Chapter 16

Mar•riage (n): An excuse to get free stuff from obligated family members who don’t like you.

Juliet spent the next three days telling the same story to military officers, bureaucrats, and politicians. It was hard to tell them apart, except that the politicians had the best hair. She wouldn’t speak to reporters until her face ceased being a watercolor painting in hues of mold. Juliet wasn’t just easy, she was vain, too—she’d mastered all the excellent qualities. Although one picture had leaked—of her unconscious and carried by Erit. It must have been taken the day they’d perpetrated the rescue. It was a touching snapshot—and made her hair look like a fabulous shampoo commercial. See above re: vain.

Her mother sent a note:

Juliet,

Don’t call us for bail money. We’re not sure what you’ve done, but a trial was only a matter of time. If the media asks you about your parents, please have the good taste to say we’re dead.

PS: Your father says “Hello.”

PPS: Aunt Ingeborg heard you are marrying the king of New Los Angeles. If it’s true, then we’re not dead. We just adore his new show about Dalai Jesus.

Mrs. Virginia Lawrence

Yup, everyone loved Juliet.

Erit was her stalwart friend through the inquiries, keeping newsbots at bay and painting her in a great light whenever asked. He also ended up with more dates than he could go on in a D’ashlain year. His priorities were straight, even though he wasn’t exactly.

Ragnar had gone back to Alutia a day ago, taking Tambar and another Alutian concubine with him. His parents were concerned about him, of course. They didn’t care about her, of course.

Juliet didn’t mind. Nope. She didn’t cry herself to sleep every night. Her perpetually puffy eyes complemented her yellow-green face beautifully.

Finally, the Official Grilling of The Concubine Crusader was complete. New Los Angeles was now being run by its Vice-King, Lembert Kardashian, who, naturally, had absolutely no idea that five hundred enslaved concubines had lived with him at the palace. He made a statement giving his everlasting gratitude to Juliet Lawrence, declaring her an honorary citizen. He even offered her a lifetime all-you-can-eat card to the planet’s most popular frozen yogurt chain, Skinny Minny Milk-Like Non-Fat No-Sugar Spore-Resistant All-Natural Gluten-and-Guilt-Free Desserts. Now in açaí flavor! (Not made with real açaí. Illegal on Whedon Four.)

After what seemed like months (but was really only one), Erit took Juliet back to her beloved ship, the Valkyrie. They sat on her cozy velvet couches in the red living room and shared a long overdue, quiet Scotch. Juliet had never been so happy to be home in her life. She pulled her favorite robe around her, a leopard print chenille number piped in hot pink. “Erit, I can’t thank you enough. You are brave and noble and wonderful.”

“Yes, I am those things.” He grinned and plopped himself beside her. His arm went about her shoulders, and she settled into the warm crook. The familiar, male scent of him washed over her; she scooched closer. He rested his chin on her head. “I cannot claim to be a complete saint, however. I have a contract with the Collective to develop the D’Stroyer into all sorts of useful tools.”

“Tools? Or weapons?”

“Tools, of course. Peaceful organizations like the Collective don’t make ‘weapons.’”

She chuckled into his neck. “Of course not.”

He shrugged. “I figure better them than the open market, which is full of people like King Bob.”

“Mmm hmm.” He stroked her shoulder, lulling her into a lovely, safe feeling of well-being. At any other time, his clothes would have been on the floor at this point. Erit was hotter than hell and definitely knew his way around alien women’s parts.

She broke apart from him and gave him a long perusal, his face alighting in surprise. Why shouldn’t she? Ragnar had made it very clear they were over. And Juliet had needs. Filthy, turgid needs. She’d been such a good girl lately, what with overthrowing an evil despot, that she needed a spot of bad in her life.

“I can read your mind, Jules, and the answer is no.”

“No? Are you sick?” Erit said no to sex about as often as she said no to it.

Gently, he took her hand. “Juliet, you are the ultimate fuck buddy—”

“Oh, my God,”—she jerked her fingers away—“you’re dumping me, too! What the hell does a sexy blonde have to do around here to get laid?”

“I am not dumping you.” His eyes softened to a fathomless grass green. “But I am not going to ravish another man’s woman.”

