Welcome Home

Franka

 

 

“By the gods! Look at your garments!”

I whirled from the window, twisting my ankle as I did so and nearly crashing to the floor.

Just managing to prevent myself from doing something that incredibly mortifying, I stood blinking rapidly as I stared at Josette who was rushing through the door.

She was not dressed as me in preparation to be transported to our new world.

No, Valentine had brought her something very much different.

She was wearing trousers like Noc’s (he’d told me they were referred to as “jeans”). Up top she had on something that was frilly but skimpy. On her feet she had…

I shook my head as I took them in.

They were indescribable. I didn’t even know what they were made of. There was a sole that looked squishy and two straps that led from the juncture of her first and second toe along her foot, exposing the rest of it.

And that was all.

“They’re called flip-flops,” Valentine drawled, strolling in after Josette. “They seemed very…her.”

Josette stopped a foot away and sprung up and down on them, saying, “They’re very comfortable. But odd. I was walking and one came right off, flying halfway down the corridor. I have to scrunch my toes to keep them on.”

I could see this.

However, as strange as her shoes were, in fact her whole outfit (for a woman), she had it much better than I.

Before leaving to see to Josette, Valentine had painstakingly instructed me as I painted my face with a variety of brushes and wands, decreeing through it, “You’ll need to experiment in future, and when we’re in my world I’ll take you to an artist to share further techniques.”

I did this utilizing what Valentine said was “makeup or cosmetics, chérie.”

Although this took some time, and I wasn’t a complete novice (many in my world painted their faces with rouge or lip tint, powder on their eyes, kohl to line their lids, pencils to fill in brows—this happening everywhere, though it was worn especially heavy in Fleuridia), I was enchanted not only by the results but by the quality of the elements Valentine had provided. In my world, they were far more rudimentary.

But after that, Valentine had given me some other-world undergarments (which I liked very much), as well as a swatch of material and a curious metal band. She’d then glided out of the room to see to Josette and give me time to change, stating with a wave of her hand toward a box on a chair, “Those are your shoes, ma petite sorcière.”

Examining the garment she’d given me, I realized I simply had to shrug it on like a coat. It wrapped around the front and closed not with frogs or buttons, but with a belt, the belt being the metal band.

The material was quite soft and I could tell it was excellent quality. It was also a sumptuous cream, a color I’d never worn, but it seemed to highlight the natural olive tone of my skin, not to mention deepen the color of my hair and bring out the same in my eyes.

All this was fine.

What was slightly concerning was the fact that the hem was uneven. One edge of the coat-like dress hung longer than the other, which aesthetically was quite pleasing, but it still seemed to be a mistake in construction.

This I could live with because everyone knew, if something was aesthetically pleasing, that was all that mattered.

What was most concerning was the location of the hem, this being at my upper thigh.

Yes.

My upper thigh.

Everything beyond was exposed.

Bare.

I could be risqué. I could even take that to extremes. In fact, there was a time I enjoyed taking it to extremes and reveling in the reactions that would get. And I had not been out in society for some months but I had a feeling that was a part of me that had not changed.

But this was outlandish.

Indeed, there was a good possibility that when I walked, the flaps of the short coatdress would fan out and show everything.

A woman had to have some mystery, most assuredly. That mystery particularly.

And this could not be so different in the other world. If that was the case, surely Valentine or Noc would have told me.

Even generally, I was not a woman to hide her charms. Because of this, the plunging neckline of the long-sleeved dress did not concern me. And I was not a woman who had a problem with adding flair. Therefore, the peculiar belt that seemed made of shiny gold I liked quite a lot.

But I had never in my life exposed my legs as such to anyone but a lover.

And this did not get into the shoes.

They were like Josette’s in the sense that they, too, were constructed of a very small number of straps (precisely, three). One across the toes that was somewhat wide. Two that came up from the sides of the heel and wrapped around my ankle, those being exceptionally dainty.

They were also shiny gold, which was lovely.

But the heel included a golden spike at the bottom back that was elegant to gaze upon, but it had to be at least four inches tall, therefore standing upon them forced me to my toes.

Needless to say, walking was nigh on impossible.

However, it explained Noc’s statement about “spiked heels” from many months before.

Indeed it explained it literally.

One could not deny (and I myself had admired just this in the full-length mirror) that the dress did wonderful things for my figure and the shoes did miraculous things to my legs (and bum).

But what would Noc think of me, seeing me in such attire?

And what would he think when I took one step toward him and fell flat on my face?

