CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Vincent and Noah exchanged glances as the front door closed behind the latest applicant for the position as nanny. “No,” Vincent said.
“No,” Noah agreed, shaking his head firmly.
So far they’d had a simpering idiot, a wide eyed kid, and a very prim matronly woman who had looked around the mess of the family room disapprovingly and asked if they had a housekeeper.
Vincent picked Emily up from where she was lying on her lambskin on the rug. “How hard can it be to find a nanny for such a gorgeous girl?” he asked her, and she smiled back at him.
Noah shrugged. “And this is the agency Willa recommended. Imagine if we were trying to weed out stalkers too.” He stood up. “I’ll go put the percolator on again. Think we’ve got one more person to interview this afternoon.”
There was a knock at the front door before the percolator had finished trickling, and Noah opened it to find the next prospective nanny standing there.
She was wearing the same pale green and white uniform as the other applicants, and Noah took in her suspiciously short hair, the tiny dimples on her face where she obviously usually wore piercings, the small labrys in one ear and the tattoo that peeked out above the neckline of her uniform, and grinned at her.
The woman held up a photo ID card for Noah to check and grinned back at him. “I’m Calla Morgan, please call me Morgan.”
Noah stepped back and waved her in. “Come on in, Morgan.”
Vincent looked up from where he was sitting with Emily on his knee and his eyes widened when Noah led Morgan into the family room. Morgan knelt down in front of him and Emily and smiled at Emily. “You must be Emily,” she said, and she stroked Emily’s cheek with her finger.
Emily gurgled contentedly, and Noah exchanged a glance with Vincent. It looked like they had found their nanny.
When Morgan had left, Vincent said, “A dyke nanny, why didn’t we think of that?”
Noah shrugged back at him. “Makes sense. We ask the agency for a nanny who is comfortable with two men raising a child, they send us Morgan. I liked her. Should we give her a try?”
***
Vincent’s mouth was hot and wet and Noah closed his eyes, reaching his hands behind his head to grip the bed head. This was deliciously different, without his daily ‘T.’ lozenge, Noah could slow down enough to really enjoy the feeling. He was still aching to fuck, but that need wasn’t driving him this time.
The long slow licks stopped. “You’re not falling asleep, are you?” Vincent asked.
“Fuck, no,” Noah gasped. “Don’t stop.”
“Roll over for me?” Noah let go of the wooden bed head and rolled over, pushing a pillow under his hips.
Vincent’s tongue slithered across Noah’s skin, slippery and warm, and Noah groaned at the first press against the entrance to his body. “God, yes,” he breathed.
“Let go,” Vincent’s voice said. “Let me in.”
Then the pressure was back, coaxing him open, making Noah moan into the pillow. He was tight, even when he consciously relaxed himself. It had been a long, long time since Vincent had last fucked him, not since Emily was conceived, and Noah was glad Vincent was taking this slowly.
Noah couldn’t keep his hips still, not once Vincent began tongue-fucking him in earnest, and he rocked back onto Vincent’s mouth, urging him on. Vincent’s hands pressed across the small of Noah’s back, trying to still his movements, making Noah say, “Now! Can’t wait.” The pounding of blood in his ears was matching that in his cock, jammed between his body and the pillow, increasing with every stroke of Vincent’s tongue.
Vincent’s tongue slowly slid up Noah’s spine as his fingers eased into Noah’s body. “So impatient, of course you can wait,” he murmured, and his mouth pressed against Noah’s neck.
The lube was cold, like ice, like winter rain, and Noah gasped as it slid across his skin, pushing in wrapped around Vincent’s fingers, spreading through him as it warmed. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Vincent breathed against his ear. “We will.”
Vincent’s fingers sent shivering ripples of feeling through Noah, radiating out, sparkling through him. Sharp scratches from Vincent’s nails made Noah whimper, slow pushes in made him moan quietly into the pillow. “Can’t wait,” Noah repeated. “Can’t wait.”
The mattress dipped as Vincent knelt between Noah’s legs, spreading his thighs with his hands, as Noah gripped the bed head again. Vincent leant forward and his hands pressed down beside Noah’s shoulder and he whispered, “First time.”
Sweet anticipation filled Noah’s mind. “What about Emily?”
“Condom used, just failed… fortunately,” Vincent murmured.
Noah wholeheartedly and silently agreed… and then all other thoughts fled as Vincent’s naked cock pressed into his body.
Noah cried out, he couldn’t stop himself, not when Vincent slid all the way in, and his weight pressed Noah down into the mattress.
Through the shooting sliding gripping stretching burning ecstasy of it, Noah was vaguely aware that the volume of Ben’s music suddenly leapt. ‘So much for being quiet,’ he thought with a moan.
“You OK?” Vincent asked, and Noah nodded mutely into the pillow, knowing if he tried talking, he was just going to start screaming.
Vincent’s head was heavy where it rested on Noah’s shoulder blade. “Move,” Noah said, biting off his words, stopping himself from shouting, his teeth digging into his lip.
There was a nakedness to the slide, this was raw and dark, no safe layer of latex between them. They couldn’t be any closer if they tried.
Vincent spoke and the words were wet on Noah’s back. “Fuck, I can feel you.” Then a rhythmic, “not… gonna… last.”
Noah screwed his eyes shut, gripped onto the bed head hard and pushed back up into the stroke. “Go,” he said, holding on tight.
