He nodded, his gaze sweeping me from head to foot and back again before his beautiful lips formed a tender smile and he moved to leave.
“Noc?” I called.
He stopped and looked into my eyes.
“This new normal is lovely,” I told him. “And it being what our normal shall be, I look forward to much more of it. And you know I always enjoy spending time with you.” I felt my face soften and continued, “Especially when we have time alone. However, I do feel I should look after Josette and not leave her in her own company quite so much. I know she’s content with giving us time,” I hastened to add. “But until she finds her footing in this world, is able to get out, do more for herself, meet other people she can spend time with, we’re all she has, especially with Valentine absenting herself. I—”
He lifted a hand again, this time higher. “Say no more, baby, I hear you. I know she’s bein’ cool for us. But you’re right. We gotta see to her. I’ll take you both to Bourbon Street tomorrow night. Have fun, get you hammered on hurricanes, have more fun. Sound good to you?”
I knew his use of “hammered” was not what it seemed so I nodded.
“Is that all?” he asked.
It was not all.
I wanted to tell him that his world was advanced. The telephones. The televisions. The cars. What we’d been introduced to that day: escalators. And so much more. All of it was impressive. There was so much of it, it was astonishing. There was so much more to learn, myriad amounts, and the idea of that was exciting, as each new discovery had been. There was almost nothing similar between our worlds and he’d been right, because of that, this was the grandest adventure we could take.
Even so, from what I could tell, regardless of the delicious food, the conveniences, the wonders of manicures and pedicures and the existence of Nordstrom shoe department, I preferred my world. The simplicity of it. The quiet of it. The clean of it in look and smell. The unmolested beauty of the landscape you could see all around, even in the cities, something you couldn’t see here no matter how far you looked, unless you were close to the water and even then it was often cluttered with boats and bridges.
That said, there was nowhere on this earth, or my own, I’d prefer to be but standing in his bathroom with Noc but feet away.
“Babe?” he prompted.
I shook my head and did it shaking myself out of my thoughts.
“Yes, darling, that’s all. I’ll join you shortly.”
He nodded, tipping his lips up slightly, and he turned from the door.
I watched him disappear and took a long breath.
I let it go, turned back to the empty bags and began folding them away.
* * * * *
I sat astride Noc, my torso up, my eyes on my fingers, which were trailing lazily through the dark hair scattered to perfection on his chest. I then trailed them down, my thumbs dipping into the ridges at his stomach, tracing each box, taking their time. And again up, my fingers worshipfully brushing along the grooves of his ribs.
My touch was light, not meant to be stimulating, we’d both found our pleasure (for my part, Noc had guided me there twice).
No.
I had a sated Noc on my hands, our first night of normal coming to an end, and I found myself in the position of being able to enjoy simply touching him, learning him, stroking him, giving to him.
I drew an idle line over his pectoral and shoulder, running the tip of my middle finger down the outside of his arm, murmuring, “You’re quite talented in the kitchen.”
And he was. His shepherd’s pie was simple fare, but it was also rich and flavorful.
“Give you and Josette some lessons,” he said and my gaze darted to his. “We can all cook together. And when it’s just us here, you and me can do it.”
“Cook together?” I asked.
He held my gaze and repeated after me, but not in a query. “Cook together.”
“Mm,” I mumbled noncommittally.
There was silence as I averted my attention (and hopefully his) to drawing my other finger from the inside of his elbow, up his biceps, over his shoulder and down, where I flattened it over the bulge of his pectoral.
A pectoral that was slightly shaking.
I again looked to his eyes.
They were laughing.
“You have no intention of learning to cook, do you?” he asked.
“Erm,” I hedged.
“Babe, people cook here.”
“I had guessed that with the kitchens being an integral part of the home, open, right in the living space. Even Valentine’s home has an enormous space off the kitchen with sofas and lounges, which makes the area appear communal.”
“That’s because the kitchen is the heart of the house.”
It was not.
The parlor was.
Everyone knew that.
Though, apparently not in this world.
“Interesting,” I mumbled, and didn’t even try to hide I thought it was not.
His pectoral shook under my hand again.
I wished to roll my eyes but I didn’t.
“Frannie, we’re both stinkin’ rich, you way more than me, which means you could probably hire a cook. But you shouldn’t because cooking is fun.”
I could not imagine this was anywhere near the truth therefore I made no reply.
However, I did put it on the list in my head of things to see to, to discuss hiring a cook with Valentine, once I’d found a home, of course.
“Right, I’ll be the one who cooks,” Noc declared and my attention refocused on his face. “Just want you sittin’ there with me, drinkin’ wine and doin’ whatever when I do it because I’m thinkin’ from your attitude it’ll also be me cleaning up. That means, to earn your meal, you gotta keep me company.”
At his behest, after dinner, we’d left the dishes in the sink.
It hadn’t even occurred to me he’d eventually have to tidy them and it definitely hadn’t occurred to me he might wish me to assist.
I added a housekeeper to my list of new acquisitions.
