Rosemary

 

 

"You want to see my scar?" Michael pushed up his sleeve and proudly displayed his wound. A long and shallow gash trailed down his elbow to his forearm. Covered in a green, antiseptic gel, the cut was protected against germs. Applied wet, the gel dried to form a tight seal over the wound. It would flake off as the skin healed.

The gash, however, was not what caught her attention.

"What is that?" Rosemary grabbed Michael's arm and twisted to get a better look in the light.

Crude Sangrin letters had been drawn onto his arm. Specifically, the part of his upper arm covered by his shirtsleeves.  It looked like a word, but her translator chip didn't recognize it.

"Oh, Reven and I drew that for luck," Michael said. "With markers. It'll wash off."

"Markers?"

"It'll wash off."

Sure it would. That's why it survived a shower. "What does it say?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. It's for luck."

Mene examined the mark. His fingers brushed over the lettering. He tried to hide a grin, but Rosemary knew better.  "Did you apply this using a mirror?" he asked.

"Yea," Michael said.

"It is backwards," Mene said.

"What does it say?" she asked.

"It is not important."

"What does it say?" she repeated.

"It is nonsense that brags of being a feline magnet, which is not possible." He rubbed his chin. "Are Terran felines metallic? Or robots?"

"No, they're not." She grabbed Michael's offending arm.

Pussy magnet.

Her son scrawled pussy magnet across his arm in marker and it couldn't be washed off.

"Who showed you how to write this?" she asked.

"Uncle Lorran," Michael said. 

"I'm going to kill Uncle Lorran," she hissed. Dang troublemaker. He probably laughed and laughed when he taught Michael how to write the "good luck" symbol. "That man is a nuisance."

Michael's eyes went wide, and his lip wobbled. "Am I in trouble?"

For a moment, she felt a pang of regret. He was good. Real good.

"I'm not fooled by the puppy-dog eye routine,” she said. "You know you'd be in trouble, that's why you hid it."

The sorrow on his face vanished immediately. "I wanted to be like Reven. He has lots of tattoos."

Rosemary tossed a questioning look to Mene. He shrugged. "It is part of maturation to mark accomplishments."

"Just keep it covered since it's a bad word," she said.

Tani insisted on a family dinner to celebrate Michael's first anwynhil.  Michael proudly displayed his injury but kept the sleeve down low enough to cover his homemade tattoo. Oran made the appropriate noises of admiration.

Boys. Always so impressed with scars.

Mene sat Rosemary in his lap and insisted on hand-feeding her. The meal was a roasted meat with the texture of mutton but rich and savory. The first tender greens of spring were dressed with vinaigrette. Mene held her plate just out of reach and fed her pieces one by one, the juices coating his fingers. She squirmed on his lap and fought the urge to suck those fingers clean. They had an audience, after all.

Maybe later.

"You got a little something here," Rosemary said, touching the corner of her husband's mouth. She leaned in to kiss away the morsel. Mene rumbled, and his arms tightened around her.

"Mom, don't be gross," Michael complained.

"Someone missed his mate," Tani said, pushing a second helping onto Rosemary's plate.

"No thank you, I'm stuffed," Rosemary said.

"Eat! You'll need to build your strength to carry my grandson." Tani gave her a broad wink.

"I'm not pregnant," she explained.

"Not yet." Tani added more meat to the plate. "The greens were tasty, yes? They're good for the blood. They make you... lively." She glances not-so-furtively at Mene.

Oh, stars. Tani had fed them the Sangrin equivalent of oysters or whatever was supposed to put you in the mood.

"Help me," Rosemary whispered to Mene.

Mene stood from the table in one smooth motion, holding Rosemary. "We must retire. It was a long journey home."

"See, I told you it would work," Tani said, elbowing her husband. Oran gave her a soft, distracted smile. "Isn't there something we need to ask?" Tani prompted.

"Ah." He cleared his throat and address Michael. "I have installed motion-sensitive lights in the vineyard to keep away the birds that would pluck the vines bare. I require an assistant to help me ensure the lighting system is operating correctly overnight." 

Michael swung his big eyes to her. "Can I, Mom?"

"He'll need a sleeping bag and a coat. He's more sensitive to the cold than you," she told Oran.  Her in-laws were giving her and Mene an evening alone. Presumably to get working on the grandbaby, which sounded like a good plan to her.

"Are you done being a butthead?" Michael asked, staring directly at Mene.

"Michael!"

"What? That's what Aunt Hazel said."

Rosemary pinched the bridge of her nose. She needed to have words with Hazel and Lorran about the language they used in front of her son. "It's rude. That's a credit to the Swear Jar."

"Is it worse than feline magnet?"

"Great Caesar's ghost, yes. You know butthead is rude, so don't act all innocent. That's two credits and no video games tomorrow. Now go with Grandpa Oran before you spend all your allowance on that potty mouth."

 

***

 

Mene carried her to the cottage, tossed her over his shoulder like a caveman.

"I can walk," she said, bouncing with each step.

"Too slow," he replied, making the distance in record time.

