He will decorate his skin with his accomplishments, and my heart will burst with pride."

"But not really? No one's expecting him to grow up and fight Suhlik." Only seven now, nearly eight, in little more than a decade he'd be an adult. Just thinking about it made her dizzy.

"He is clan now.”

Rosemary dumped her cup in the sink and returned the brandy to the cabinet. She wasn’t his first choice. She could live with that. Her heart might be able to navigate the tricky waters of this marriage, but could Michael? He'd grow attached to Mene. Heck, he was already attached. She slumped against the counter.

Sugar pops.

"Mene," she whispered.

"I do not like how you said my name then." He narrowed his blue eyes.

"Michael won't understand if we fail. I’ve never had a relationship last longer than a few months. What if we break up? It’ll break his heart.”

"Then we will not."

"But what if we do?”

"Then I will not let you leave."

He gathered her to him, folding her into his embrace. Rosemary melted into the hard planes of his chest, comforted. Safe. His hands rubbed her back. His touch promised that they would figure it out.

"Come. It is time."

"For what?" she asked, but she knew. Time to bite and leave a mark.

Step by step, he walked her back toward the sofa in the living room. He set her down before closing the blinds and curtains, shutting out the night. He adjusted the lighting until the room glowed with warm ambiance.

"Will it hurt?"

"It is a bite."

So yes, then. "But why?"

"Why must we, or why a bite?" He joined her on the sofa picking her up and placing her on his lap. Pleasantly buzzed from her afternoon drinking, Rosemary leaned her head on his shoulder. She breathed deep, enjoying his clean, soapy scent. He smelled so good.

"Why a bite?" She snapped her teeth for effect.

He chuckled and Rosemary's core grew warm at the sound. She liked laughing Mene so much better than stern, lecturing Mene. "The bite releases my hormones to prepare your body."

"For a baby?" she asked, positive that she already knew the answer.

"Other males will know you have a mate."

It didn't sound fun. A bite. A big ol' bite, deep enough to leave permanent scarring, if the mark on Tani's shoulder was anything to go by.

"Okay. Let's do this." She moved to straddle his lap. Much better. She then loosened the ties of the robe and pushed the material down enough to reveal her bare shoulder.

A hungry look overcame him as he studied her skin. With a touch far gentler than she expected, his fingers skimmed down the column of her neck to her collarbone. "I will mark you here." He leaned down and placed a kiss on the indicated spot. "It will hurt."

"So you said."

"Normally, it is done as the female reaches climax, to mask the pain."

"Oh." The idea of mixing pain with pleasure did not appeal to her, but it sounded a bit better than straight up being mauled and injected with saliva and hormones. Sex was a big step, though. Huge. Important. Too important a decision to make while slightly drunk on half a bottle of wine and brandy shots. "I don't know that I can do that."

A warm hand rested on her hips. "Are you certain?"

Her blush was hot and fierce. She knew she looked rather brazen, straddling his lap, with his hard cock just under her. It pressed up against her, and she was just shameless enough to rock her hips, reveling in the sensation. "No sex. Yeah."

"I think I have a solution." His hips guided her hips as she rocked back and forth. He growled, either from the view or from the sensation. The rumble went right to her aching core. "I will use my hands," he said.

"You've got my attention. Sell me on it, sugar plum."

His free hand dug into her hair, pulling her face in. Her hair tumbled free from its confines, spilling around her. His kiss, hot and divine, stole all thought from her. His tongue demanded entrance, and she yielded. He invaded her, filling her senses, and Rosemary was helpless to resist. She didn't want to resist. She wanted more.

More kisses.

More touching.

More skin.

More everything.

"I will do that until your lips are pleasantly swollen," he said, voice low and sensual.

"Okay," she agreed. "Do that again."

He did until she whimpered and squirmed. Her aching, needy pussy rubbed against his erection. Only a thin scrap of soaked cloth remained between her core and his cock.

Mene unfastened the robe, and it slid to the floor. She thanked the stars she wore a matching set of bra and panties, just in case. Living together would remove all her feminine mysteries but for now, let Mene believe that she wore matching undies every day.

