Shipmates (The Dragonfly Chronicles)

By Kaysee Renee Robichaud

Kelly Straits loves her job. She's the chief engineer aboard the interstellar vessel Money, Money, and she is responsible for keeping the spacecraft running. However, she cannot engineer a fix for her affections: she likes the captain even more but could never tell him . . .

Pusha Araeni is experienced in the ways of passion, and her beauty has influenced the fates of worlds. She charms with a glance, but has never explored her own true feelings. And yet, a mere captain can lay claim to her in ways that emperors never have . . .

Captain Marcus Nathans is a dashing rogue, an honorable scoundrel who takes shady jobs so long as the credits are right. Though branded a criminal, he has a code, which he will not break for anyone. And he guards his heart as much as he protects his loyal crew . . .

Their latest mission will bring them into danger, traveling to a pirate world in the service of a gangster lord. There, Kelly, Pusha, and Marcus will learn more about passion and love than they had thought imaginable. Can shipmates become . . . something more?

Kaysee Renee Robichaud uses her unique view on space opera to spin a polyamorous story of longing, lust, and love amongst the crew of the Money, Money. Shipmates is the first in a new series of erotic romance novels, which explore strange new loves and far flung futures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Twice Told Tales II
• Release date: Sep 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301029211

Kaysee Renee Robichaud

"Kaysee Renee Robichaud ... balances perfect amounts of ... eroticism and adventure." -- Julian van de Camp,Wings of Steam BlogKaysee Renee Robichaud has been publishing her erotica and romantic fiction since 2008, through such well known book pulishers as Circlet Press, Ravenous Romance, Cleis and Alyson Books. Her work has appeared in numerous anthologies, including the Lambda Award finalist Women of the Bite, edited be Cecilia Tan. An audio version of her story "Adrift" appeared as episode 226 of the Nobilis podcast."Kaysee Renee Robichaud's [writing is] intense, nuanced ... poignant, [and] moving..." -- Sacci Green, Erotica RevealedKaysee Renee has lived all over the United States, but currently resides in southern Texas, where the winters are actually a lot like her childhood autumns. The summers, though, are pretty rough. She is eternally grateful for air conditioning, though a little sweat is good for the fiction."Kaysee Renee Robichaud [tells] a ... playful story, written in a breezy style." -- Jean Roberta, Erotica Revealed

Book preview

Shipmates

The Dragonfly Chronicles

By: Kaysee Renee Robichaud

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Fiction © 2013 by Kaysee Renee Robichaud

Cover Design © 2013 by Twice Told Tales

Cover artwork © Mnogosmyslov Aleksey | Dreamstime.com & © Algol | Dreamstime.com

Smashwords Edition

Published by Twice Told Tales

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Swaps: (noun): (1) a place to perform an exchange of like valued things, also the act of making such an exchange. (2) The activity of exchanging sexual partners (often for goods or services). (3) A double cross (especially during criminal acts).

Guide to Galactic Jargon,

19th ed. (©2199)

Interstellar Transport: Dragonfly class.

Once the pinnacle of small crew driven interstellar transit, Dragonfly class vessels find little use in modern travel.

Designed as scout ships during the ill-fated Ring Uprising, the craft carry the naval equivalent of Bad Luck. Without the introduction of the Armageddon class Destroyer, the Dragonfly class cruiser may well have turned the tide in favor of the Ring insurgents. However, the Armageddon class vessel solidified the Capitol's position.

Legends and rumors aside, however, the Dragonfly remains one of the most versatile of all interstellar vessels, highly maneuverable, rigidly reinforced with light armor and maximized shield screens, numerous placement positions for craft-to-craft or craft-to-personnel weaponry [ ...] This versatility makes the Dragonfly class Interstellar craft especially popular with smugglers and the criminal element.

Voslo's Guide to Interstellar Technologies, Armand Voslo, ed. (©2201)

Chapter One

The engines made an all too appropriate wolf-whistle when Captain Marcus Nathans walked through the shushing automatic door. Kelly Straits could not have planned it better.

The captain was a handsome fellow, clean faced and broad shouldered but still rough around the edges. Dashing was not a word Kelly could recall using to describe a man, but Marc fit the term. Dashing. He was a rogue with a killer smile, strong physique, and a generous heart ... Looking into his ocean blue eyes, past the flint of job-taken-seriously, revealed sensitivity hidden in the depths.

He wore his leathers comfortably tight. Pants hugging the muscles in his legs and the curve of his ass, a loose shirt, top three buttons open so a blast of unscented vent exhaust ruffled them apart, revealing the blonde down on his toned chest.

Kelly, he called, not yet seeing her, what's happening to my ship?

Troubles, Captain, she said, stepping from her hiding place behind the spinning, coughing, whistling engines. When she appeared, his eyes widened with momentary amazement.