“How are you going to walk on those shoes?” Josette cried my thoughts out loud, injecting a goodly dose of the concern I myself felt in each word.

“Carefully,” I answered.

“I can imagine,” Josette muttered, still staring at the shoes. “Though, they’re very pretty. But I can’t imagine other-world women walk about on them much. Instead, they must sit and have them gazed upon admiringly, don’t you think?”

What I thought was, to get to any seat one had to walk on them. So although I very much wanted off my feet at that moment, I, and any woman wearing such footwear, was out of luck when the necessity arose to ambulate.

“Do tell me you’ve practiced walking, Franka,” Valentine said. “We’re set to leave soon. Noc is already at your appointed meeting place, waiting.”

My body jolted because my heart leaped so at her words I feared it had torn right out of my chest.

“I’ve practiced,” I replied and took a step, then another to show her.

I’d gotten quite good at balancing while standing. And I was becoming adept at slow steps.

A natural gait would take some doing. Much longer than the time I had.

It might take days.

Or weeks.

Though I would prefer to wear what I was used to, superb quality slippers, and not wear those kind of shoes at all.

Suffice it to say, for myself and for Josette, we should have requested other-world garments and footwear some time ago so we could become accustomed to them.

It was too late for that now.

“Well, practice some more,” Valentine ordered. “I’m taking Josette and I’ll come back for you.”

“What?” Josette asked on a whirl from facing me to doing the same with Valentine.

“I beg your pardon?” I queried on narrowed eyes.

“I’m taking Josette to my home. She can settle in. I’ll come back for you as you’ll be going somewhere else and at that somewhere else, Noc wants only you,” Valentine replied.

Noc wanted only me.

My belly clenched.

“No offense, chérie,” she said to Josette. “But you’re not invited to their reunion.”

“That’s quite all right!” Josette chirped, no longer showing concern we’d be separated upon entry to this parallel universe and turning bright eyes to me.

“Circe is coming around to take Josette out to dinner,” Valentine carried on. “This while I finish up some of my own business here and make my final return home. Then, of course, I’ll be around should she need anything.”

I wanted to see Noc. I wanted to see a Noc that didn’t invite Josette to our “reunion.” I missed him and had been waiting for months to see him again and now that wait was over.

But I needed to see to Josette.

“I think it’s best if Josette and I travel together and stay together, at least for a time,” I informed Valentine. “When we both become accustomed to getting around in our new world, then we can go off and do things alone.”

“Nonononono,” Josette said swiftly, shaking her head in a negative to strengthen her words. “I’ll be just fine.”

“See,” Valentine lazily swung her hand Josette’s way. “She’ll be fine.”

I looked to Josette. “My dear, this is our adventure, and I’ll emphasize the our in that statement. It’s my responsibility to look out for you. I can’t leave you to your own devices the instant you get there.”

“Mistress Valentine is taking care of me,” Josette replied.

“Indeed I am, and it’s all sorted,” Valentine added, quite definite about that, and I knew she was as she lifted her hands, and without delay, the room started to turn green.

I knew what that meant.

I took a step toward her. “Sister, this needs to be discussed. Josette is my charge and—”

“Practice on those heels, Franka,” Valentine cut me off to advise. “You have fifteen minutes to make certain you don’t take an embarrassing tumble the first time you see Noctorno.”

The very thought of that arrested me and the workings of my mind for a moment before I realized the room was becoming greener and I needed to act with haste.

I lifted my own hands, certain there was no way to beat Valentine’s magic, but I had to try…for Josette.

“Valentine, listen to me…” I began as clouds of blue started swirling through the green.

“I’ll be fine,” Josette promised.

Valentine stepped closer to her.

I ignored her. “Valentine—”

She smiled her smile that I had perfected (back in the day).

And then she and Josette disappeared, the green drifted away and there was nothing but the floating clouds of blue that had no purpose for I’d called them up to beat back the green and that magic, as well as Valentine and Josette, were gone.

I dropped my hands and the clouds vanished.

“Blast!” I snapped, too loudly. “Blast,” I whispered, my eyes darting to the door in hopes it didn’t open.

I’d already said my farewells to my brother, sister and nephews. These were not moments I relished, at the same time I knew I would never forget them and the warmth and love they communicated.

But during them, Kristian and Brikitta shared they were worried about my upcoming adventure. Previously they both were all for this it, but now that the time had come, they were getting cold feet. Especially when they learned communication between worlds could be difficult.