Juliet jumped to her feet and crossed to the bar for more Scotch. “What man is that? Not even my dad claims me anymore.”

“You don’t really want me. You need to go to Alutia, Juliet.”

“No.” She slammed her glass on the wood of the bar. “Why the hell would I go there? His Vanishing-ness has made it clear—”

“That he loves you.”

“He left! I’ve seen the tail more than his face as of late,” she added in a grumble.

“He soldiered into battle with you.”

“Out of obligation.”

Erit shook his head. His features took on a collection of expressions Juliet recognized as the “you’re an idiot, Juliet” look. The look was the same in every race. “No, out of love.”

Juliet took a huge pull of Scotch. It set fire to her insides. “I can’t see him anymore, Erit. Not when I can’t have him. He took Tambar home, probably because she’s brave and beautiful and she can have invisible babies with him. I wish them well.” To prove it, she drank again. And then again. If she became any happier for them, she’d need a stomach pump.

In three steps, Erit was beside her, removing the bottle from her hand. “You stubborn moron, you listen to me. That man loves you, but it is up to you now. You hurt him; you have to go to him and fix it.”

“Ugh … Tambar—”

“Ragnar is not sleeping with Tambar.”

Juliet jerked her head up to search his eyes. He wasn’t lying. “How do you know?”

“Because I spent time talking with her. She was just rescued from a horrific enslavement and … rape.” He almost whispered the word, and then swallowed. “Dating is not the first thing on her mind. If it were,” he lightened his tone, “then she’d be stepping out with me. I have definitely come ’round to the appeal of the tail.”

It made terrible sense that Tambar didn’t want a lover right away. Juliet suddenly felt very tired and very stupid. “Oh.”

Erit took her in his arms. “Go to your giant alien, Juliet. You belong together.”

“He doesn’t want me. Is he here? Is he beating down the door for me?” She closed her eyes. “If I go to him, he’ll throw me out of his house. Again. If he doesn’t, then his parents will.”

“If that happens, then I’ll use my technology to render their planet dark.” She laughed. He held her at arms’ length. “I have had quite enough of this sad, drunken Juliet. I command brave, drunken Juliet to return.”

She wiped her nose. “Okay.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Okay!”

“What are you going to do?”

She stood straighter. “Get my man back!”

“How are you going to do it?”

“Slutty clothes!”

“And…”

Biting her lip, she said, “And big hair?”

He took a drink from the Scotch bottle. “Well, I was going to say, ‘And the power of true love,’ but ‘big hair’ is also an acceptable answer.”

“Yay!”

He picked her clear off the ground. Optimism surged in Juliet’s heart.

“Just in case things go badly…” Erit ran from the room.

The optimism in Juliet’s heart sagged like a wet kitten.

His voice floated from around the corner. “I got you a present!” He walked back in and presented her with a red box. “Open it.”

Giving him major side-eye, she pried the lid and burst into laughter. “Wow! It’s so fancy. Look at all those parts…”

“The woman at the sex shop I bought it from swore by its healing properties.”

She turned it over. “What does this piece do, I wonder.”

He winked. “You’ll have to figure it out and tell me later.”

“Perhaps you should put your engineering brain to designing really useful things, Erit, like vibrators.”

He ran a hand over his head. “Maybe so. I’d be even more popular than I am now.”

“Is that possible? You should have your own hologram show.”

“As a matter of fact…” His mouth split into a smile. “If The Concubine Crusader would agree to make an appearance, we’d have fabulous ratings.”

She flipped her hair. “Naturally.”

They laughed and hugged. Juliet pulled back. “Thank you, Erit. For everything. You didn’t have to do what you did—”

“It worked out nicely for me. Besides, you can assist me in a few months when I topple the government of D’ashlain. I shall begin my political career as prime minister of one planet, then two or three. A galaxy, perhaps? While you were in the hospital, I met a cute doctor who would make a smashing First Man.”

“Done and done. And send me a picture of your hottie.” Juliet grabbed his arm. “Stay to help me finish my bottle of Scotch. You can’t stage a coup on a sober stomach.”

“I shall make the sacrifice for my oldest friend. You’ve bailed me out of the clink more times than I can count. Oh, I may have another present for you.”

Juliet bounced in anticipation. She wasn’t above enjoying being spoiled. “Really?”

