Midnight Soul (40 page)

“You’ve used this word often, my dearest, but
I’m afraid I don’t understand how you’re using the word ‘fuck’
now.”

He flexed his hips into mine, his semi-hard
shaft made its presence known (not that I forgot it was there), and
he did this dipping his face so the tip of his nose touched
mine.

“
Fuck
, baby. We’re gonna fuck. And
we’re gonna do it a lot.”

“You mean,” I whispered, “make love?”

“We’ll do that too.”

I blinked.

“I don’t—” I started to tell him I didn’t
understand, but he interrupted me by lifting up, pulling out as he
did so, but also moving me at the same time that in the end he was
sitting on the side of the bed and I was straddling his lap.

“Pizza first,” he announced. “While we wait
for it, I’ll explain fucking versus making love. Though, I might
not explain it,” he gave me a grin I’d never seen before, one I
felt tighten my nipples, “I might demonstrate. Then we’ll do both
until I wear you out. We got a plan?”

Until he wore me out?

I felt goose pimples raise all over my
skin.

“I, uh…well…”

How did one answer that question?

I decided on, “I suppose so.”

The arm he had around my waist dropped, he
lifted the skirt of the open dress I still wore and cupped one
cheek of my bare behind.

“You got something else you wanna do?” he
murmured, his eyes on my mouth.

I was in an entirely different universe.
There were likely billions of things we could do.

“No,” I answered immediately.

His gaze lifted to mine.

“Then we got a plan,” he stated.

“Yes, Noc,” I replied. “We have a plan.”

He grinned before he surged up and set me on
my feet.

And promptly, he pulled his jeans over his
arse, bent and kissed the tip of my nose as he yanked the edges of
my dress together (a fruitless endeavor, the belt was in the bed)
and then he set about putting that plan into action.

Ten Times

Franka

After Noc gave me a dressing gown to put on
that the inn supplied (an unusual but lovely amenity), sat me down
at the side of the bed and took off my shoes (a tenderness I would
not soon forget), he divested me of the beads he’d bestowed on me
and guided me to the small room attached to our chamber.

I stood in it with him blinking my eyes
against the unnatural brightness.

“Right, basics,” Noc declared, and he sounded
like he was about to impart something important, so I attempted to
focus on him through the glare.

He was moving to the only chair in the space,
and it didn’t look comfortable.

“Toilet,” he stated. “Self-explanatory,” he
went on.

This was not true.

Until he lifted the lid.

By the gods.

It was a commode.

“Do your thing, use that.” He pointed to
something that looked like rolled tissue fastened to the wall.
“When you’re done, hit this,” he finished and depressed a
lever.

Water noises filled the room and I stared in
astonishment as the water in the bowl disappeared while other water
whooshed around the sides, undoubtedly making it so anything that
was deposited in said bowl vanished without a trace.

Pure brilliance!

“Extraordinary,” I breathed, watching the
water swirl.

There was a grin in Noc’s voice as he grabbed
me about the back of my neck, yanked me into his side and
continued, saying, “Sink,” while taking us to the basin. “Hot,
cold,” he stated, twisting knobs that made water flow rather
forcefully into the basin
without pumping
.

“By the gods,” I whispered, unable to tear my
eyes away from this glorious spectacle.

“Left’s always hot,” he carried on, turning
off the left knob.

Always…
hot
?

But how? I saw no fire.

I didn’t get the chance to ask, Noc kept
speaking.

“But it doesn’t come out that way at first.
That said, Frannie, be careful because hot sometimes can get
hot
. Right’s always cold.”

I lifted what I knew were rounded eyes to
him.

He looked into them, burst out laughing and
turned me fully into him, wrapping both his arms around me.

He then dropped his face so it was close to
mine, stopped laughing but continued smiling, his eyes dancing, and
he said, “You look like that over a sink and toilet, beautiful, the
next couple of weeks are gonna be a goddamned
blast
.”

If the little I’d already experienced was any
indication, he was far from wrong.

