Code Redhead - A Serial Novel

by Sharon Kleve

  Lin placed her hands on my face. Through the blurry haze, I saw her giving me an almost believable, empathetic gaze. “And Sham,” she said with a giggle. “Man, I love that name. But, truth be told, the story you gave—brilliant! It was as if you’d practiced it, over-and-over. However…” Lin paused and slowly shook her head. “You made one fatal error. Why did you implicate me? That was sure idiocy.” Lin made a face and rocked her head from side-to-side. “As evidenced, I suppose, by your injection of death. And, since no one can hear you now, they’ll never know what really happened. We can’t have Cali and the cops knowing the truth, now can we. But, you and I, the true redheads, we know the truth; and that’s all that really matters; isn’t that right, cuz?”

  ABOUT J.R. WIRTH

  Cancer has affected me and my family greatly, starting with the two dear, influential women of my childhood. My maternal grandmother was the first cancer victim that I knew of. Known fondly as Nana, to all who knew her, she had breast cancer and had to have her breasts removed, which extended her life for several years. Following that my mother, Ellen, died of COPD and lung cancer; but not before she watched her eldest son (my older brother), Jim, conquer a bout with kidney cancer. He had one kidney removed. I was prepared to give one of mine, if necessary.

  Finally, I, myself, had a lesser form of cancer—skin. I’ve had to keep an eye on it, and actually had a growth removed during the time I was writing the Day of the Dead. I hope that “Code Redhead” will inspire people, and raise tons of money to Stand Up To, and fight, Cancer.

  J.R. Wirth was born and raised in Southern California. Now hailing from San Bernardino, he was intimately affected by the recent terror attacks, but luckily his family escaped physical harm.

  With several pieces published—including a poem and the bestselling series: “Twisted Family Holidays,” J. R. Wirth is an emerging author. The Twisted Family Holidays anthology is a series of short stories that features a combination of real life situations and family, with a great imagination. It has been compared to the “Twilight Zone,” series and Charles Dickens.

  “In Passing” is his first full-length book release. The epic paranormal tale promises to be the best story yet. In all of his works, J.R. combines ordinary people with extraordinary circumstances, to create characters that will jump off the page and straight into the readers’ hearts and minds.

  He remains dedicated to the craft of writing, highlighting the conflict, frailty and hero in all of us. In his spare time, J.R. is a licensed psychotherapist with a long list of accomplishments, including a stint as a university professor.

  He currently supervises at a forensic unit in Southern California, and works with “at risk” youth. Above all J.R. is a spiritual man who is dedicated to his children. Look for J.R. in Goodreads, Barns and Noble, and Amazon.

  Rituals by N.D. Jones

  Science Fiction Romance

  CHAPTER ONE

  Pushed to the Limit

  God, this is good. She feels good. Too damn good. So close. So. Close.

  “Are you ready, honey?” Jackson’s low, raspy voice came on a husky moan. The only other sounds in the room were that of flesh slapping against flesh and deep, heavy breathing.

  His.

  Hers.

  “Are you ready, Nevaeh?” he asked again, looking up and at his wife. Please, God, let her be ready this time.

  Beautiful, bronze, and glowing with a sensual gold hue, Nevaeh didn’t answer. Jackson wasn’t even sure if she’d heard him. Her eyes were closed, head tilted back, and her hands gripped the sheets at her sides. Damn she was exquisite when she was in the throes of passion, gold-black hair wild, chest heaving, and mouth open on a hungry, carnal groan.

  And she rode him, not hard and unforgiving, but slow, deliberate, and utterly erotic. Nevaeh never rushed their lovemaking. In fact, she took great care to make sure they were both satisfied.

  She lived up to her name, especially in the bedroom. Because Nevaeh, in Jackson’s native language of English, was heaven spelled backward. Not that his wife had any concept of Heaven, at least not in the way humans did. People from her planet, Serenity, worshipped twin deities—Peace and Harmony. For them, a serene existence, harmony of mind, soul, and body, was true Heaven.