If Kristian heard aught amiss—say me shouting, “Blast!”—he’d come running, even more concerned, and I didn’t want to have to say farewell to him all over again.

Once was enough.

Noc had been right.

Goodbyes sucked.

It would be worse if my brother saw me in this dress.

He might not allow me to go at all (though he’d have a time of it stopping Valentine from doing anything—the woman, I’d found, was a force of nature, literally).

Annoyed at Valentine, but knowing she was correct, I did not want to take a tumble in front of Noc, I started walking tentatively again in those beautiful but bloody uncomfortable (and dangerous) shoes.

I found to my distress (and some shame) that as the minutes passed and I moved around in those shoes, not only did my feet hurt more and more, but I thought less and less of Josette, what she was now experiencing and the fact I was not experiencing it with her as we both had thought we would.

No, I thought more and more of seeing Noc again.

With me in this dress.

And these shoes.

And just seeing…him.

I shook my hands feeling my palms perspiring as I tried a faster pace, finding my footing.

Damp palms due to fretfulness.

Unthinkable.

Ah, but what had happened to the Franka Drakkar I once knew?

You do know the answer to that, Antoine noted in my head.

I stopped dead.

I hadn’t heard him in months. Even before Noc left me. Definitely not after.

She never actually existed, Antoine’s voice carried on. A part you played, mon ange, beautifully. But you’ve quite literally taken off the costume and face paint, put on new, and are now ready for a different role. The role, to be banal, of a lifetime. The role of you just being…you.

I turned my head and saw myself in the mirror.

Was that me, the woman with her hair flowing unhindered, her cheeks pink with excitement (and what Valentine said in her world was fittingly called “blush”), her eyes bright with nervousness, her breaths coming fast from anticipation?

I always loved your legs, Antoine murmured.

“Mon cœur,” I whispered.

Farewell, my Franka. I’d bid you be happy, but I don’t need to.

“Why?” I asked.

You’ll see.

Those simple words made a tickle run down my spine.

He said no more.

“Antoine?” I called.

He didn’t speak to me, and in my soul I knew he never again would.

“Antoine,” I whispered, feeling not-so-oddly pleased the last I heard of his voice, he sounded happy.

But mostly I felt uncertain that I was facing my greatest adventure and in doing so had long since let him go and was moving on.

That greatest adventure was not going to a parallel universe where women were referred to as infants (of a variety of species) and wore death-defying shoes.

That adventure was living life from that point on simply as me.

Franka Drakkar.

A woman prone to generosity (even if I had to force it on those who were stubbornly opposed to it), outgoingness and sociability.

And also a woman who was a practicing witch.

On this thought, the room filled with green.

I turned to where I sensed her joining me and Valentine appeared right there.

She cocked her head to the side. “Ready?”

I was.

And I was not.

“How odd would I seem if I went to your new world in my own attire?” I queried.

“Nothing is odd in New Orleans,” she answered. “This is one of the vast number of reasons it’s the greatest city in my world…or yours.”

“Then I—”

“Rubbish,” she stated before I could even finish my thought, lifting her hands, the green of her magic returning.

“Valentine,” I snapped.

“Come closer, ma petite sorcière.”

I came closer but repeated on a sharper snap, “Valentine!”

She smiled again as I sensed the room receding and then there was nothing but her magic shrouding us.

I did not find this alarming.

What I found alarming was her smile.

It was another one I’d perfected many years ago.

And it was the one I’d indulge in when a fine bit of conniving was about to come gloriously to fruition.

“What have you done?” I demanded to know.

I got no answer.

Instead, suddenly, I had earth beneath my feet, bright lights, loud noise and movement everywhere, and I was experiencing an odor so foul, it would have turned my stomach.

It did not because it did not have my focus.

My focus was on the fact that Valentine had gone.

And right in front of me, Noc was standing.

I stared up in his extraordinary blue eyes and watched his head jerk in surprise at my abrupt appearance.

My.

He was right there.

Right there.

An inch away.

So there, I’d barely have to sway and I’d brush against him.

“Frannie,” he whispered, saying the name he gave me with unhidden affection and relief.

Bloody hell!

I was going to burst into tears.

“Noc,” I forced out.

“Frannie,” he repeated.

Yes. Drat it all!

I was going to start weeping within moments of starting my grand adventure!

Bloody Noc.

Slowly, his lips formed one of the grins I so adored and he raised a hand. In it were long strings of shiny beads, gold, purple and green. He lifted them over my head and settled them around my neck.

They appeared like they’d be heavy, but as his hands moved away, leaving them behind, they were light.