But I wasn’t thinking about the commode and
basin (or not entirely about them).

“Indeed,” I replied, staring right in his
eyes.

He continued smiling as he said, “Now, I
gotta go out for a bit. I didn’t expect our reunion to go that way
and didn’t come prepared. Need to pick up some condoms. Also gonna
grab some cold beer. I’ll order the pizza, leave some money in case
they deliver it before I get back, take off and do that. Fast as I
can, I’ll be back. But I’ll show you how to work the TV before I go
so you have something to do.”

I didn’t want him to go.

Though I could use a cold beverage.

“What are condoms?” I asked.

“Protection.” At my blank look, he explained
further. “What I put on so I could have you and not give us both
somethin’ we don’t want right now.”

His answer didn’t exactly make sense until it
dawned on me.

“Oh, the
sheath
,” I said.

He nodded, pulling his face from mine
slightly, but he was still smiling. “Yeah. The
sheath
. I
need to go get more of those.”

He certainly did.

“I approve of your plan,” I shared.

His smile got bigger and his hold on me got
tighter.

“Take you with me but seems you haven’t quite
bested the challenge of walking on heels.”

His words confused me.

“I’ve been walking on my heels for decades
now, Noc, as anyone who can ambulate does. It’s walking on spikes
that’s a challenge.”

“You’re right,” he said through a low
chuckle, then dropped down again but only to touch his mouth to
mine before he guided me out of the small chamber. He did this
saying, “Now, the TV.”

He then introduced me to the TV.

And it was
extraordinary
.

* * * * *

I heard the door open and the only move I
made from my highly inelegant position of sitting cross-legged on
the bed (something Josette was prone to do during our breakfasts,
something I belatedly realized was quite comfortable) was leaning
forward to watch Noc walk down the short hall.

“Darling, you cannot imagine what’s happening
on this screen,” I stated, flinging an arm out in disgust toward
the television, an apparatus I’d been “channel surfing” (Noc’s term
of what he’d taught me to do) since he left.

He walked into the chamber, his eyes taking
me in before he shifted them to the television while setting a
number of bottles in a rather ingenious carrier on the bureau and
tossing a rustling scrap of something with it.

“You’re watching
Chopped
?” he asked
the television.

“I am indeed,” I affirmed before I declared,
“And it…is…
outrageous
. It’s clear these chefs are highly
trained and dedicated to their craft. Why that bespectacled man
would pit them against each other, giving them no time at all to
create culinary masterpieces but expect
just that
, I do
not
know. Then those three awful people sit in judgement of
the dishes the chefs create, knowing the limitations they worked
under, even
watching the process
, and still being
unforgivably rude after they were gifted with the opportunity of
tasting the results. I understand the challenge of giving the chefs
odd ingredients to work with. But the rest is beyond me. It seems
senseless and at times it’s cruel.”

“TV programs where talented people are pitted
against each other and then rude people judge them is a big thing
in this world, sugarlips. Cooking. Singing. Dancing. Even falling
in love is television sport.”

At this statement, my brows drew up and I
turned my attention from the screen to him, asking, “Falling in
love?”

He nodded, but did it saying, “Though, I
don’t watch those.”

“That’s absurd,” I declared. “People
wish
to watch this drivel?”

He came toward me, mouth quirking. “Babe, I
totally dig this program. I even DVR it. Never miss an
episode.”

I couldn’t believe it (not the part about
DVR, I had no idea what that meant). The concept of Noc enjoying
this form of entertainment. He didn’t have an ounce of rudeness in
him.

“Truly?” I asked.

“Yup,” he answered, right before he lunged
and I found myself hauled up the bed.

No longer sitting inelegantly, or at all, I
ended Noc’s maneuver on my back with Noc on me.

And I couldn’t see the TV.

“No pizza?” he asked softly.

“No,” I answered breathily. “They’ve yet to
arrive.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth. “Right, then
we’re makin’ out until it comes.”

I had no idea what that meant.

What I did know was that on the program the
appetizer round was over and they were getting into entrées.