  But Jackson found himself somewhere between a lucky man’s Heaven and a proud man’s Hell. He spared a quick glance in the direction of the nightstand and at Nevaeh’s yellow-and-blue crystal timepiece. Sixty-five minutes. They’d been at this for over an hour. He didn’t think he’d last another five minutes. Hell, two minutes if Nevaeh swiveled her hips like that again, causing his own hips to involuntarily lift off the bed, slamming into her with a force that brought them both pleasure. Damn her.

  She opened her eyes, then peered down at him. And curse her voluptuous body, smiled before swiveling her hips again.

  Hard.

  Fast.

  Wet. Yes, God in Heaven, she was so damn wet.

  Jackson was going to explode, and Nevaeh still hadn’t come yet. He cursed his wife again, this time her wretched Serenitarian stamina. If any part of Nevaeh were human after their mating ceremony, he’d sure like to know what. Because damn if he’d ever been with a woman who could go as long as they normally did without begging for him to come and “come now.”

  Three months into their marriage and they still made love as long and as hard as they did their first night together. Admittedly, Jackson had a store of pent-up sexual tension when he and Nevaeh finally consummated their union. Serenitarian culture was much more disciplined in ways of the mind and body than most other races Jackson had encountered. This included their courting rituals, which forbade premarital sex.

  And yeah, going an hour or more was no problem. Doing it more than once a day was also no problem. Hell, claiming her a second time on the heels of the first was also no big deal. Jackson had sperm and hardness to spare. It had, after all, been years since he’d felt the inside of a woman’s body—a widower’s grief deep and long.

  That was until he met the gorgeous “alien” who would be his co-chair, Earth and Serenity political allies in their efforts to foster peace in the Garulum System.

  But now, with the honeymoon over and them back at work, dealing with trade negotiations and interplanetary treaties, all those long sex sessions were catching up with Jackson Glory, Co-chair of Interplanetary Alliance. While he hated to admit it, his stamina wasn’t what it used to be. He wasn’t a young man anymore with a perpetual hard-on. Those glorious and taken-for-granted days were behind him. Then there were his other fears, ones he didn’t want to give voice or thought to.

  Nevaeh leaned down and over him. A tongue peeked out and slowly licked the shell of his ear. “I’m ready, Jackson.” A sultry declaration that went straight to his groin.

  He almost shouted “Thank God,” but flipped her onto her back instead.

  With a surprised yelp, Nevaeh adjusted to the change in power positions. But not before he took quick advantage of her slight disorientation and plunged deep, smiling when a pleased moan burst from Nevaeh followed by an uncharacteristic mumbled curse.

  Oh yeah, Jackson loved he could do this to her, make his wife forget all good manners and well-bred diplomatic training. Besides, there was no room for such nonsense in their bed, not when they could put the space to much better use.

  He was, Nevaeh having set his bull free with her words of, “I’m ready.” Yes, and so was he. The leash was gone and only open plains before him. Snorting at the freedom given him, Jackson barreled forward.

  Nevaeh’s legs wrapped around his swiftly moving hips, arms held tight to taut shoulders, mouth captured full lips.

  They were together, holding each other inexplicably tight, touching in every way possible. Limbs and lips twined.

  Sweaty sinews pulsed.

  Need throbbed.

  They exploded, in unison and loud. Thunderclaps of release shot through Jackson, his manhood seeming to expand and lengthen, reaching farther into Nevaeh, cla
iming her as deeply as possible.

  Gray eyes flecked with gold starlight, and his bride was right there with them, overflowing her banks and pulling him along with the strong, gripping tide of release.

  Ragged breaths.

  Boneless limbs.

  Satiated bodies.

  With effort, Jackson turned to the crystal timepiece again. Ninety minutes. Nevaeh was going to kill him. It would be a pleasurable death, but still…

  Before drifting off to sleep, Jackson formulated a plan, one that involved introducing his wife to a little Earth custom known as the “quickie.” As far as Jackson was concerned, quickies were a perfectly good ritual practiced by every married couple he’d ever met.

