Rosemary
"Did you brush your teeth?"
"Yes."
"Use the bathroom and wash your hands?"
"Yes, Mom. I'm not a baby."
"Clearly, you're all grown up. Grab the book you want to read, and I'll meet you in your room."
Michael took off at a run, thumping up the stairs. The boy only had two speeds: asleep or fast-as-possible. Rosemary finished washing the last of the dishes. She might be a newlywed, but housework didn't take a holiday. Switching out laundry and sweeping the kitchen floor also needed to be done before she headed to bed.
Michael rushed back into the kitchen and skidded to a halt, clutching a well-worn book to his chest. "Can Mene read to me tonight?"
Her heart lurched with something she couldn't describe. She had been the only one to read to Michael since he was in his crib. Even when Aunt Hazel would babysit, Michael would ask Rosemary to wake him up for his bedtime story. He had never asked anyone else to read to him. She wasn't sure if this bubble of emotion in her chest was pride or fear of being obsolete.
Mene looked up the tablet he held and accepted the book from Michael. "If you wish. What is this book?"
"It's great! It's about shipwrecks and pirates and treasure."
Rosemary had purchased a set of illustrated classics for Michael as a lark, expecting him to look at the colorful pictures once and never bother with the story. Turns out, her son loved being read to at bedtime. Insisted on it. Stories with pirates and mutiny and sword fights was a bonus.
Mene's brow furrowed. "And you indulge in such violent stories before slumber?"
"Every night."
"It's a story about friendship," Rosemary added for clarification. She didn't need Mene to think she indoctrinated her son violent entertainment every night.
"When we finish with this book, we can read some fairy tales. It's full of witches that eat people. It's great!"
***
The first night sharing a bed with Mene was awkward. Second night, technically, but her first night stone-cold sober and aware enough of herself to be ill at ease. Rosemary wore more layers than comfort allowed, and she stayed at the edge of the bed, nearly falling to the floor. Nothing less than a gentleman—gentle-male?—Mene stayed on his side. He made no moves to touch, cuddle or repeat the morning's activities.
Rosemary lay in the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, aware of his body and his heat.
Sleep found her eventually.
She woke in the center of the bed, limbs entangled with her new husband. Her hand was on his horn, again. The one on his head. Not the lower one.
Her other hand was firmly on his ass.
He smirked as she rolled away. "Find what you were looking for?"
"I can't be held accountable for what I do when I'm asleep," she said.
"You would not accept that argument from me." He stretched out on the bed, shirtless, wearing nothing but his tight briefs and a grin.
"Look, as charming as you are, I gotta get Michael ready for school." Rosemary ran a brush through her hair and pulled it back in a quick ponytail before shoving her feet into a pair of slippers. She knocked on Michael's door before opening it and turning on the light. "Rise and shine. Breakfast in ten minutes."
Plumbing rumbled upstairs as she made breakfast. Eggs and toast were on the menu that morning. Water boiled in the kettle for tea, and she just put the butter and jam on the table when Mene entered the room.
"What are you doing?"
"Cooking?" Her spatula poked at the edges of the egg. Nearly ready.
The enormous lilac male muscled his way between her and the stove. He snatched the spatula from her. "You have far too much skin exposed to be engaged in this activity."
Rosemary bent slightly to look down her form, finding seeing nothing wrong with the T-shirt and sleep shorts she wore every morning. In fact, she wore his shirt, which was long enough to be a dress. "What are you talking about?"
"This," he waved the spatula at her. "You have exposed too much skin. It is unsuitable."
"Unsuitable?" One day married and Mene was turning into a control freak. "This is my house. I'll wear what I want to wear. And, for the record, there is nothing wrong my clothes." She wore less in the heat of summer.
"Female," he grounded out.
"Alien," she retorted, genuine anger in her tone.
"Your skin is exposed to the hot oil in the pan. It is unsafe."
"Well, that seems reasonable," she said, voice still angered. "And those eggs are burning. I hope you like them extra crispy, because those are yours."
***
Mene thrust the well-worn book of fairy tales at her. "Explain."
"It’s a book," Rosemary answered, head tilted to one side.
"This book advocates cannibalism."
"No. Only witches do that to naughty children."
"In this story, the mother murders the son and feeds him to the father."
"That's not a very popular one." No one read The Juniper Tree.
He flipped through the pages and jabbed at an illustration. "In this story, a giant feasts on the blood and bones of an Englishman."
"But giants are monsters."
"And in this one, a wolf slays the mother's mother and tricks the daughter into feasting on her flesh, then consumes her."
"She strayed from the path in the woods. Bad things happen to girls who don't follow the rules." That lesson had been hammered down in many stories.
He huffed. "In this one, a female who is innocent and her only fault is being more beautiful than her stepmother is murdered and the stepmother consumes her heart. Explain how that is justified."
Rosemary took a moment to pinpoint that story. "Snow White?"
"Is Earth so dangerous that you must indoctrinate your young to the perils of the world in story and parable?"
"Oh, it's not that bad. Don't you have bedtime stories? Myths? Wasn't that what the light festival was about?"
"The Mahdfel have ballads of glorious battle." He lifted his chin as he spoke.
Rosemary nodded. "See. That's violent."
"It is a celebration of tactics and honor, not..." He sputtered, searching for the correct words. "Glorification of cannibalism and wickedness."
She took the book from him and patted the bed. "Worried you're going to get nightmares?"
He folded his arms over his chest. "No. Do not be ridiculous."
"Big fearless warrior is upset at some witches getting shoved in ovens?"
"Do not mock me." His voice rumbled a warning, but Rosemary clapped her hands in delight.
"You are! Oh, that's precious."
“It is your teeth.”
“My what?”
“Terrans have flat, grass-eater teeth.” Mene grinned to demonstrate his own not flat, not grass-eating teeth. “You are not designed to tear into each other’s flesh, yet clearly your stories are thick with such tales.” He settled to his side, head on his arm, and pulled the blanket over him. "I once believed you were fearless. Now I see that Terran young are exposed to fear at an early age to desensitize you."
"If you get frightened, I'm right over here. I'll keep the witches and man-eating giants away." She switched off the lamp, and before she could think better of it, she placed a kiss on the top of his head. "Good night, sugar plum."
"It is not funny. You casually threaten to eat me. You refer to your son as honey bunny. I know that rabbits are consumed on your planet," he grumbled.
"It's weird, but it's folklore. No one eats their kids." Then, because she couldn't help herself, "Anymore."
***
"But why hasn't he asked about the tattoo?" Rosemary curled up on the sofa, leaning against a pillow on the armrest.
"For a super genius, he's not really bright," Hazel said, voice coming out of the speaker next to the sofa. "She should just tell him. Rip that bandage off and get it over."
"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.