“Valkyrie, please set a course for my ship.”

“Yes, Erit.”

Jaw agape, Juliet gasped, “Erit! You brought the Compass’ computer to me?”

“Happy unbirthday, or something.” He presented his cheek for a kiss, which Juliet sloppily and happily delivered.

“Compass, are you there?” Juliet asked.

“I don’t think I should continue answering to the same name as the ship, Captain Juliet. Do you name yourself after your clothes?”

“Of course I don’t. I beg your pardon.” Juliet squeezed the stuffing out of Erit. “Thank you!”

He grinned and asked, “What would you like your name to be, wise computer?”

They plopped back onto the couch. The computer gave a series of beeps. “Please call me 1157-A. It has a sexy ring to it.”

Juliet replied, “Your wish is my command, 1157A.”

“Dash A.”

“Excuse me. 1157-A.”

“That’s more like it, Captain.”

Juliet wondered who exactly was in charge. She turned to Erit. “You have to promise to visit often, though we won’t be … you know.”

Sighing, he said, “And I do so love a proper you know. Ah, well.” He gave her a quick, lovely kiss on the lips. “Of course I shall visit—if only to piss off Ragnar. An occasional reminder of how desirable you are will be good for him.”

* * * *

Juliet was welcomed into the airspace of Alutia as a conquering heroine. Before she touched down, she had a dinner invitation from the Krogolsch Iptari, or Planetary Poo-Bah head lady in charge. She’d need to get back to them on her plus one, however. It would depend on how impressed Ragnar was with her; she cared a heckuva lot more about that than accolades from a lady whose name sounded like a beer. Although she was certain beer-lady was an accomplished and strong woman to admire.

She landed in the same field on the Manscapes’ property they’d used over a month ago. Taking deep breaths, she examined her appearance, optimized to inspire love. And lust. Sky blue corset over a low-cut white shirt. She needed help from the boobs, and she knew it. Ragnar had bought the bustier for her birthday. Tight brown pants tucked into over-the-knee black boots completed the ensemble. Today’s groveling was too important for a miniskirt. Even her socks were black and boring, just in case she should have to take off her shoes again in the house.

Famous intergalactic heroines didn’t wear naked-man accessories.

Out in public.

She fluffed up the girls with a little pep talk (“Okay, ladies, if I start to flounder—bounce! Have an accidental nip-slip. Something.”), and lowered the gangplank. Time to get her man back.

Maybe.

Hopefully?

The moment she set foot on the planet, a crack of thunder shook the very molecules of air around her. Lightning tore across the sky like a vengeful god intent on keeping wantons at bay.

Undeterred, Juliet began the hike through the Rapture plants to the house. She made it about two yards before the heavens took a piss all over her cute outfit and carefully coiffed curls.

Kinda-deterred, she slogged past the plants. Puddles seemed to appear instantly, ready to swallow her into a bog of mud and cold nipples.

“Juliet?”

Ragnar’s voice carried over the sheets of rain from the direction of the farmhouse. “I’m here!” She jumped to try and clear the foliage. The upward leap was effective; her tiny hand waved over the top of the field. She didn’t stick the landing, however, instead sliding in a delicious combination of water, dirt, and dung to land hard on her butt. Her breath whooshed right out of her, propelled by her surely-cracked tailbone.

Completely deterred, yet spurned on by love’s pulsating butt-injury, Juliet crawled to her feet and trudged toward Ragnar’s gruff voice.

“Ragnar!” she screamed into the wind. “I love you!”

“What?” He didn’t sound overly interested in her fevered declaration.

She ran for the clearing in front of the house. She only fell one other time, which she considered good, seeing as the planet was spitting oceans at her. Finally, she pushed aside a giant leaf, and there he was, standing on the steps of the porch. Smiling, she outstretched her arms and hollered, “Ragnar, I love you!”

“Do what, now?”

Her hands fell. It was hard to have a tender, movie-worthy romance moment when you stank of crap, dripped like a wet mongrel, and your ex-boyfriend was too lazy to leave the porch. She took a deep breath, spit out the ensuing deluge leaking in, and ran through the yard. Stopping a few feet away from him, she said, “Ragnar, I love you. I want to be with you, forever, eschewing all others, no matter how ripped.”