Light and bright and festive.

“Welcome home,” Noc said, and my eyes shot from the beads dangling down my front to Noc’s. “Laissez les bon temps rouler.”

How odd, he was speaking Fleuridian. He’d never done that before.

At that point, before I could ask after this, it seemed he became aware that there was more of me that had been transported, not just my face.

He leaned back an inch as his eyes traveled down my body and I watched his expression begin to change.

Gods.

I had nothing against harlots. I’d fallen in love with the male variety of a harlot and had happily acted as one myself without shame.

Now, however…

“Valentine selected it,” I stated quickly, referring to my attire that Noc was right then gazing at fixedly. “I can be risqué but—”

“Fuck,” he muttered.

I went silent at the timbre in his voice.

His eyes moved, made it to my feet, and slowly, they traveled up.

Halfway to my face, it came as a growl.

“Fuck.”

It had been some time, but his tone was not lost on me.

In entering the period of my recent (prolonged) celibacy, I had declared I was done with that part of my life.

Of course, Noc changed all that, and if I was honest, he did it months ago.

But if he had not, he would have done it with that one word, the look on his face as he said it, and the tone with which he uttered it.

And it would seem, in but seconds, any questions (lamentations, anxieties, fears, trepidations) I had about what would become of Noc and me upon our reunion, he answered.

In one word.

Even if that word and the way he said it had answered it, what he did next really answered it.

That being the fact I suddenly had his hand at the small of my back.

It didn’t press in.

It hauled me in and I was plastered against his long body.

The instant I was, his other hand dove in my hair, tangling and gripping.

There was no pain at his touch. Thus the gasp that came from my mouth and drifted across his descending lips was indication of an altogether different feeling.

I closed my eyes after his lips crushed down on mine.

It was not instinct but instead a driving need that made me lift my hands and filter my fingers in his thick, soft hair to hold him to me.

And it was not generosity but pure greed that made me open my mouth to invite him inside.

He accepted the invitation with a low snarl down my throat, his head slanting, his hand at the small of my back gliding around and curving at my hip so he could hold me closer to him, all as he deepened the kiss.

He tasted good. Fresh and warm and spicy.

He smelled good, all of those same things.

And he felt good.

Like coming home, and I knew the feeling even though I’d never felt that in my life.

I burrowed into him as I accepted the invasion of his tongue, his talented workings scuttling along my skin, from my hair to my toes, gathering specifically between my legs, forcing me to press my hips to his, grind them against him, seek something I needed.

Intimacy.

Connection.

Just Noc.

I pulled one hand from his hair to wrap my arm around his neck, going up further on my toes to push even closer.

I did not hear the calls or whistles or shouts.

But vaguely, only because of what happened after it came, I heard, “Serious, dude, get a freakin’ room.”

Noc broke only the connections of our mouths and we panted at each other’s lips, our gazes sultry and hooded but locked as he muttered, “Great fuckin’ idea.”

And then I was teetering for a moment, bereft of Noc’s hold.

But only for a moment.

His hand closed around mine and he turned, dragging me behind him.

The earth beneath my feet was paved with an odd, continuous (though uneven and broken in parts) stone, but I couldn’t really pay attention to it or any of the rather active, raucous, loud and smelly goings-on around us.

I had to concentrate on walking on my heels.

This did not go well.

I tripped, emitting a faint cry, caught myself and called out, “Noc, I—”

He stopped, yanked at my hand so I completely lost balance, but did it falling toward him. He released me but only to bend at his waist whereupon I had his shoulder in my belly. Promptly I was on said shoulder, one of his arms wrapped around the backs of my thighs, and we were advancing through the street at the great speed Noc’s long strides afforded us.

“You go, brutha!” someone shouted.

“Right the fuck on, man!” someone else shouted.

“Oh my God, I think I just had an orgasm,” someone further said.

The first two were male voices.

The last was a woman.

I could pay no mind to this. Noc was marching down the crowded street and the way he was doing so—as I put my hands to the sides of his waist and peered around him to the front—I saw the throng part to ease his way.

He made the mouth of the road, turned left and kept striding down a slightly less populated, but much wider, avenue.

All I could see were the contraptions on the road.

Automobiles. Cars. Trucks. All that Noc had described, but far more fanciful in real life, vied for space on the thoroughfare.

By the gods.

He couldn’t be telling it true.

It had to be magic.

I stared at this until Noc stopped moving, bent, put me on my feet, took my hand and looked into my eyes.