“You can take the girl outta the House but you can’t take the House outta the girl,” he muttered, smiling broadly while watching me closely. “Everyone’s blood is red. Your blood is the red of the Drakkars. If it wasn’t, it’d be blue.”
My brows drew together. “Blue blood?”
“Royals, nobles, back in the day, way back in the day,” he began, “didn’t get out much. Common folk, they were in the sun. Worked there. Walked where they had to go because they didn’t have carriages or sometimes even horses. Couldn’t avoid it. The whiter the skin, the more noble someone would seem. Their veins were visible, looked blue, easy to see through that pasty-white skin. Blue bloods.”
“So this is a slang word for your aristocracy,” I surmised.
“Yup,” he affirmed.
“I much like being in the sun. My skin becomes an attractive shade when I am,” I shared.
His pectoral started shaking again. “Although I look forward to the day I’m introduced to you in a bikini, I bet you’ve never worked in it.”
“Of course not,” I huffed, for I had not worked a day in my life and did not intend to.
Practicing the craft didn’t count. That was simply who I was and when I began to earn alongside Valentine, I would accept the money, of course. Money was money and the more of it you had, the better everything was. But they’d be paying me, essentially, for being me and doing what came naturally, something I had no issue with.
His smile remained fixed even as his lips ordered, “Fuckin’ kiss me, Lady Franka.”
This I could gladly do.
And I set about doing just that, sweeping both hands up his chest and bending over him.
Resting my breasts to his chest, he circled me with an arm low at my back, his other hand drawing languid patterns on the skin of my outer thigh, and I kissed him.
It was as lazy as our mood, slow and deep.
And it was delicious.
His expression settled in my soul as I traced his collarbone and shared softly, “You often tell me of my beauty, but I wonder, do you know the greatness of yours?”
“No one has run screaming when I walked into a room,” he joked.
I pressed closer, running a light caress along the cords at the side of his neck, smiling at his jest. “This, undoubtedly, is true. Though it minimalizes the sheer perfection that is you.”
His eyes sparked, his hand at my thigh gripped and his arm at my back slanted up so he could tangle his fingers in my hair, all this as he growled, “Frannie.”
“It’s true,” I stated. “It makes me feel most fortunate.”
The intensity ebbed as his lips quirked. “And why are you fortunate, babe?”
“You chose me.”
“You chose me,” he returned.
“Yes, but you’re perfect and I am not.”
He shook his head on the pillow. “I’m not perfect, Frannie.”
“Yes, you can be vexing, but mostly, you’re perfect, and physically, and this is always in the eye of the beholder so you cannot argue it, my dearest, so don’t try, you’re most definitely perfect.”
For a moment he continued to hold me as he had.
But then suddenly, I felt him still under me.
“Noc?” I called.
“You’re also perfect, you know,” he whispered, a curious tone to his voice making my belly pitch.
“As you are the beholder, I can’t argue that either,” I replied in a manner that shared openly I couldn’t argue it, but I also didn’t agree.
“You’re perfect, Franka,” he declared, firmness now in his voice that was almost scolding.
I bent to him, touched my mouth to his and moved a hint away before I whispered, “Thank you, my love.”
“Do not think you can get away with that shit.”
I blinked at his words, the abrupt and unexpected change in his mood and lifted my head further.
Noc rolled so I was no longer atop him but he was atop me.
He didn’t allow me to become accustomed to our new positions before he asked, “This part of that midnight soul garbage you’re determined not to let go?”
Oh balls.
Not this.
“Darling, we’ve had a lovely day and a very lovely evening. Let’s not ruin it with such talk.”
“That gonna be your gig every time I bring it up?” he asked.
I smiled up at him, wrapping my arms around him. “I hope so, as it would mean we’d have many lovely days.”
“Franka, don’t be sweet and cute, which right now is sweet and cute and pissing me off.”
It wasn’t me behaving in a way that would piss someone off.
It was Noc for we were both enjoying our togetherness and now he was ruining it.
On this thought, my eyes narrowed. “Can I request that if this is so important to you and you wish to discuss it, that we do it at a later date?”
“And when would that date be?” he asked back.
“I don’t know except for the fact it would be later.”
He stared down at me, appearing perturbed.
Then, abruptly, he lifted himself, readjusted his legs so it was he straddling me, and he whipped me to my belly.
I drew in a sharp breath.
He pulled his knees in so they were clamped to the outsides of my thighs and now he was not only straddling me, but imprisoning my lower half for the weight of him settling on me, the power of him restraining me, I couldn’t move.
This was not meant to be stimulating.
This was something else that I knew I was not ready for, then or perhaps ever.
“Noc,” I hissed.
“This is perfect,” he stated, running a flat hand over my bum.
“I’m pleased you think so, now—” I tried, attempting to pull myself up.
Noc’s hand in my back pushed me down and again I gasped in surprise.
I felt his other hand dive deep, shoving between my legs, and suddenly he was cupping my sex.
“This is totally perfect, Franka.”