His eyebrows rose. The rain splatted on her now-running mascara. It dribbled black droplets into her vision, making everything appear sinister. Sad that in the year 2459 there was still no such thing as truly waterproof mascara.

She’d better get back to her love speech. Her teeth were beginning to chatter.

“This is who I am. I’m barren, and I’m tacky, and I’m foolish. But, in my favor, I have a perky ass, can drink any man under the table, and consider you the greatest thing since the invention of the penis. And we both know how I feel about penises.” She gave a conspiratorial nod.

Maybe she’d gotten a bit off track. Cock talk was not romantic. At least not under these circumstances.

“So what I need to know is…” She slipped gracefully dropped to one knee and sloshed a lock of hair out of her eyeball. “Will you marry me?”

Rain tore the ground around her like falling bullets. Ragnar grinned, almost as if he couldn’t help it and hadn’t wanted to. His luminous blue gaze swept the horizon somewhere behind her. Covered in a warm, woolen jacket of red plaid, he looked like a cozy, living fire. He leaned against a pillar and said, “Do you have any more surprises? Secrets? I need the full story before I can decide.”

She hugged her arms over her soggy chest and thought about it, determined to be a grown-up and put it all out on the line. “I was once arrested in New York City for indecent exposure.”

“Once?”

Dating smart men was the worst because they were smart. “Okay, three times.”

“Accidental or on purpose?”

“A little from column A, a little from column B…”

He laughed. “That can’t be a secret. I’d be shocked if you hadn’t been arrested for being nude somewhere you oughtn’t.”

“I once kidnapped a Jip’p-uthish llama from the zoo, and kept it in my boarding school room for four months. I got Madame Spitty elected homecoming queen. I was living with my boyfriend, the senator, at the time.”

After that one, Ragnar bristled with the distinct air of a man about to ask uncomfortable follow-up questions. Moving on… “When I was twenty-six, I joined a traveling troupe of folk dancers who did nothing but smoke Rapture and perform obscene solo dances wearing only silk scarves and gloves in the shape of cat paws. I’d done it because I’d lost a bet, yet I loved hanging out with The Frisky Folksy Fourteen. At least I think I did. We were really high.” She giggled.

His mouth flopped open and closed like an aghast guppy.

This proposal was not going at all the way she thought it would. It was a lot wetter, for one, and not in the good way. “That’s it, really. Oh, one time I changed my name to Holly Golightskirt and won a half million in a poker tournament. I donated the money to my friend who was struggling to open a halfway house for abandoned exotic pets. Not surprisingly, orangushark tanks are super expensive.”

He set his forehead against the wood of the pillar. Slowly, she sank into the mud under her knee, giving her gallant kneel a very lopsided appearance. “I’m melting here. If you’re going to reject me for a fertile Alutian milkmaid, can we get on with it?”

A quiet gasp squeezed from his lips. “Oh, shied. It’s pouring.” He ran down the steps and hauled her onto the porch by her armpits.

“Just now you realize I’ve been drowning out there?” She splatted fat rain drops onto the wood.

“I’d kinda forgotten; you were telling such … er, such stories. I’ll be back.” With this rather cryptic sentence, he ducked into the house and emerged a few moments later with a fluffy, taupe towel. Piano music tinkled faintly from inside.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting it gladly.

He said, “My corset is soaked.”

“Yet they’re my waterlogged boobs.”

A lopsided smile crept onto his face. She dried herself as best she could; her shaking, however, did not improve. She trembled like an overexcited puppy, whether from the freezing rain or the unanswered most important question of her entire life, she didn’t know.

“Juliet,” Ragnar began in a tone meaning the end of the sentence will not be what you want to hear.

“Wait! Before you reject me, let me just say—” Her eyes searched the air for the magical phrase guaranteeing happily ever after.

“There’s nothing to say.”

“No!” And just like that, her tear ducts leaked more brutally than the sky above them. “I’ve learned my lesson. It’s been seared into my soul. I’ll never, ever keep anything from you again, no matter how scary it may be. I’m a weak and terrible person.”

“Juliet.” He cupped her cheeks and stepped forward, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “Yes.”

Mascara splashed from her blinking eyelashes. “Yes, I’m a terrible person?”

“What is that smell?”