“You think you’re good to go now?” he asked.

I didn’t know the answer to that.

But I was with Noctorno Hawthorne of the parallel universe. Thus there was only one answer to anything he requested.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He nodded shortly, turned to face forward and resumed walking (quickly), pulling me with him.

Fortunately, we didn’t go far. There was a door to our left that Noc turned toward, pushed through, and he continued pulling me along with him as we walked through what appeared to be a large, elegantly-appointed, rather elaborate entrance hall.

He took us directly to a long, tall desk, behind which a man and a woman, oddly (albeit different sexes) both attired in what looked to be poorly-fitting uniforms, were standing.

“May I help you, sir?” the male asked, looking from Noc to me and back to Noc.

“A room,” Noc stated. “King-size bed.”

The man cast his eyes down at the desk and his fingers started tapping on a peculiar apparatus that had letters and numbers on it.

I stared, transfixed.

“How long will you be staying?” he queried, not lifting his head (which, distractedly, I found rude).

“The night,” Noc answered.

“Two people?”

“Only two.”

“We have availability,” the man declared, looked up and gave Noc a courteous smile. “How will you be paying?”

Noc let my hand go to pull a billfold out of the back pocket of his jeans, and I watched all that happened next with fascination.

I stopped watching when Noc shoved the billfold back in his jeans, took a tiny envelope from the man and grunted, “Thanks,” when the man invited us to “Call should you need anything and enjoy your stay.”

Then I again had my hand in Noc’s and he was towing me toward a wall that had four shining-gold double doors (that couldn’t be real gold, surely), all inexplicably situated close together.

He stopped me near them, reached out and depressed a button in the wall between the doors.

I watched him do this.

I stopped watching when that hand came right to my face, cupped my jaw and forced it back so I was looking up at him.

My, but he was handsome.

“We’re about to get in an elevator, baby,” he declared.

I had no idea what that meant.

I also did not care one whit what that meant.

I only cared about the heat in his beautiful eyes.

“We’ll walk into a little box, you’ll feel it move. It takes you up and down automatically so you don’t have to use stairs. We’ll be going up,” he explained then asked, “You get that?”

It occurred to me vaguely that with the variety of things he shared that they had in that world—motorcycles, automobiles, these…elevators—much of it doing things “automatically,” that there might be a reason Noc ran around the Winter Palace frequently to “keep fit.”

If one didn’t even have to climb stairs in this world, such inactivity could make one quite unhealthy.

This thought, vague as it was, flew from my head as a bing was heard and I looked in that direction.

A set of the golden doors was sliding open in a way that made me stare in shock, but I had no time to recover. Noc’s hand left my face, grabbed mine, and he pulled me to them, through them, and we were as he said, in a little box.

And that box was really quite little. I’d been in privies that were larger.

Not to mention, Noc told me it was going to move.

Upward.

Taking us with it!

I felt a frisson of panic gather at the small of my back and my eyes shot to Noc’s.

“Noc, I’m uncertain—”

My attention shifted instantly to the doors as they slid closed.

My heart bolted up to my throat and my body locked.

Then my back hit the wall of the box, Noc’s body pressing it there, and both his hands were at my jaw tipping it up.

Before I could draw in a breath, his mouth crashed down on mine, his tongue slid inside and the panic disappeared.

There was no box.

There was no world.

There was only Noc, his touch, his taste…him.

He kissed me even as I felt my belly fall (and it wasn’t only because of his kiss).

He kept kissing me even as I heard the soft whoosh noise of the doors opening.

He stopped kissing me to grab my hand and pull me down a carpeted hallway that was wide and elegant and exceptionally brightly lit.

I was breathing with difficulty, trying to focus on walking without falling, something that was not easy considering my focus wanted to be on the tingling occurring at my lips, along my skin, and between my legs.

He stopped us at a door, pulled the tiny envelope the man gave him out of his front pocket and opened it. He then took a flat, rectangular doodad from it, touched it to a space above the door handle and I blinked in surprise as I heard a whirring noise at the same time a section at the top of the area Noc touched with the doodad lit green.

“My word,” I whispered, staring at the green light.

How could Noc say this world had no magic?

It seemed to be everywhere!

Noc opened the door, pulled me inside and stopped us both.

He touched something on the wall and the space we were in illuminated.

Just.

Like.

That!

And there was more magic!

“My word,” I breathed.

He took a placard that was hanging from the back door handle and suspended it from the front, pushed the door closed, flicked a metal doohickey at the jamb that looked like a rather clever door latch that could not be opened from the outside (an excellent safety feature in this, what appeared to be, large public inn), and then he caught my hand again.