  Yes, a Glory-initiated ritual. Jackson was pleased with his plan, nodding to himself as he pulled his warm wife to him, snuggling them under the covers.

  He was exhausted, but he wouldn’t be in the morning.

  They rarely had morning sex. Not that Nevaeh was opposed to it, but once they began sharing quarters, Jackson learned exactly when Nevaeh contacted the ruling council of her Homeworld. Four or five o’clock in the goddamn morning.

  While annoying as hell, it made perfect sense. The time difference between Serenity space and the space station was nearly twelve hours. “It’s easier for one person to adjust their schedule than it is for several,” she’d told him the first night he’d awaken alone in bed and staggered out to the living room in search of his missing wife.

  So what if it made perfect sense, it did nothing for early morning sex. In fact, the accommodating Nevaeh had taken to arranging all her Serenity conference calls on the days in which they stayed in his quarters, returning to the quarters she’d been given when she’d first arrived on the space station to handle Serenity affairs. “It’s better this way, Jackson. I would hate to disturb you, especially since you keep such late hours.”

  It was true, he did keep late hours. And no matter how quiet Nevaeh tried to be, he invariably woke, unable to go back to sleep, making for a cranky Jackson Glory the rest of the day.

  Which boiled down to one thing—morning sex was off the menu.

  But now Jackson had a plan. A good plan if he did say so himself. With his last bit of strength, Jackson reached over and adjusted the alarm on his wife’s timepiece. Smiling, he floated off to sleep, images of a naked, panting Nevaeh in his head.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Serenity falling

  A simple glow of light and a soft melodic hum permeated Nevaeh’s subconscious, drawing her from the sleeping world to the waking one. It was a gentle alarm, a soothing transition, reminding Nevaeh of home and the joy of quiet living. Nothing like the blaring alarm Jackson used in the morning. How anyone could cope with being awakened in such an abrupt, jolting manner was beyond her.

  The glow and music began again, the second warning. Just as Nevaeh tiredly went to reach for the crystal timepiece, she felt Jackson shift in bed, lean over her, and turn the alarm off.

  He was awake. How unusual for this time of the morning.

  “Good morning.” Her husband’s voice echoed in the dark room—thick and scratchy from sleep.

  “Good morning, Jackson. I apologize if my alarm woke you.”

  Nevaeh made to get out of bed. She had a six o’clock conference call with Serenity’s Prime Minister of Science, Space, and Technology. Before she could move, however, Jackson wrapped an arm around her waist, reminding Nevaeh that they’d fallen asleep naked.

  The fine hairs on his arm tickled, but it was warm and comforting. Nevaeh stretched, her mind still foggy from sleep. That would change once she entered the shower, the heated, tranquil patter of water doing for her what strong, black coffee did for her husband.

  Kissing her shoulder, soft butterfly kisses worked from shoulder blade to neck to ear. He whispered in her ear, mouth gently grazing. “A morning ritual, honey. Let’s begin today, right now, before you start your day.”

  Nevaeh had no idea what her husband was talking about. Perhaps, like her, he was only partially awake.

  “I don’t have time for a human ritual right now. I have a full morning. And I don’t wish to be late, Jackson.”

  The kisses continued, gentle, exploring and more than a little arousing. The hand that had been resting lightly on her bare stomach moved northward to cup and squeeze a breast, bringing Nevaeh awake fully. Or rather her body was now awake. Nevaeh, new to the intimacy between a man and a woman, was unsure if her mind was following Jackson’s signals.

  “You won’t be late.” Another arousing squeeze, then Jackson scooted forward, his lower half coming into direct contact with Nevaeh’s backside. And, goddess on high, all thoughts of Nevaeh misinterpreting her husband’s intentions was cast aside. Whatever part of Nevaeh that had still been shrouded in the early-morning fog was now completely awake. Yes, awake and achingly aware of Jackson’s wonderful kisses, demanding hands and rock hard erection.