“Yes, what?” she demanded, shoving against his massive chest.

His hands dropped. He snorted and let out a guffaw. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Schied ayn farwam, woman. This is the worst proposal ever. Although I’m not surprised you hit me during it. I’m a little shocked I haven’t been shot…”

Sunshine peeked through the clouds surrounding Juliet’s heart. Although numb from head to foot, she must be happy; otherwise, she wouldn’t be thinking in such purple metaphors. She threw herself into his embrace and squeezed him until he was nearly as wet as she. “Can you really live without kids?”

His arms tightened around her. “I still have to get used to the idea, but I know I can’t live without you. The last month has been the worst of my life. Everything seems much … dimmer when you’re not around. Look at what you did, baby. You saved all those women.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckle. “You saved me from normalcy.”

“Then why didn’t you come find me and tell me that?” The question came out with a bite to it.

Ragnar took a step back, his brows knit. “You’d planned to fail for our entire relationship. It was a ticking clock to you the whole time.”

“I—”

“That’s what you said.”

She closed her mouth and nodded.

He slid a wet lock of hair from her cheek. “You’re a fighter. I needed you to decide if you wanted to fight for us, Juliet. I needed to know that you’d have the unpleasant conversation. Relationships aren’t all fuzzy handcuffs and pies.”

“Only mostly.”

Chuckling, he agreed, “Only mostly.”

Taking a step away, she searched his face and whispered, “Can you trust me again?”

He nodded. “We’re a team from now on. You and me. We hold nothing back.”

“Team Tail.”

“Team No Underpants.”

No underpants talk led, as it inevitably does, to a fevered few minutes of kissing, clutching, and groping. The thought of making up for a month’s worth of being apart almost made Juliet too dizzy to stand up. She tore her lips away from his, and set her reeling head on his chest lest she throw him in a pile of Rapture and really make the papers.

For a minute, they clasped at each other and fought to slow their breathing.

“We can talk about things like adoption,” he said.

Eyes wide, she saw a future so different than anything she’d ever imagined assembling itself before her astonished gaze. “Ye gods, Ragnar. You’ve turned me inside out. I’d be a disastrous mother!”

“We’ll let you be the father then. Or not.” He turned serious, pinning her with a stare so blue and loving she forgot to breathe. “There are no guarantees in this life, Blondie. All we have is today. And today, I want you to be Mrs. Ragnar Manscape.”

Juliet wiggled out of his embrace. “You’ve got to be mad if you think I’m gonna go by the name Manscape.”

“It means ‘cake’ in Alutian.”

“It means ‘ball-shaving’ in Earth English.”

“How about…” He sidled closer and pulled her into his body again. “Juliet Lawrence-Ball-Shaving?”

His hands descended to her ass. She gave a pleased sigh. “Juliet Lawrence-Ball-Busting?”

“We’ll take it under consideration.”

“I know!” Juliet put triumphant hands to her hips. “Ragnar Lawrence. Lawrence means ‘this name sounds so much better than Manscape’ in every language.”

Eyes enigmatic and glittering, he pressed his warm lips to her now-surely-blue ones. In his kiss she could taste love, see fireworks, and feel overwhelming passion all at the same time. And a little tongue. It sizzled from her mouth to her unmentionables. God, it was heaven to be back in Ragnar’s good graces, a.k.a. his ripped, manly arms.

Ragnar pulled back, his gaze fuzzy. She grinned and wiped her face of stray makeup and mucus. That’s what classy bitches did when they got engaged to the man of their dreams. “I love you, Blondie. And if you say—”

“I know.”

“That’s not funny yet. It might not be funny ever.”

She took his hand in hers and kissed it. “I love you too, tail and all, Ragnar.”

He shook his head. “It’s so difficult to train you.”

She hit him, but her heart wasn’t in it. “How will your parents react?”

He looked over his shoulder to make sure the door of the house was closed. A purple face suspiciously resembling Kimarin’s ducked away from the front-facing window. Juliet resisted the urge to make a mean scowl at her. “They’ll be horrified. However, I don’t think a disavowal will be in my future. They were slightly impressed at your derring-do. Tambar said marvelous and mostly-true things about you in the Alutian press.”

“So their approval will be in the fourteen percent range, instead of zero?”