Before I could take in where I was and all that had happened, I was standing at the foot of a large bed, my back to it, Noc standing in front of me.

I looked up at him.

“Noc—”

“Shut up, baby.”

I blinked up at him.

He twisted at the waist, and with a flick of his fingers, he flung the doodad across to a bureau behind him. It landed on the top but even before it did, he’d twisted back to me.

“Noc—”

He lifted his hands to my jaw again and I quieted.

“Missed you,” he said softly.

I stared into his eyes.

He did.

It was written right there, right there for me to see.

With a wide variety of other things.

All of which I loved.

“And I you,” I replied.

“Done missin’ you, and really fuckin’ glad I am,” he stated.

Still staring deep into his eyes, I did nothing but nod.

I was done too and I was very, very glad I was.

“Yeah,” he muttered like I spoke my words aloud, his gaze falling to my mouth.

“Noc.” I said his name with a different purpose this time, swaying toward him.

“Shoulda known that mouth would be sweet,” he murmured.

I had the feeling Noc needed to take hold of me somewhere other than my jaw, for if he kept speaking words like that while gazing at my mouth, my legs were going to give way.

He dipped his head so I could feel his breath caress my lips.

“But in all the time I spent wondering how sweet it would be, never in my wildest dreams would I imagine it’s as sweet as it is.”

Yes.

He needed to hold me elsewhere or I’d crumple at his feet.

“Noc,” I whispered yet again.

He didn’t kiss me as I expected him to do.

Wanted him to do.

No.

His hands went from my jaw to my bottom, his fingers clenched in, and I gasped when I was lifted up.

With no choice, my legs curled around his hips, and in no time he’d entered the bed on his knees and placed me on it.

He then placed him on me.

It was then he kissed me.

And it was then something happened that had never happened to me.

I had exceptional skills at making love. I’d made a practice of it to the point I’d made an art of it. My approach to it was considered, deliberate, unhurried. A climax was not an occasion to rush to but a sensation to shape and manipulate, and when reached, to revel in…languidly.

Noc did not make love like this.

Further, Noc did not do what I selected lovers in the past exclusively to do.

This being allow me to lead the festivities.

Noc took over.

He also was not considered, deliberate, unhurried.

He kissed deeply, demanding much in return in a way it was impossible not to give it to him, desire to give it to him, have that become the entire reason for your existence. He did this with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth and his hands.

Those roamed everywhere, as if he’d been starved of human touch the entirety of his life and he was making up for that in a matter of seconds.

I couldn’t keep up. I couldn’t slow him down.

And I didn’t want to.

His taste, his touch, everything he was doing was drawing out extraordinary sensations I couldn’t control.

Beauty beyond imagining.

In an instant I needed more.

In the next instant, I craved it.

Without warning, he tore his mouth from mine and pushed up to his knees between my legs in the bed.

I stared up at him, finding myself panting, my body singing, watching the beauty of his face now carved with passion, but noting his hands had lifted to unbutton his shirt.

I took that as a cue to release my belt.

I did so, the heavy metal slid to the sides, and without its fastener, the soft material of the dress parted, exposing the undergarments Valentine had given me.

They were, incidentally, the only part about my attire (at the time) that I liked unreservedly.

Cream lace so delicate, it was a miracle of construction. Shiny, soft satin that was a marvel at the seat and along the gusset (but not at the front, that was lace) of my panties as well as at the bottom of the cups of my brassiere.

They were divine.

One look at Noc’s face told me he felt the same way.

“Goddamned fuck,” Noc growled with such ferocity, I stilled.

And if what we’d done before was not unhurried, deliberate, considered, I was about to learn the meaning of lovemaking entirely void of these concepts.

And enjoy every fiery second.

He tore the shirt from his shoulders, tossed it aside, and in a blur of movement I felt his arm drive under me, pulling up at the middle of my back.

I cried out in surprise at the unexpected arch but my next cry was much different when Noc used his other hand to drag down the lacy material of the cup of the brassiere. Then Noc’s mouth was fastened to my nipple, drawing in.

Harsh.

Strong.

The force of the pull tore from nipple to clitoris, buzzing there with such intensity, I had no thought. I felt the beads he’d given me glide up and rest lightly at my throat but the extreme sensitivity of my skin made them feel like I was held there by a caressing hand.

I moved instinctively, the fingers of one hand into his hair to grasp him there, the other one dragging my nails down his back.