  “I altered your alarm by fifteen minutes.” Jackson slid his left hand down her stomach and over her sex, caressing with sweet tenderness before dipping one finger inside. “Ah, honey, you’re still wet from last night. Can you feel that?” Another finger. Yes, she could feel it… feel him inside her, setting a fire she didn’t have time to indulge.

  Fifteen minutes? Not nearly enough time. Not nearly enough, but ohhhh, she was loathed to stop him. Jackson was making her feel so good. So good in fact she’d nearly forgotten about his earlier words.

  “I thought—yes, there—I thought you wanted to share a human ritual with me.”

  “This is it.” He removed his fingers and replaced them with something much longer, much larger, much harder, stilling Nevaeh’s next words. “Oh yeah. That’s it, just like that. That’s really good, Nevaeh.”

  Hmmm, it was good. Jackson deep inside her, holding Nevaeh still in his tight embrace, lips kissing every part of her he could reach—cheek, neck, ear, shoulder.

  Short, deep thrusts had Nevaeh moaning, the conference call forgotten. This was a decidedly better way to wake, in Jackson’s masterful arms, body tingling with steadily building need.

  Jackson’s grip tightened, languid thrusts increased, and hips slammed into her with a fierce urgency. Just when Nevaeh realized what was happening, it had already happened. Jackson had orgasmed. Finished. Then he was releasing her, relaxing his hold and falling onto his back, breathing as if he’d run a marathon.

  Stunned, Nevaeh turned to face her husband. He smiled up at her, a pleased expression on his handsome, self-satisfied face.

  “I told you I wouldn’t make you late.” He looked toward the timepiece. So did she. “Ten minutes,” he said proudly. Nevaeh continued to stare at the crystal that blinked 5:05. For her six o’clock appointments, Nevaeh normally set her alarm for 5:15.

  Nevaeh returned her gaze to Jackson who was already beginning to drift back to sleep. Annoyed, she squeezed his shoulder, and he opened too contented eyes. “Was that the ritual?” She didn’t bother keeping the incredulity out of her voice.

  He stretched, muscular arms bunching, reminding Nevaeh how brief an encounter they’d just had. “Yup, it’s called a quickie. Nice and simple, wouldn’t you agree? No prayers or candles required.”

  Jackson gave her a sated but lethargic happy smile, rolled onto his side, back away from her, and mumbled, “This is going to be a great day.”

  A quickie? What kind of ridiculous human ritual is that?

  Three minutes later, a naked and still aroused Nevaeh sat transfixed, glaring at her snoring husband.

  Ten minutes. A quickie. It made no sense to her. A ritual should at least make sense, accomplish a goal. Irritated, Nevaeh mumbled a few curses she’d learned from Jackson, stood, and made her way to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

  *****

  Two days later and Nevaeh had yet to find anything in the space station database about the quickie ritual. Before coming to the space station, Nevaeh studied customs and norms of many species she would sure enc
ounter. Nowhere in her research of humans had she come across Jackson’s early morning ritual. Christmas yes. Valentine’s Day, sure. Even truly baffling ones like Punch Your Neighbor Festival and Naked Man Festival, she’d read about. Not that Nevaeh could begin to comprehend why a town of men would wear nothing but loincloths in the dead of winter to test their manhood and bravery. Still, she didn’t have to understand or even agree with the rituals of others, but she did try to at least respect them.

  Nevaeh ducked under the shower spray, allowing the water to wash away the shampoo from her long, wooly hair. She should’ve asked Jackson to explain the quickie ritual to her. But to do that, she would have to admit that she didn’t particularly care for their abbreviated intimacy the other morning. Not that it was unpleasant, of course, just—

  Nevaeh roused from her thoughts when a cool breeze wafted in, the door to the bathroom having opened then closed.

  “Jackson,” she called, knowing it had to be him, although it was the middle of the day and he should’ve been preparing for a meet and greet with the newly arrived Lagotay delegation. They were to convene at two, leaving just enough time for Nevaeh to take a shower and have lunch, her last meeting having ended far sooner than anticipated.