“That might be ambitious.”

Since they still hated her, she gave his butt a firm squeeze. Let them chew on it. There was fun to be had in playing the villainous daughter-in-law they couldn’t slam in public because she was a beloved folk heroine. She smiled as much at that as at his amazing ass. He grunted approvingly. Other of his parts swelled approvingly. Apparently she’d been missed.

“You didn’t answer my question before,” he murmured.

Laying her cheek against his snuggly pec, she asked, “Question?”

“The smell! Did you bathe in horse shit?”

Yup—they were gonna put her on the cover of Posh Brides Bi-Weekly for sure. She wondered if her favorite hooker store made wedding dresses. Well, skirts can always be hemmed a couple of feet.

He lifted her chin. “I think we’re going to have to clean you up, dirty human.”

Juliet’s womanly parts perked up. They knew the score: make-up sex! With Ragnar! It was almost worth getting one’s heart trampled on by a rabid pack of wild tyrannokittens.

Almost.

“I need cleaning so, so badly,” she agreed. “If only there were a giant, freakishly tailed man around to help me scrub my—”

He made a sound low in his throat. “This is fun, but I need to get you naked drashinish.” “Drashinish” must mean “now,” for he tossed her over his shoulder and marched inside, past his confused-looking (and horrified-looking, to be honest) family, into his bedroom with its very own adjacent bathroom. He threw a towel down and set her on it.

She let him do the hard work; he seemed so eager to assist her clothes on their journey to the white tile floor. His concern for her corset and shirt were great—it took him a while to divest her of them. He planted a kiss on every goosebumped inch of skin he exposed, from her collarbone to her navel. By the time he arrived at her waist, he’d sunk to his knees, and she could barely stand. Or breathe. He might as well have tattooed her with his name.

He flicked his sapphire eyes up to meet hers while he tugged the shirt past her elbows to toss it aside. Hands running up the backs of her arms, he said, “You’re cold.”

Juliet leaned over him, her belly brushing against his hair. His lips grazed her stomach. A shot of sharp desire came from lower down. “Not all of me.”

His chuckle burst in short breaths against her skin. “I think I should continue with the chilly parts. You might catch cold and be confined to my bed otherwise.”

Her knees buckled. He caught her. She parted to straddle him, and he sat back on his haunches and pulled her hips into him. “Kiss me.”

Only too happy to comply, she pressed still-cold lips to his, seemingly on fire. He drugged her with his mouth, the intoxication warming her like nothing else. His hands tore into her hair and bunched it so he could control the kiss, turning her head to devour her lips, and then again to lightly bite her jaw and neck. Wherever he assaulted her skin, she lit up with pleasure and sheer, unfettered joy. Tears sprang into her eyes.

He pulled back and took her face in his hands. “Have I hurt you?” His eyebrows came together with such gentleness, her tears spilled over.

“I’m so happy to be with you.”

A grin flashed across his lips, accompanied by a flush of pleasure. “Tell me again. Say it for me.”

Knowing exactly what he wanted, she drowned herself in his adoring gaze and said, “I love you.”

His arms snatched her so close, she gasped and squealed, half falling on him. “Again,” he said.

“I love you!”

He gave her a smart smack on the ass. She reared up and scrambled to her feet. “How dare you!”

Oh, the grin really came out to play now. He hauled them both upright and backed her against the wall to cup her breasts in his hands. Her head fell back, her skin aching in sensation. Soon he found his way to her trousers; he made quick work of the fly and her boots, pulling off both so that she found herself nude before him, except for—

“What boring socks.” He sighed and took a step back. “I was hoping for construction workers in provocative poses.”

She laughed. She laughed so hard it reverberated in the small room. “Those are in my other spaceship. You wouldn’t believe the size of their hammers.”

He scooped up her stuff, boots and all, and disappeared into the bedroom. She heard a window opening, and then, after a moment, slamming shut again. She sure did lose a lot of good outfits on this planet. All for the best, since her boots had taken their unpleasant odor with them.

When he returned, his expression turned devious. He peeled off his plaid jacket and dropped it. Underneath, he wore a V-neck thermal shirt in black. It was the sexiest piece of clothing she’d ever seen, and that included her construction worker socks. Juliet’s mouth went dry, and he was still fully clothed.