At this touch, Noc released my nipple, his lips speeding up my chest, my neck, over my chin to my mouth, my back still arched at his arm’s command, his lips now to mine, his eyes molten.

One look in them and my body became the same way.

“Every inch of you, fucking gorgeous,” he ground out. “Saw it. Knew it. But now it’s goddamned mine.”

Those words drove right up to my womb.

He didn’t allow me to reply.

He kissed me. His hands roamed all over me. He ended the kiss but only for his mouth to move to my other nipple and he dragged it in, drawing deeper, forcing me to arch myself as the hunger for any touch from him took over, feeding on itself more and more the more Noc gave.

I touched him too, the silk of his skin over the hard of his muscle. I attempted to get my mouth on him. I tasted his neck. His shoulder.

But I couldn’t seem to concentrate. Control my body’s movements. Focus on what I could do that might bring Noc pleasure.

I just touched, nipped, kissed, licked, dragged, clawed—wherever I could reach, however I could find purchase.

Everything I took, everything Noc gave drove me deeper and deeper into the abandon, deeper and deeper into the oblivion where nothing existed.

Nothing but Noc and me.

A puff of breath shot from my lips as he readjusted his body so he could tear my panties down my legs but he immediately resumed his position between them. Having caught one of my ankles in his hand, he put his lips to it and dragged them down the inside of my calf, my thigh, all the way to the heart of me.

I watched, holding my breath, quivering, dripping with wet between my legs, my nipples hard stones tormented by the very air touching them, thinking I’d never witnessed anything as beautiful as Noc putting his mouth to me like that.

He kissed me above the triangle of hair between my legs and then lifted his eyes to mine.

“Need to be inside you, baby.”

Thank the Goddess Adele.

“I think I may need that more,” I pushed out, nowhere near the position of being embarrassed that I admitted that need out loud, but even if I didn’t, my voice betrayed it.

His sultry face grew even more sultry as he pushed up to his knees again, reaching behind him.

It caused me some confusion when he again pulled out his billfold.

I lost this confusion when I watched, fixated, as he unearthed something from it and held the square packet between his teeth.

I did this fixatedly because he was then unbuckling his belt, unfastening his trousers and pushing them down his hips.

All that had gone before was hurried, even desperate.

But it seemed his movements now were taking years.

His cock bounded free and my lips parted.

The length, more than average, though not ridiculously so.

The girth…

My.

Suddenly my mouth started watering.

“Noc,” I whispered urgently.

“Two seconds, Frannie.”

He rolled the sheath he’d unearthed from an unusual wrapper on his thick shaft.

Watching this, I started squirming.

“Noc,” I demanded.

He covered me.

But he did not enter me.

I continued squirming, wrapping a leg around his hip, an arm around his waist, diving my fingers into his hair, all while looking in his eyes.

“You need—” I started.

I did not go on when he framed one side of my face with his hand.

I stopped squirming when his other hand found mine, his fingers laced with my own, and he pressed the back of my hand into the bed, bearing his weight into it.

“Other leg around me, sweetheart,” he whispered.

I did as told, staring into his eyes.

“Guide me,” he commanded quietly.

I didn’t ask what he meant.

I knew.

And I did that too, instantly drawing my arm from around his waist to push my hand between us and wrap it around his beautiful shaft.

I felt and heard his breath leave him in a gust at my touch, saw the flare in his eyes, and I rubbed the tip of him through my wetness, doing this for him and for me.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmured, his teeth gritted.

“You do too,” I panted, catching my breath as I stroked the tip of him over my clitoris and then I took him down.

The moment he was there, his hips pressed in.

I drew my hand away, circling his waist with my arm again.

But he didn’t invade. I had nary an inch of him and there was much more than that.

“Darling,” I whispered.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

“I am, my dearest.”

“Don’t stop lookin’ at me.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

Slowly, his eyes holding mine captive the entire time, Noc slid inside.

Gods, the beauty Noc gave me. So much.

And now so much more.

It took great effort not to close my eyes at the glory of him, arch my neck, center everything on the magnificence of the feeling of him filling me, connecting with me.

Noc and I becoming one.

Instead, I watched the beauty he felt as he seated himself inside me and I hoped I gave him the same, and more.

His thumb swept my lips and the fingers of his other hand laced in mine squeezed.

“Gonna take you now, baby.”

I nodded.

“Don’t stop lookin’ at me,” he ordered.

“I won’t,” I vowed.

He moved—out, then in.