“Noc, I’m rather hoping the female chef will
beat out the males and they’re just starting the entrée round.”

He looked back to my eyes. “Frannie, making
out means kissing, hot and heavy, with groping, and a lot of
it.”

“Oh,” I whispered and made an instant
decision. “I’m sure the female will triumph. Instead of watching
her emerge victorious, let’s do that.”

Noc grinned at me again while his head
descended.

Then we did that.

* * * * *

“So?” Noc asked.

“What?” It came out garbled as my mouth was
full.

It was bad-mannered.

I simply didn’t care.

Pizza was
sublime
.

He tipped his head to the magnificence I was
shoving in my mouth. “You like it?”

“It’s quite good,” I replied, still chewing,
but even so, I took another huge bite of the scrumptious doughy,
spicy, cheesy miracle in my hand.

“Quite good,” he muttered, shaking his head
and reaching toward the box on the bed between us.

At his alarming movements, I darted out a
hand and grabbed his wrist.

Swallowing, I cried, “Noc, that’s the last of
it!”

He looked up at me. “Yeah. And you hoovered
through your half. That slice is the last of my half.”

This was unfortunate because it was true.

Fair was fair, and apparently, along with
generous, outgoing and social, the Franka I was seemed to be
fair.

This meant I let him go, requesting, “Can we
order another?”

At this, Noc’s eyes grew big. “Frannie, this
one was a large. Usually, three, four people eat this amount.”

I stared down at the sad, now empty box
before again turning my attention to Noc.

“Can we have more tomorrow?”

He grinned at me, reached out, hooked me
behind the neck (again, something he seemed fond of doing,
something I was fond of him doing) and pulled me to him for a peck
on the lips before he let me go.

And promptly denied me.

“We’re havin’ étouffée for dinner
tomorrow.”

“I want this,” I announced, lifting up the
remains of my slice.

Amusement unhidden, he stated, “Trust me. You
have étouffée, you’ll want that.”

I had no choice but to trust him. He had this
world’s coin. I did not. I couldn’t pay for my own pizza even if I
figured out how to order it as he’d done this one.

On this thought, I shared, “I want my next
lesson to be about the telephone. And along with that, the ordering
of food.”

Noc chewed, swallowed, crinkled his eyes at
me with his humor and said, “After beignets, first order of
business is gettin’ you and Josette your own cells. So tomorrow,
we’ll get on that.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, taking one of the
last bites of my pizza. Deciding to turn my mind from the dismal
fact there may be only two bites left, I looked to Noc and queried,
“How many sheaths did you procure?”

“Box of ten.”

I blinked.

Rapidly.

And my voice was pitched higher when I
inquired, “Can you perform that often in one night?”

Noc’s body moved, the bed moved with it, and
I recognized the laughter as his voice vibrated when he replied,
“They come in boxes of ten, sweetheart.”

I sounded somewhat strangled when I pressed,
“That doesn’t answer the question, my dearest.”

“How the fuck you can make ‘my dearest’ sweet
and hot, I do not know,” Noc muttered.

“Noc!” I snapped, beginning to panic, for I
was a skilled lover but the way Noc made love I was relatively
certain
I
couldn’t perform ten times in one night.

His eyes glinted as he asked, “You not up for
ten times?”

Was he jesting?

He had to be jesting.

“I, well…that would…that is, I’ve never—”

I stopped speaking (or, blast it all,
stammering
) when Noc reached out, took the last of my pizza
from my hand and tossed it into the box.

I glared at it, turned my glare to him, but
the remains of his pizza had joined it and he was shoving the box
off the bed.

This accomplished, before I could protest his
cavalier treatment of our pizza, he pulled me into his arms and
rolled me over him so I was again on my back and he was on me.

“No, baby,” he admitted quietly, “I can’t
perform ten times in one night.”

“Oh,” I said quietly in return, not certain
if I should be relieved or disappointed. Just knowing a certain
area in my body probably would not stand up to that challenge, even
if I wanted it to.