Ye gods.

He knew her looks. Hell, he knew her everything. Unable to keep the smirk off his smug, handsome, crooked-nose face, he lifted his shirt to reveal his abs. Oh, the abs. Some day she ought to write an ode to them. A limerick, probably. There once was a man from Alutia, whose tail could do things… She licked her lips and took a step forward.

“No.”

Whimpering, she flopped back against the wall.

“You deserve this torture, don’t you?”

She pouted and refused to answer. Her lack of dignified garb, however, rendered her obstinacy rather ineffective.

Too slowly to be borne, he drew his shirt up and over his head. She feasted her eyes on his chest, scattered with downy, black hair. The angle of his collarbone. The planes of his pecs that looked so hard, but slid so soft against her cheek. Her entire body clenched with want. It was all she could do to not rip his pants off with her teeth.

“Can’t I at least rip your pants off with my teeth?” She took a tentative step forward, to be met by raised eyebrows. “Haven’t they suffered long enough without me?”

“Your concern for my wardrobe touches me deeply, Juliet.” He ran a hand over the hard length of his cock, visible beneath the rough, brown fabric. The small act was so erotic she fought to suck in harsh breaths.

“What?” he asked, innocence shining from every pore.

The room went feverish all of a sudden.

He tilted his head and continued stroking himself. “What were you saying?”

Juliet didn’t even know what planet she was on anymore. She closed the distance between them and cupped his erection. “There is a shower in our future, right?” He moaned, pushing his hips toward her demanding hands. “Wet, soapy water. Wet,” she swallowed, “soapy skin—”

She pulled his pants off. He went for her socks. Inside thirty desperate seconds, he’d lifted her into the spacious shower and bent to turn on the tap. Coming up behind him, she grabbed his butt with both hands and oh, holy hell kneaded his perfectly perfect gorgeous hot damn muscles. His tail flicked up between them, finding her breasts seemingly by instinct. She giggled.

Water rained from above in gentle drops. Juliet reached around and slid her fingers along the underside of his cock. He moaned and unbent, leaning back against her. “Get the soap,” she said over the splash of the water. He might have replied, but she kept stroking him, and his words came out garbled.

She was a sucker for a man too turned on to talk.

He began to hand her the soap, but snatched it back and took a step away from her mischievous hands. Water formed erotic, wet tendrils down his face and shoulders and dripped from his…

“Give me the soap, Ragnar. I promise you won’t be sorry.” She smiled, winsome and sexy, and flipped her sodden hair over her shoulder. “Consider it my atonement. Let me bathe all your worthy places.”

He chuckled. “Your sweet act is truly terrifying.” Rolling the soap over and over again in his hands, he leaned forward. “Just another reminder of how filthy you are. You’re first, Blondie.”

Juliet closed her eyes, sure now that she’d go crazy with lust. Crazier. There probably wasn’t a mental health professional in the universe that would count her marbles as intact. But who cared? So long as Ragnar kept rubbing his fingers, slick with soap, up and down her thighs thatta way. Delight started in her ankles and shivered its way upward, finding the place between her legs that was on fire for his touch.

Naturally, it’s the one place he wouldn’t.

He scrubbed and worked and stroked, and all the while she begged and pleaded and whimpered. The delicious agony rendered her unable to form words besides incoherent moans. She opened her eyes to watch him, his cock hard and just out of reach. Licking her lips, she caught water between them and imagined that beautiful organ inside her, smoother than silk, swollen and moving. She buried her nails in his shoulders, determined to torture him the way he was doing her.

On his knees, he looked up, water spiking his eyelashes and sluicing down his neck. Gazes locked, he so, so softly touched between her legs. She gasped. Satisfaction lit his eyes. He did it again, washing the most intimate part of her with careful strokes, and then rinsing her clean with warm water.

“Poor Juliet,” he murmured.

Poor Juliet, indeed! Her entire body was a fixated point of frustrated desire. She didn’t even trust herself to move—she might just fall down and become stranded in a puddle of lust.

“Perhaps I can help?” He batted his eyelashes and she wanted to slap him; he looked so adorable and evil. A divine combination in a man. Finally, finally he dipped his head and touched the tip of his tongue to her clit.