“Noc,” I pushed out.
His hand left my back and tangled in my hair.
“This is perfect.”
“Cease, you don’t have to—”
Both his hands left me and went to the bed on either side of me.
This was not what made me stop speaking.
He’d shifted his hands so he could lower himself to my back.
“And this is perfect.”
I grew still.
I felt him move even if I couldn’t quite feel what he was doing. My guess was that he was running his lips along a scar.
One of many.
I closed my eyes tight.
“You feel that, Frannie?” he asked.
“Please get up,” I requested.
He did not get up.
What he did was move upwards so his mouth was at my ear.
“You don’t, do you, sweetheart?”
I opened my eyes but looked only at the pillow. “Again, I’ll ask you to get up.”
“You know how you’re perfect?” he queried.
I knew the glaring evidence of my imperfection was right in front of his eyes but I did not point that out to him for I didn’t wish to and he could bloody well see it for himself.
I remained silent.
“You don’t feel much at your back. I gotta go hard if I want you to know I’m touching you there. And the reason that’s perfect when you think it’s imperfection is that they took that from you. They crippled you here. This will never be the same,” he said, and I could feel him running his hand down my back, putting pressure into the touch so I could experience it. “They did that, Frannie. They took that. And you survived.”
“Yes, I am aware. I was there each time,” I returned cuttingly, beginning to get angry at discussing something I did not wish to discuss and he very well knew it.
“You survived.”
“I am aware.”
“They did not survive.”
I quieted.
“They’re beaten and broken and as good as dead. Their lives are over. You, though, you’re here and getting pedicures and worried about making your girl eat dinner alone, carrying these marks not as their brand, but your badge of honor because you survived. I know. I know the elves could have healed you, taken this away.” His hand soothed deep down my back. “I know Frey offered that to you. And I know you refused. That makes this perfect, that you took from them what they did to you and twisted it into something that was yours. Something that was beautiful. Something that means you’re a fighter. A warrior. Victorious. And you wear their mark as your medal of valor.”
I held my breath, no longer angry.
Now I was fighting trembling.
Noc continued talking.
“You don’t think you’re perfect but you are, Frannie. Every inch.”
My voice was frail and wavering, I hated it but for the life of me I couldn’t strengthen it, when I begged, “Please stop talking.”
He shifted and I felt his teeth sink into my skin at my shoulder blade. The sensation was there and gone before I felt him smoothing the area, pressing deep with his thumb.
“I look at this and see beauty. I touch it and love how it feels. I taste it and it tastes as gorgeous as the rest of you.”
Gods.
He was undoing me.
“Stop talking.”
He slid his knees out, straightening his legs, covering me with his big body, his weight bearing into me, his flawless chest with its perfect array of hair pressed into the mess of my back.
Putting some of his weight in one forearm in the bed, he shoved his other arm under me at my belly and held me close, his mouth back to my ear.
“You say my light shines on your soul, do you think for one
second you’d be in my bed right now if your light didn’t warm mine?”
I again closed my eyes tight and it came through my lips before I even knew I had the thought.
“I want to be that for you.”
“Fuck,” he bit out. His word scoring into me like a lash, Noc lifted, turning me again to my back. Insinuating his hips between my legs so they opened to accommodate him, I felt his palm cup my cheek and heard his demand. “Open your eyes.”
I did as commanded.
“The first I knew of you, you loved a man so deeply, you put your life on the line twice, first committing treason, which I know in Lunwyn is a hanging offense, and then facing those witches. Does that come from a soul that’s midnight?”
“Noc—”
“You don’t know it, don’t see it, but even before your relationship shifted, you treated Josette with more care and respect than any of those people treated what they considered their inferiors, save Cora, Circe and Finnie, who aren’t from there and don’t know how to act the blue blood even though they now are. And don’t think she didn’t know it, Frannie. Don’t think Josette is here for whatever you pay her or for an adventure. She’s here for you. She’s here to be with you. She’s here because, to her, you’re family. Is that kind of loyalty earned by a dark soul?”
He really had to stop because I felt them brimming and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold them back.
Especially when Noc saw them and shifted his hand at my cheek so his thumb swept below my eye. Releasing the tear into the pad of his thumb, he skimmed the wet along my temple as he dipped his face close.
“You grew up without any love,” he whispered, and gods, gods, I saw it in his eyes as well. The bright gathering there, his own wet gleaming. “I have no fuckin’ clue how you survived, baby. I’ve known love every day of my life and I cannot imagine the man I’d be if I didn’t. If my life was void of it. If I had to find my way without that as the single-most prevalent guiding force from the minute my mom died giving me life to this moment with you. I could only hope that I’d become what you’ve become against every odd. A woman starved of love her whole life and yet so fuckin’ full of it, she’d stand holding a hook with blood running down her thighs just so the brother she adored wouldn’t have to do it. You don’t have a midnight soul, Frannie. Your soul is so bright, I look too close, I’d be blinded.”
Midnight Soul Page 40