I bit my lip and stared into his eyes.

His mouth trailing the inside of my leg had been the most beautiful vision I’d beheld.

Until now.

He moved again, out…in.

“Noc,” I whispered.

“Faster?” he asked.

“Please.”

He gave me what I wished.

And again. And again.

Faster. Faster.

More. And more.

Deeper. Harder. His gaze holding mine. His breath escalating with my own. His body driving, mine jarring. His hand clenching in mine. The fingers of his other moving back, tangling in my hair to curl against my scalp. My legs circling his hips tighter, the heels of my shoes spiking into his thighs.

All of a sudden, his nose touched mine and his tone was low and fierce when he gritted, “Fuck, fuck, you’re so goddamned beautiful.”

“You are too,” I gasped.

Out and in. Out and in. Eyes locked. Fingers clutched. Legs wound. Out and in.

“Every inch of you,” he grunted.

My fingers convulsed around his.

Something else convulsed as well, repeatedly, and my legs got tighter.

His deep groan sounded against my lips and radiated everywhere.

Too good.

I was at my end.

“Darling, I’m—”

“Hold on, baby, look in my eyes.”

My entire body tightened. The sensations overwhelming, I watched a muscle dance up his cheek in reaction to feeling it at our intimate connection, and his eyes fired further.

I couldn’t do as he asked.

“Noc,” I cried urgently.

“With me, sweetheart. Come with me.”

Wishing to give him what he wanted, I drew in deep breaths, arching into him, my hips undulating to meet his thrusts, the nails of my hand at his back pressing in and clawing, all in the attempt to give, to take…and to hold on.

“Darling,” I begged.

“Look in my eyes.”

“Darling,” I pleaded.

“Don’t lose my eyes, Frannie.”

I was going to fly apart.

“I must,” I implored.

“Let go,” he grunted.

And only then did I lose Noc’s gaze because I came apart.

The explosion was life changing. Obliterating everything I was in burst after burst of sheer pleasure, leaving nothing but the me I was with Noc. The me I was connected to Noc. The me I was with his fingers laced in mine, his body still thrusting into mine, driving me into the bed, the mighty noises of his simultaneous orgasm blazing along every inch of me.

I found I’d lifted my head and was whimpering into his neck through my climax, then panting into it as I kept hold on him exactly as I was as he continued pounding into me, his grunts no less potent, only drawing my nails from his flesh to soothe with my hand where they’d grazed the small of his back.

I was settling into my afterglow but Noc was still thrusting and grunting, music to my ears, when a tug on my hair told me I needed to lower my head.

I did so and I barely got it to the pillow before Noc’s mouth was on mine.

Only when he’d begun to drink from me did he slide inside and cease moving.

I continued to hold him tight.

He broke the kiss, shifted and buried his face in my neck.

And I held him tight.

I stared at the ceiling, feeling Noc’s warmth, his weight, smelling the spice of his skin, glorying in the stretch of his cock embedded deep inside me, allowing my breath to even as I felt his breath do the same.

I didn’t know what came over me, but the moment he started nuzzling my neck with his mouth, his hand clenched in mine relaxed only so his thumb could caress the apple of my palm, I blurted, “Does this mean I won’t get pizza?”

Noc stilled completely.

I did the same beneath him.

Now whyever did I ask that?

Why?

He lifted up and looked down at me.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, willing to cast a spell to take us to the beauty of what we were sharing but seconds ago and not the awkwardness and stupidity of what I’d just said.

I didn’t have to do that.

Noc was my Noc.

My savior. My friend.

Now…my lover.

He just gave.

In other words, we’d shared beauty but seconds ago.

And he gave me more.

He did this as he burst out laughing and he did not come close to getting it under control before he was kissing me, laughing into my mouth.

Bar none, it was the most beautiful moment of my life.

Bar…

None.

Even the climax he’d just given me at the same moment he’d shared his own.

So, of course, I kissed him back.

Fervently.

Alas, he eventually had to lift his head so we both could breathe, but I was delighted to see he was still smiling broadly when he did.

“They deliver,” he declared.

“Pardon?” I asked.

“Pizza places. They deliver. So the answer is yes. You’re gonna get your pizza. Though I’m not gonna get you drunk after that because you’re gonna eat, I’m gonna eat, then we’re gonna fuck until we can’t keep our eyes open anymore. Then we’re gonna sleep. We’ll wake up. We’ll fuck again. And then I’ll take you home but only so you can change clothes so I can take you to Café du Monde to get beignets.”

“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.