She did fall then. Once again, like always, he held her up and secured her. His big hands cupped her bottom while he closed his mouth around her, sucking and kissing her lips. Opening her eyes, she wound her fingers in his hair, and grew wetter to watch him feast on her. It felt so damn unbelievably good, his tongue slippery and licking her in every right way. She hooked a knee over his shoulder. He groaned and buried himself deeper. He brought one hand around and slipped two fingers inside, meeting no resistance. His tongue on her clit, his fingers playing, she came in a dizzying rush of pleasure, crying out his name.

Some time passed before she realized that his entire family had probably heard everything. It delighted her in a nasty way. What? Slut or slut not—there is no try.

She disentangled herself from him, and he guided her descent to the floor of the shower. Throwing her arms around him, she said, “That was amazing. You are amazing.”

“I’m glad you finally sorted that out.”

She was, too.

She swept her hair out of her eyes and found the forgotten soap. “Your turn.”

His breath halted.

A licentious laugh bubbled up from deep inside her. Just as he’d done, she caressed the soap in her hands, deigning to begin sudsing him up at the shoulders. She worked into the powerful muscles there. He closed his eyes; they crinkled at the corners in pleasure. Down his chest, around to his back, she massaged. It took her a long, long time to wash his gluteus awesomeus and tail, which misbehaved thoroughly. A very long time. A quiet, “Juliet, I’m not going to have any skin left,” broke her out of the spell, and she finished up the rest of his gorgeous tan body. Except for one part.

“Well, I’m done,” She put the soap in its attractive niche and started past him toward the door.

“Done, my ass.”

“Yes, I did your ass, and now I’m done.”

“Woman!” Muttering in Alutian, he caught her waist and pulled her back against his soapy front.

Laughing, she wiggled her bottom into his erection. “That’s what you get for teasing me for so long.”

“And this is what you get.” He turned her around and pressed a firm kiss to her protesting mouth. Like she was nothing, he lifted her up and walked them to the smooth, tile wall. She tightened her legs around him, her sex opening against the blunt tip of his cock. Ragnar pressed her to the tile and thrust upward into her. They held each other that way for a moment. He kissed her forehead. “Tell me again,” he whispered, water bouncing off his shoulders and running in rivers across them both.

She put her head against his chest. “I love you, Ragnar.”

He rocked into her again. Juliet cried out and closed her eyes, her entire being focused on the place where she was joined to him. “I love you, Juliet.”

They stopped talking. He moved with insatiable hunger, her body rolling with his, every thrust filling her with unbearable pleasure. She felt like a rag doll with him, helpless and unable to resist if she wanted to. His moans rang through the little room, making her ache and sink her nails into his back. He slowed his hips to the perfect rhythm, and she lost all control, climaxing against him and with him, her sex hot and wet and taking everything he had to give.

“No question—they heard that,” she whispered, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

“It’s okay. We’re practically married.”

Something soared inside Juliet—a glee she’d never expected to enjoy so thoroughly. She began shaking.

Ragnar set her on her feet (and she was actually able to stay there) and shut off the water. “Let’s dry off before you shiver yourself apart.”

“More sex would keep me warm.”

“Tramp.”

He fluffed a towel and dried her so vigorously he nearly turned her inside out. Once she was quite pink, he carried her to the bed, wherein she snuggled into him and burrowed and—

“If you keep doing that, you’re not going to get any sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon.” She grinned against his neck, which smelled of sage and lavender from the soap. Mmmmmmmmmm. “I’m not sleepy.”

Sighing, he said, “A man’s work is never done. At least not around you.” He located several of her soft, warm places, melting her brain as well as her body. Through her haze of desire, she almost thought he added, “Thank God.”

Dear God,

Juliet Lawrence-Ball-Buster here. Thank You so much for bringing Ragnar to me. What a ride it’s been. I mean that non-sexually. Although Ragnar is a sweet, sweet ride. Heh, heh.

I’m not even going to apologize for that last part. It seems disingenuous, especially when I’m naked in bed with him and you know what we just did, which, if it’s not a sin, sure felt like one.

Anyhoo, do You think we should marry in a church? Would the place implode the moment I wore white into it? Please get back to me. Send a burning bush, or a flaming cocktail, or something.

Thanks again,

Juliet