Was he noting how the act of pulling her shoulder length hair back into a ponytail changed her face, gave her a mature sexiness? Was he enticed by the single braid, which dropped from her temple and traced her right cheek? Was he seeing the jumpsuit, dirty with oil in all the right places, making the thin material cling to the outer slope of her breasts or hips? Was he eyeing the skin bared by the yawning zipper teeth—her throat, her cleavage, the soft skin of her stomach and the shiny barbell piercing in her navel? Would he meet her eyes, find her hunger for him? Would he see the way she nibbled her lower lip, no longer the nervous tic of the mere girl Kell, but the flirtatious signals of Kelly Straits, woman?

Then his eyes did meet hers, and those cool, sensitive blues pierced her, penetrated into her soul. The shy part of Kelly Straits, what some called her defining trait, wanted to curl up under his gaze and call off her half baked summons. This strong and sexy façade was as far from the Real Her as could be imagined. What had she been thinking?

Of course he would be worried about his engine. Never had it sounded quite as bad as it did now, but this was a harmless shenanigan. She had tuned the engine out of specs, result: a little, short term bit of a choke-whistle-fart. Easy enough to get it working again. No harm, she could say, no foul. He would forgive her. He would ruffle her hair and tell her Stop being such a jokester, Kell. He would definitely call her Kell.

No. It was far too late for calling it off.

Instead of explaining away, instead of recoiling into the shy place, Kelly strode toward him. Her low heeled, solid soled boots tapped across the grating floor. Strength and purpose were her aims, and by the way his eyebrows rose, she succeeded.

What's this? he asked, voice little better than a whisper. He saw her in a surprising new way.

This is my way, she said, reaching up to circle his neck with her arms, of getting you alone, Captain.

Damn it, Kell— he said, no actual anger, no force behind the cuss, Kelly, I mean. How many times do I have to tell you: It's Marc. Just Marc.

Yes, Captain, she said and leaned into him. Tiptoes brought her lips luscious inches away from his. I mean, she added, breathy, Marc.

Why Kelly Straits, he asked, are you trying to seduce me?

Eyeing the bulge in his tight leather pants, she asked, Trying? and gave him a smirk. Not a smile. Smiles made a person cute, like a kid sister. Sexy people did not smile, they smirked. She had been practicing her sexy smirk in the mirror for a good week. I believe, she said, I'm succeeding.

Now, his own lips turned up at one corner—a sexy, scoundrel's grin. I'll say you are. His lips found hers. They were soft, but for a single chapped ridge on the lower front edge. Their tongues met, swirling hot passion beyond control.

He trembled in her arms, shaking like a window pane in a windstorm. She stood strong before him, despite herself. The kiss made her want to collapse against him, made time itself seem to break into meaningless modules.

His hands moved along her flanks then around to the small of her back. Powerful hands. He pulled her against him, molding their bodies together despite the clothing barrier.

He smelled of leather and musk and tonka, a heady flavor that swirled through her nostrils and into her head, whirling her mind and consciousness in tight turns and pirouettes. Scent as dance partner.

His mouth never left hers, his kisses growing hungrier with every passing second.

His cock, rock hard in the leathers, strained for her.

Her hands slid down his broad hard shoulders, his arms, his sides, finally sliding back and down to his fine ass, showcased by the tight, brown leather. Kelly appreciated them with a firm squeeze followed up with a swat. His kiss broke, and he offered her a startled grin.

I've wanted you, he whispered, the confessions of a scoundrel caught at last, since I first saw you. The flint had vanished from his eyes; deep, sensitive waters remained. Swim in me, they invited. Come swim in my soul for a while.

I know, she said, tasting that curious spice blend of both haughtiness and naughtiness. I felt your hunger when we met. You stripped me naked with your eyes ...

He moved lower now, his teeth and tongue inching down her throat, down the gooseflesh over her carotid artery, toward the sensitive place where throat meets shoulder.

I wanted you ... She gasped when he reached the sweet spot. Her lower lip slid between her teeth, and a startled bite brought blood taste to her tongue. Wanted you to strip me with ... your hands. One of Marc's arms moved away from her back, and the other circled in, keeping her close. The errant hand, however, roamed between her jumpsuit's open zipper, spreading the material as it reached inside, tracing his fingertips in wavering lines up from navel to left breast. Oh, yes, Captain. His hand met her breast, kneading. That feels ... Indescribable but wonderful. Her nipples were pert at his touch, one tickled by the soft faux-fur lining in her jumpsuit, the other bared. I wanted to take you. His mouth upon her nipple sent electric currents coursing through her spine and limbs. Overload: every nanoangstrom of the kilometers long neuronal circuitry wiring her body flooded with delightful, responsive shivers. Her smirk vanished. Her mouth spread in a longing smile. He was not looking, though. She hid the girlish smile, as she held his head against her breast.

His trim hair did not offer much to grab onto, but still she caught a good fist full of the stuff, yanking him back, arching his neck so he looked up into her face. She leaned in, powerful and strong as any goddess, and met his lips once more.

Control. She took it and made his tongue entertain her.

