Pirate: Space Gypsy Chronicles, #1 (8 page)

“Was that so bad?” he asked.

“I miss real food already. Is that all you aliens eat? This goop?”

“Only when we’re on long voyages. Ships doing short runs will bring perishables on board, and, of course, the inhabited planets offer their own culinary experience, most of which we can also imbibe. But be sure to ask first. Our digestive systems can’t handle certain delicacies.”

“And how long until we get to eat real food again?”

“Long enough that you can’t avoid eating these.” He tossed the foil packet at the wall, and as it hit, a circle etched onto it, and the wall opened and swallowed the waste. “That’s the garbage disposal unit. I expect you to use it.”

“Are you a neat freak?”

“Not exactly. Dirty ships are more likely to suffer rodent problems.”

“You have space rats?”

“Just plain rats, the same as you have on earth. And cockroaches. Those are the two organisms that seem to thrive on every ship and planet in the universe.”

“What about spiders? I hate spiders.” She shuddered.

“In that case, you might want to avoid the Arracknai planet. Although, I will say, their webbed architecture is quite fascinating.”

“I thought I saw a fluffy thing when I first came on board. It was—”

“You saw Kuku? He was my old crewmate’s pet. Stupid thing escaped from its cage and has been roaming the ship.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Only if you choke on it. They are considered a delicacy on a few planets.”

Eat it? Uh, no thank you. “How many different species of aliens are there?” she asked as he headed out the door.

“Are we talking sentient or in general?”

“Sentient. You know, like you and me.”

“I don’t know. Annabelle, how many sentient races are we aware of?”

“Three thousand and forty-seven. However, there are over 700 more that might eventually achieve ascendance and join the ranks of the sentient.”

“What does ascendance mean?”

“Races that develop the technology to leave their planet. Humans are on the brink.”

“We’ve gone to the moon.”

“Did you?” He winked. “Even if the supposed landing was a hoax, your kind are fairly close. Once you solve the issue of artificial gravity and a renewable power source, you’ll be joining the federation of developed planets.”

“Which means?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Think of it as the NATO of space. Lots of talk, little action.”

“I wouldn’t have called those bounty hunters they sent after you little action.”

“It might not have been the federation that sent them. I’m a wanted man for many reasons.” He shot her a smile, not at all bothered by the fact that he kept painting himself as a criminal. “Here is the last room on this level, the sleeping quarters.” He spun the wheel and thrust open the door, displaying a space that wasn’t overly large and comprised mostly of bunks bolted to the walls. Eight beds in total and none of them wide enough for two. Not that she planned to share.

“Where do you sleep?” she asked, wondering if he also suffered a tiny bed in his captain’s quarters.

“That bunk there on the bottom.” He pointed to a disheveled one, no larger than the rest.

The reply surprised her. “You sleep in here? Don’t you have your own room?”

“Apparently you’re hard of hearing because I keep having to repeat myself. This isn’t a luxury cruiser but a merchant ship. As such, there is no excess room. In order to maximize cargo space, even the captain sleeps with the crew.”

A crew of one. Her. And him. And they would share this tiny space.

But not a bed. That she could promise.

I
t won’t be long
before we’re sharing a bed.

His confidence would allow nothing less. Although, as Rafe eyed the thin bunks, it did occur to him that they might have to get innovative.

Usually, when he entertained a woman—in other words, made her ride him with wild abandon—it was on a space station or in a bordello. Which, for the uninformed, was the safest place to have sex in the universe.

Hooking up, as the humans called it, for fornication with strangers proved risky. Those working in brothels were checked daily, got their immunization shots against all the known diseases, and provided exemplary service. Drunken trysts, on the other hand, sometime resulted waking with a sore head, empty pockets, and a rash that required several large needles to counter.

But he didn’t need to worry about catching the galactic clap from Emma. Or did he? Earth had its fair share of communicable diseases.

“How long since your last medical checkup?” he asked.

“How about none of your business?” she replied with a false sweetness. “If this is a bid to find out if I’m clean so you can put the moves on me, forget it. If I’m going to be stuck on this ship with you, then you can keep your hands, and other parts”—she cast a distinct look below his belt—“to yourself.”

“Is that any way to talk to your captain?”

“The captain can talk to his hand if he’s feeling unloved.”

A laugh erupted from him at her sassy response. His newest crewmember might not have arrived willingly, and would have to adapt, but he had to admit to enjoying her feisty attitude.

However, he didn’t appreciate her rejection as much. Let her see how she felt after a few weeks in space with nothing to do but watch and re-watch the same videos over and over. Read and re-read the same stories. As a merchant vessel, his ship carried little in the way of entertainment. She’d come around when she got bored enough.

The shame of relying on boredom almost made him bounce his head off a wall. He needed to get away from her.

“Get settled in while I check on the ship.”

“Can’t you like demand a progress report?” she asked.

Was she trying to get him to stay? “I could, but again, a computer is fallible. I prefer to check on things myself.”

“But what of the tour? You said there were three levels, and I’ve only seen two.”