They made it all of two steps inside the front door before his mouth found hers. Rosemary slid down the front of him, aware of every hard surface. Hands plucked at clothing, desperate to remove it. She kicked off her shoes.  He tugged up her shirt. Clothes fell away, and soon they were skin-to-skin.

"I did miss my mate," he said, pushing her against the door.

"Your mate missed you." She arched her back, shoving her breasts into his hands. "Less talking, husband."

He complied, as his hand went to her lower lips. She knew she was wet and ready. Months of longing, stolen kisses and slowly falling in love, built up a fierce need. Her body thrummed with anticipation.

He worked her clit, bringing her to a fast release. Too fast. It had been a long time since she had anything between her thighs that wasn't battery operated. She didn't need much to set her off. His fingers pushed into her channel. He sighed, and his head fell to her shoulder. "You are so hot, mate."

"I want you, Mene. Don't make me wait," She rocked her hips.

"I do not wish to hurt you." He pushed another finger in, stretching her.

With her arms hooked behind his neck, she brushed her lips against the base of his horns. He growled and nipped at her shoulder.

"You won't." She rocked again, riding his hand. Growling with approval, his removed his fingers and licked them clean, all the while pinning her with the heat of his gaze. Needing more, his hands cupped her ass and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist. His cock nudged her entrance. "Yes," she moaned as he pushed in.

Full, fuller than she believed possible, he moved slowly forward until fully seated. "You are so tight," he said, voice a groan.

Trapped between him and the door, his hips angled just the right way to apply pressure to her clit. "I think I'm going to come just from this," she said, more than halfway to her second release. He pulled back and then she felt the ridges, hitting every nerve in her core as he stroked out and back in. Her hands clawed at his back at her second climax broke.

He persisted, fucking her through the second release and into the third. He pistoned into her, slamming her into the door and her bones shook with the force.

“Grab my horn,” he said.

She placed her hand on his horn, and a look of bliss overcame him. With his eyes closed, he claimed her mouth. She cried out into his kiss as she came yet again. His eyes snapped open, bright and carnal, and he tossed back his head, his entire body arching as he emptied into her.

Finally, the tension drained from him, and he lowered her to the floor.

"I love you," she said, leaning into his warmth.

He returned her embrace. "I love you, Rosemary."

 

***

 

In bed, they took their time exploring each other's bodies. Despite sleeping side by side, they rarely touched outside of the accidental bump or touch in the night. Rosemary had seen Mene's naked form once, thanks to an improperly shut door. She took pains every night to change in the cleansing room and hide her body.

His tattoos fascinated her. Black ink swirled across his shoulders, chest, and arms. They held a faint silvery glow, but the shine intensified when she touched him.

"What does that mean?" she asked, tracing a design across his collarbone.

"It does not matter." He rolled to pin her to the mattress.

"How about you answer the question and then I'll decide if it matters."

"You want to know why it glows now and not all the time," he said. He sat back on his heels, kneeling between her thighs. His hands gave an appreciative caress down her legs.

"I guess you're right. That's what I really want to know. I haven't seen any other Mahdfel tattoos glow." She heard rumors, but she hadn't seen it.

"And you won't," he said quickly, as if fighting the urge to snarl. "They only glow for our mates. For you."

"Just for me?" She liked the sound of that. Absentmindedly, her feet drifted up and settled on his shoulders. Her toes wiggled, testing how sensitive the tattoos were to her touch. She liked the look of her ankles up on his shoulders. "Any time I touch you or just when we're having adult fun time?"

"I will assume that this is adult fun time." He grabbed her foot and pulled it to his mouth. He placed a kiss on the arch of the sole. Rosemary giggled and bucked.

"I'm ticklish. Stop!" He did not. He continued to tickle her sensitive foot with the tips of his fingers. She thrashed on the bed, laughing but unable to free her foot from his iron grip. "Stop! I give. Uncle. Uncle!"

Mene dropped her foot and backed away.

"What? What is it? Did I say something?" She sat up and drew her legs to her chest. She couldn't have kicked him, and if she did, it was far likelier she'd hurt her foot than him. The man was all muscle and no give.

"You called out for a family relation," he stated, as if the problem was obvious. "I am not your uncle."

She fought the urge to make a snarky comment about calling him daddy and maybe needing to be spanked for being naughty. Now was not the time. His nostrils flared and his hands did that clench-unclench thing he did when he was upset. Mene was freaking out. "Hey, it's okay," she said, extending a hand. "That's just something we say in my language when we're pleading for mercy."

"You call for your uncle's assistance?"

"I don't know why we say, we just do. And don't tickle me. It's mean."

"Then why place your sensitive flesh where I would be tempted to tickle?" His grin conveyed the return of his good humor.

"I dunno, sugar plum, why would I put my ankles up on your shoulders? It's a complete mystery to me."

His eye narrowed and a predatory look settled in his eyes. He lunged forward just as she twisted away, laughing with a mock scream. They rolled across the mattress, knocking the pillows and blankets to the floor.  With little effort, he had her pinned again with her hands above her head. His hips settled into the cradle between her thighs.

He nuzzled the curve of her neck and she sighed, lost in the warmth and the weight of him.