Take off, she said between kisses, your clothes.

She pulled him away and took a step back. Still in reach, but he was disoriented. Did his limbs feel as ponderous as hers did? As awkward and uncertain? He pawed at his shirt, pulling it open and off. She watched his chest and arms flex as he did this, noting the light sweat in the thin down. How she longed to catch his sweat with her tongue—

But not yet.

He had made her wait, made her plan this engine failure charade so they could be alone. She would make him wait, now.

Take those, she said, one judgmental finger indicating his brown leather pants, down slowly. Her tongue moved in a delicious line across her lips, tasting the memory of his kiss. Tease me, Captain.

His scoundrel's grin returned, trying to melt her ice façade, but she remained firm. He posed as he tugged the belt open. Another flick, and the top button came undone. More flicks preceded each button down the fly. She caught tantalizing teases of the bulging package beneath. Peeling those leathers down his legs with graceful tugs, he was naked. His cock strained toward her, long as an extended reach screwdriver, wide as a pistol butt. Not straight, it curved to Marc's left. The tip glistened with lubrication. She studied it, amazed by just how perfect it looked. Her own sex warmed and moistened for it.

Do I meet with your approval? he asked through his smart assed grin.

Maaaybe, she said, and rotated her finger through the air, as though stirring a cup of coffee.

He turned a slow circle for her, displaying himself. His body was gorgeous, and he knew how to titillate, to hold her attention with fierce doggedness. She could not take her eyes off him, had she even wanted to try.

Well? he asked.

Yummy, Captain, she said, and bit her lower lip again. She winced when the cut reopened, but relished the sensation. Pleasure-pain, this was. Oh, so delish.

A single curling finger beckoned him. He sauntered, his cock bobbing with each step. As he did, she dragged the zipper on her jumpsuit lower. She spread the material, baring herself in slow motion, tantalizing him with the promise of more flesh. Her boots, she kicked away. Her jumpsuit slipped down as unhindered as oil on Teflon. He studied her nakedness, eyes lingering on her sex. Worshipping, adoring, amazed.

They came together. His chest was hard to her touch, the muscles like iron bands sheathed in soft blankets. She took his manhood in hand. It bobbed at her touch, yearning to be inside her. Her sex likewise salivated, longing to be filled.

Then, he surprised her. His hands pinned her arms to her sides and lifted her inches from the floor. Her knees instinctively closed around his sides, holding fast to him. His cock was between her legs, now, not poised to enter, the length rested against and between her sex's lips, pointing the way to her ass. Warmth flowed from him into her, performing a quick dismantle of the hard goddess character she had constructed for herself.

His smirk returned. Still want me?

More, she whispered, her throat so hot and tight that it caught the words and held them fast. After a struggle, she said, More than ever.

If she expected a victorious laugh, she was surprised. He chuckled. It was the sound of a nervous boy, oddly charming to be coming from her Captain. Shifting his feet, he re-aligned his cock. Then, sweet entry.

An inch, maybe, but this proved more than enough to send new ripples through her pond. More than kisses, more than touches, more than suckling, this was a sensation beyond words. Images flooded her, divine images of flying, of breaking into pieces and forming together once more. Another inch and startled wonderment blasted from her mouth in a serious of hiccoughs. He drew her down, slow. Her legs wrapped round him, her thighs clenching tight, her ankles crossed and urged him deeper. Still, he held her back, an inch at a time. Nine glorious moments. Ten. The walls of this coarse world of flesh vaporized. They were no longer a part of it, though their bodies still existed.

For Kelly, the world was gone, left behind. Pure sensation remained. Spirit stuff, maybe. They flowed together, filling and emptying and filling once more. Colors and temperatures burst inside her eyelids, painting the engine room encounter in bright swatches. Then, reality came back in a flood, when her balance slipped, and she rocked backward toward the engines. Arms flopped back, until palms met warm steel. Sharp stink of the engine fumes, lubricant burning as the internal cylinders pounded against raw ore like mechanical teeth, crunching rock into fuel. She leaned back, awkward on her tiptoes, watching his cylinder disappearing into her, hammering his hungry inches deep into her slick quim, and the pressure intensified perception. Drawing tortured wheezes from her unsteady breaths, passion spilling down his mighty shaft. Pleasantly fucked, good gods what a feeling!

He started to arch away from her, making a broad limbed Y-shape. The perspiration on his chest shone like a lusty glaze. The engine chassis bit into her palms, drawing out blood beads. He fucked her hard, strong, his steady pace taking her to the verge of insanity. A metronome pounding. She longed to sing, but moans escaped her throat.

Then, he stopped, choosing the moment to adjust his stance, in search of something more stable. She took the chance to yank the reins, speaking with a shove and a pointing finger. Down, boy. He dropped to his seat, and she straddled him, reaching down to take his cock in her hands. It was slick with her sex honey. Beneath the skin, she felt his blood pumping, quivering and yearning at her