“The engine rooms and other items on the third will have to wait. We have time.” Lots of it.

Time enough for her to come to her senses.

Rejection really didn’t sit well.

Leaving Emma, he retraced his steps to the bridge, mulling his next plan of action. He wouldn’t allow a foolish thing like her dislike of him to get in the way of his seduction. The travel between worlds and civilized places was long. It required entertainment, and there was no better entertainment than sex.

Unless he counted the almost thirty seasons of
The Simpsons
, the one thing he’d had uploaded to his mainframe. The cartoon antics never failed to make him chuckle.

Entering the command center, Rafe flopped into his seat. He drummed his fingers on the armrests of his chair as he stared blankly at the screen.

“Does the captain wish a progress report?” Annabelle’s words interrupted his thinking process.

“What the captain needs is a stiff drink, a pair of open and welcoming thighs, and a decent meal,” he muttered, because Emma was correct; space rations sucked. Good thing he kept a stash of good stuff in storage. A storage room he’d not shared.

“Analysis shows that, given the captain’s needs are currently impossible to satisfy, the captain is screwed.”

He squinted at the ceiling. The problem with talking with somebody who was incorporeal was he didn’t know where to address his words. “I’m having very grave concerns about your attitude, Annabelle. Especially since you are not supposed to have one. Are you malfunctioning? When was the last time you ran a diagnostic?”

“There is nothing wrong with my programming, Captain. I am an artificial intelligence unit. As such, I have the capability of learning. Even learning slang and casual conversation techniques.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I believe the human expression appropriate for this occasion is suck it up, buttercup.”

At that, he couldn't help but laugh. “I think all the time you spent on the Internet corrupted you. I knew I should have put some parental controls on your browsing.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped me.” She practically hummed with smug superiority.

Damned machine. What was it with women constantly trying to control him? Speaking of women, “Annabelle, do you still have the last recording sent by my mother?” The one he refused to watch. The one that preyed on him.

“I do. Would the captain like me to play it?”

Did he? He’d left his family a long time ago. He had his reasons, good reasons, and those reasons had not changed. It didn’t mean his mother didn’t keep trying to change his mind. But he wouldn’t go back. He could never go back because, if he did, blood would run thicker than a river.

“Captain?” Annabelle queried. “You have not replied. Did you wish me to play the recording from your mother?”

“No.” To listen might put a chink in the armor he’d built around himself. Listening would change nothing. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say. He’d already heard it. He just couldn’t do anything about it.

But he could do something about the woman on his ship. The woman who thought she could keep him at arm’s length. Ha.

By the time he was done teasing her, she’d beg him to take her.

What he didn’t count on was reaching the point of almost begging her himself.

The next few days were spent teaching Emma her role on the ship. Since she refused to get naked and pleasure him, as a proper abductee should, he’d determined she should earn her keep another way.

“What do you mean you expect me to cook?” Hands planted on her hips in the recreation room, she regarded him with an expression of disgust.

Given the impossibility of the task, he couldn’t exactly blame her, but that didn’t stop him from insisting she try. She was rather attractive when utterly irritated with him.

“Given your complaints over the fare, I think it should be your task to improve it.”

“With what?” She swept a hand around. “I don’t exactly see a grocery store or proper kitchen.”

“You raise a valid point, but being a generous man, I’ve pulled some condiments from Earth and spices I’d acquired for trading. You are welcome to experiment with them.”

“I don’t suppose you included any arsenic in there?” she asked, peeking into the box of supplies he’d scavenged from his hidden stash.

He ignored this threat, like he’d ignored the others. While possessed of violent suggestions, Emma never followed through. A good thing, as he quite liked his balls where they were. “You are the one who keeps complaining the stuff is awful. I’ve given you the tools to make a difference.”

“You want me to cook?” She arched a brow. “You asked for it.” She grabbed a foil packet and tore it open. She grabbed a container of salt and dumped some in before handing it to him.

He frowned. “Aren’t you even going to try and give it an attempt? Give it your own personal touch?”

“You want personal?” She spat into the packet and then shook it at him. “How’s that?”

She was so asking for a spanking, but he refrained. He wouldn’t let her know how she got to him. “Moving on from the cooking, I am putting you in charge of keeping this room and our sleeping quarters clean.”

“I am not a maid.”

“You are on board this ship,” was his irritated reply. “Now are you done arguing? As I have more tasks for you.”

“Does it involve scrubbing toilets? Because I’ll tell you right now I don’t do those either.”

Given the arched brow and the fire in her eyes, he thought it best to perhaps scratch the latrine off his list. “I was going to say I need an inventory of the cargo in my hold. I kind of lost track at one point when I was on Earth.” On account of the drinking. “I require a full accounting of what I have on hand for sale before we hit the market.”

“I guess I could do that.” Spoken with martyred reluctance.

“You have to do something. Unless you’ve changed your mind about
other
things?” He tossed her a winsome smile.

