“I was not requesting more, Noc,” I returned.
“Your mouth wasn’t, but your body was.”
I said nothing for this was true and there was no denying it.
“You gonna let me sleep?” Noc asked.
Him sleeping would mean him not annoying me.
Or exciting me.
“Yes,” I answered.
“You gonna sleep?” he asked.
I had things on my mind, particularly the “shit” in Noc’s life that had hit without fail, shit that was not his stepmother dying, something which quite clearly had wounded him deeply, a wound that had not healed, nor ever would.
“Yes,” I lied.
“Sleep now and then mall tomorrow,” he muttered. “Get you more clothes so you can leave some here.”
This was an excellent plan.
I snuggled closer to him, saying softly, “That sounds good.”
“Show you and Josette around the kitchen. How to use the stove, microwave, shit like that.” He continued to plan, the drowsy beginning to permeate his tone. “She at least knows how to use a microwave, she won’t have to eat popcorn from a bag if she’s hungry.”
“That also sounds good,” I replied.
“We’ll find out the schedule Valentine has set up for you to look at places and—”
I interrupted him. “Darling?”
“Yeah?”
Running a hand soothingly over his back I whispered, “Sleep. We can plan tomorrow, tomorrow.”
“Right,” he mumbled, his hand at my arse curving around to bury itself between my hip and the bed, this pulling me even closer. “’Night, Frannie.”
“Good night, my dearest.”
“My dearest,” he muttered. “My Frannie, so fuckin’ cute.”
I held him and stroked him and felt his big body loosen against me, his head falling forward so his forehead rested on mine, his hold relaxing but the tilt of his body in sleep meant I took on some of his weight.
And gloried in it.
I felt replete from a lovely dinner, delightful company, meaningful sharing, excellent whiskey and exquisite lovemaking. Much had happened in a short time and my body and mind were exhausted because of it.
Even so, it took me some time to find my own peace because, no longer wrestling with the many changes in life I’d endured, I could finally focus on something that wasn’t me.
And what I focused on was that fact that the man whose bed I lay naked in, whose naked body lay rested against mine, the man who had stolen into my heart and captured a large portion for himself that I knew, no matter what the future might bring, would always be his…that man was still a mystery.
And that troubled me.
Deeply.
Chapter Seventeen
Every Second
Franka
“I’ll drop you off, do some shit,” Noc declared. “Text me when you’re almost done, I’ll come back and get you. But, just to say, they cut off too much of your hair, I’ll lose my mind. Be warned and make sure that doesn’t happen, sugarlips, because that shit goes down, I promise you it won’t be pretty.”
Noc and my plans made over the breakfast he’d offered me that morning (he called it bagels and cream cheese¸ I called it delicious) had been thwarted for the day.
This meant Josette and I now stood in the rather elegant entryway of an establishment where Noc had taken us due to the fact that Valentine had left a note with Josette. This note proclaimed she’d made an appointment for us to take care of our persons in a this-world way. This in the form of us going to a “spa” to have our hair “styled,” our brows “shaped” and our nails “done.”
They’ve been informed you’re both new to these experiences so have been instructed to have a care with you, my chéries. They’ve also been paid and tipped. All you need to do is enjoy. She’d written.
Although I did understand the concept of having my hair styled, the rest of it was entirely foreign to me (and Josette). Even if Valentine had shared with the staff that we were “new to these experiences,” we were, indeed, new to these experiences. I didn’t want anyone near my hair (which Noc had just declared a rather healthy interest in), my nails (unless that person was Josette, she was quite talented with filing and shaping, not to mention taking care of my hair), but mostly my brows (what did one do to brows?) not knowing a thing about it thus having no choice but to appear just that way.
In other words, gauche and daft.
I was neither.
Nor was Josette.
This wouldn’t do!
Damn Valentine. It was irritating in the extreme she’d brought us to this world, championed doing just that and disappeared after we’d arrived.
“I…well, Noc…” I got myself together and requested, “It would be most appreciated if you’d accompany us through our, erm, assignations here.”
Noc got closer, smiling encouragingly, saying, “You’ll be good, sweetheart. And you’ll like it. Women do this kind of shit in this world all the time and they love it. It’s considered a treat.”
“I’m certain it is,” I mumbled. “It would still—”
He cut me off by taking my hand, tugging it and giving Josette a look as he moved us a few steps away.
He turned his attention to me and lifted both hands to either side of my neck before dropping his face to mine and saying only for my ears, “Okay, baby, first, hair. When they get you in the chair, they’re gonna ask you what you wanna do with it, maybe recommend things you might wanna try. Be firm you want it trimmed only. They’ll do that. They might wash it, blow it dry with a handheld, electric blow dryer and style it. When they get to your brows, they’re gonna…”