“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.
When I lifted my head I saw a contentedness in his eyes, the tranquil lines in his face, both making him more handsome than ever, which was quite a feat.
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—”