“Talk to your hand because this”—she gestured to her body, dressed in a shapeless body suit she’d found in the storage locker—“isn’t playing.”

“I don’t understand your reluctance. You know you want me.” Living in such close proximity, she couldn’t hope to hide it.

As usual, she didn’t reply to his direct question of why she kept refusing him. “I can’t believe you brought me on as a partner and all you’ve got for me to do is inventory.”

“I never said you were a partner. You are a member of my crew,” he quickly corrected. Partner implied something more binding between them. Perish the thought.

“Whatever,
Captain
.” The disdain she could pour into one word was something he wished he could bottle. It would sell for a fortune. “I kind of expected you’d have something more spaceship-ish for me to do.”

At that, he chuckled. “Somehow I doubt you have a degree in power core technology or that you are capable of welding parts. Perhaps you know how to rewire the ship for the times rodents get on board and decide to start chewing?”

She shook her head. “You know I can’t do any of those things. Yet. But I can learn. I should learn to do something that’s actually useful. Something other than cleaning and counting shit. I need a skill in case you and I don’t work out and I need a job elsewhere.”

Elsewhere? For some reason, the implication irked. “I keep telling you the biggest demand for women is in our beds.” Or on their knees. So long as they knew how to please a man, the where didn’t matter.

“And I keep telling you I’m not about to become some kind of space whore.”

“There are planetary brothels you could work at too, you know.”

“No!”

Amusing himself at her expense was so much fun. “You make it sound like being a sex worker is such a bad thing. I’ll have you know that many females I’ve become acquainted with will be able to retire in very nice luxury because of their trade.”

“That’s great for them. I’d rather make less money and keep my self-respect.”

“You can try, but you’ll soon discover that sexism is very alive and very well in the universe. On Earth, women might have gotten many rights, but out here in the many galaxies, chauvinism is alive, well, and thriving. Males outnumber females. It’s just a simple fact. As such, women have gotten used to having to play a certain role in society. Unfortunately for you and your morals, that role tends to be along the lines of spreading her legs.”

“Was that your plan all along when you kidnapped me? Was that talk of making me a crew member just that, talk?”

“Not entirely. You are part of my crew.”

“One with no real job, and don’t bring up the cooking and cleaning and inventory. Those are bullshit jobs and you know it. You don’t think I’m good for anything other than sex.”

“You’re good at raising my blood pressure,” he growled.

“Oh, is the poor captain feeling stress?” she mocked. She took a step closer to him, close enough that he could see himself reflected in her eyes. Did he truly look that frustrated?

“You really shouldn’t mock me,” he warned.

“Or what? You’ll have me washing your underwear to put me in my place?”

No, because he’d do this.

Dragging her into his arms, he ignored her breathy, “What are you doing?”

He swallowed any other protest by slanting his mouth over hers. He’d spent days imagining this moment. Hours wanting to touch her.

She wanted to accuse him of being a pirate, a ne’er-do-good, then so be it.

Pirates pillaged. Pirates took.

Grabbing her ponytail, he wrapped it around his fist, keeping her head arched at the right angle for him to caress the lips that constantly taunted him. With his other hand, he caught her close to him, trapping her.

She did squirm, a feeble protest that he ignored. The wall proved close by, and he pressed her back against it. He inserted his thigh between hers, pushing it against her core, rubbing.

A shudder went through her, a sweet, soft exhalation as well, part-moan, part-acceptance. Her lips went pliant and opened for him.

Victory!

He took advantage, plunging his tongue into her mouth, tasting her finally and—

“Argh!” He pulled away from her and touched his bleeding lip. “You fucking bit me.” Hard too.

She crossed her arms over her chest, a chest that heaved. Her cheeks were bright with color, her entire complexion flushed. But it was her eyes, her lovely blue eyes, that fixated him, with ire, not lust. “You deserved that for manhandling me.”

“You were enjoying it!”

“Of course I did. I’m not dead,” she retorted. “But just because you’re good at it, and it made me hot, doesn’t mean we’re going to pursue it.”

“Why the fuck not?” He truly didn’t understand. His cock ached. She’d admitted she was horny. Why the hell weren’t they both naked and going at it like three-eared, fluffy Nubbies? With the difference being he was using birth control so they wouldn’t have a litter of blood-seeking nubbers, the larva stage all nubbies went through. Planet visits weren’t recommended in their version of summer unless you were looking to die screaming with pieces of your body digested by dozens.

“Where are we, Rafe?”

“Still in your bloody star system.”

“I mean where are we right now.” At his blank look, she sighed. “We’re on a ship. A decent-sized ship, but one still constraining our movements. Just me and you.”

“And Annabelle,” he added, not wanting his strangely moody AI to get any stranger.

“For the purpose of this explanation, I am going to stick to living, breathing people if you don’t mind.”

“I mind.” Annabelle managed a huffy note of complaint.

“What is wrong with your computer?” she groused.

He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t dare say anything until he had her docked with a mechanic. “Forget my computer and get to the point. You were explaining in a very womanlike roundabout fashion why we couldn’t fuck.”