Then again, he really didn't seem to notice. Eyes fixed on the swell of her cleavage, and his hands fumbled at her back to release the clasp. Growling in frustration, he yanked and ripped it open. He threw the now ruined bra to the floor.

"That was a good bra," she said. Her arms folded over her chest, shielding her breasts.

"A good bra would open."

"A patient man wouldn't have ripped it."

He chuffed. "Perhaps you are correct." He moved to push her arms aside.

Rosemary shrank back. The room was too light. Her breasts were less than ideal, and her stomach was still soft from her pregnancy. "Wait."

"Do not deny me the chance to worship my wife's perfect breasts."

"They are not perfect." So far from perfect. "I don't want to be the only one undressed. Go on, strip." With her hands covering as much of her chest as possible, she wiggled one to indicate that he should take off his robe.

He did not protest but removed the garment and tossed it to the floor.

She had seen his bare chest before, from a distance. Up close, though... Rosemary had trouble forming a coherent thought other than "damn." His pecs were hard, and his shoulders strong, and every inch of his lilac skin was covered in intricate black tattoos.

Except they weren't strictly black. They glowed silver and pale blue.

"How are you doing that?" she asked.

"They glow for you, for my mate, my prefed."

Fudge her. How was she supposed to continue to be modest and shy about her less-than-stellar mom body when he said sweet things like that?

His hands covered hers, cupping her breasts entirely. He gave a gentle squeeze, and Rosemary removed her hands. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, pebbling them. Sighing with appreciation, he plucked and strummed each dusky pink nipple. "Do not tell me these are not perfect when they fed your son. When they will feed our sons."

Her stomach fluttered at his words. His mouth, hot and wet, enveloped one nipple, sucking and pulling. She leaned into him, her hips rising and falling as she rubbed against his rock hard cock. By the time he moved to the other nipple, she moaned. She needed to do something, to touch him, to make him as senseless as he made her.

Her hand wrapped around the base of his horn and he pulled back, nipple popping out of his mouth. She paused, uncertain if her touch annoyed or pleased him.

"Don't stop," he said, eyes hooded.

Pleased, then. She stroked his horns, observing the shiver that ran up his spine. The glow of his tattoos intensified. He shuddered and nipped at her skin, his fangs scraping but not breaking the skin. Rosemary couldn't control her gasp or the way she ground down on his cock. Perhaps there was something to pleasure spiked with pain, after all.

His licked her shoulder, mouthing where the mark would go, before pulling back. "I would touch you."

"You're touching me now."

"Here." His hand slid down her soft stomach and into her panties. He cupped her sex, fingers tugging on her curls. "Are you wet for me, mate?"

She was. She really was.

"I will stroke your pretty cunt until you're begging for my cock." His fingers parted her lower lips, finding her slick flesh. She bucked in his hand. His strong, sure fingers worked her clit until her own fingers dug into his shoulders. It was all she could do to hold on. "When you're begging for release," he said, two fingers plunging into her tight core, "then I will mark you."

He worked his fingers, pressing the heel of his hand into her clit, until she thrashed. Her thighs quivered, and she groped at his horns, desperate to make him as desperate as he made her. She licked and sucked his nipples, tongue gliding over his glowing, flawless skin. Her fingers dug into his side, finding the scar tissue there, but not letting go. Never letting go.

His mouth was at her throat, her breasts, anywhere but her shoulder. She grabbed his horn, squeezing at the base. His head snapped up, eyes feral with need.

Her brute. All hers.

She shoved his face to her shoulder. The heat of his mouth and the wet, provocation of his tongue, brought her to her peak. She climaxed with an intensity that seized her entire body and emptied her mind. His fangs drove deep, sharp and stinging, and it was only a minor chord to the symphony of rapture that poured through her body.

"Rosemary," he said, voice reverent. He licked at the mark, soothing the sting.

She slumped against him, soaking up his heat and his strength.

Then he removed his fingers from her pussy. With a greedy grin, he licked his fingers clean.

Her pussy clenched at the sight.

Things just got complicated.