Vincent drove into Noah on the next stroke, making the brackets holding the bed to the wall creak alarmingly, making the blood pound in Noah’s ears, his heart pound in his chest, his cock throb and ache where it was crushed between his body and the pillow beneath him. Before he could draw breath, there was another stroke, and Noah lifted his hips to meet Vincent halfway, making Vincent grunt.
The brackets creaked again, Ben’s music became even louder, and Noah thought he might be sobbing at the intensity. Vincent whispered, “So good,” against his ear, then Noah began to come.
Vincent collapsed down onto Noah’s back, panting hard, and there was a slickness inside Noah’s ass that hadn’t been there before. Noah reached back a hand and said, “Stay there, please?”
“Am I squashing you?” Vincent asked, moving his arms and lifting some of his weight off Noah’s upper body.
Noah uncurled his fingers from the bed head, flexing them a little to get the blood flowing again. “Never.”
Ella was still wearing her work clothes when she dropped around to collect Ben, and Noah tried hard not to laugh at her. “Shut up, Noah,” she warned before he even opened his mouth, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to call out for Ben to hurry up.
There were thumps from upstairs, and Ella asked, “Is Vincent around? There’s something I wanted to ask the pair of you.”
“In his studio, ignoring the madness, I think. Feel free to disturb him.”
Ella laughed and said in unison with Noah, “But he’s been disturbed for years.”
“Go on up, I’ll just get Emmie,” Noah said, turning back towards the family room.
When Noah pushed the studio door open, Emily on his hip, Vincent was jiggling paintbrushes in turps while Ella studied the painting on the easel. Noah admired it too. It was a large canvas, covered in milky swirls, half hidden shapes underneath hinted at wild and green places. Clipped to the top of the easel was the photo that explained the painting, taken of Emily just before she was delivered, her face partially visible through the thick membrane that had kept her safe. The painting was intended to be the centre panel of a trip
tych, all about Emily’s birth, that Vincent had tentatively named ‘Caul’.
Emily gurgled when she caught sight of Vincent, and he leant across and brushed his cheek against hers, carefully avoiding scratching her with his stubble.
“Wow, that is amazing,” Ella said, walking around the painting.
Vincent wiped his paint smeared hands on his jeans, then took Emily out of Noah’s arms for a cuddle. “Thanks.”
Standing upright again, Ella held her hands out and Vincent passed Emily across to her. She kissed Emily’s hair where it was fluffed up on her head. “I’m going to do another CD this year, just a backyard recording to sell through my website. I want to dedicate the album to Emily, if you’ll let me.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you, Ella,” Vincent said and Noah smiled at Ella and Emily.
“What a sweet gesture,” Noah said.
“I’m going to start laying down tracks soon, now Amy has offered me the use of her sound studio. Is there a song you’d particularly like me to record for Emily?”
Noah caught Vincent’s eye, then said, “Would you record ‘Tangled Up In Blue’?”
Ella raised an eyebrow. “You want me to do a Dylan cover?”
When Noah looked back from Ella to Vincent, there was a wide smile spread across Vincent’s face, and he was looking so intently at Noah that Noah wondered how much of this Ella was reading.
Vincent nodded. “Yeah, ‘Tangled Up In Blue.’ Definitely.”
Ella shrugged. “Dylan it is then.”
Ennis wiped his tongue across his top lip, removing the foam from his cappuccino that had clung there, and Dawson leant back in his seat, giving the waitress room to put his plate, heaped with omelet, in front of him. “Show it to us again,” Dawson said, and Vincent pulled the sleeve of his T-shirt up. The tattoo was new enough that its edges were raised and red compared with the surrounding skin.
Emily was sitting on Noah’s lap, her hair a halo of curls now, her fist shoved in her mouth. She was sucking contentedly on her hand, and Noah leant forward and lifted a forkful of scrambled eggs to his mouth. Emily’s eyes were firmly fixed on the food, and she watched intrigued as Noah ate the yellow eggs.
“When will she start eating real food?” Ennis asked, cutting into his plate of bacon and mushrooms.
“Another couple of months,” Vincent replied.
Dawson was staring down the road, at the parked cars. “Either of you got a tail?” he said, looking back at Vincent and Noah.
Vincent shook his head. “We’re right under the radar these days. Why?”
“Damn, there’s a photographer down the road. Looks like it’s our fault, Ennis. Sorry about that. We’ve got a photographer all of our own these days. We should’ve sat inside.”
Noah looked around the café and shook his head. It was a bright spring morning, a sleepy Sunday, underneath the giant umbrellas. “Too gorgeous a day to stay indoors,” he said, taking another mouthful of egg, Emily’s eyes still watching every move.
“Hand Emmie to me so you can eat more easily,” Vincent said, and Noah passed her over. Vincent leant his head close to Noah and said, “Wanna come out?”
Noah put his fork down and blinked at Vincent. “Right now?”
“Why not?”
“You’re fucking crazy.”
Vincent shrugged. “Might be. How ‘bout it?”
Noah drank from his glass of orange juice. “Yeah, alright. Why the fuck not?”
Vincent handed Emily to Ennis, who put down his knife and fork and took her, then Vincent was kissing Noah. This was no peck on the cheek, and Vincent’s hand was holding Noah’s cheek, thumb brushing over his cheek bone. Noah kissed Vincent back, tiny flames of desire starting to run through him, and he was distantly aware of Dawson saying, “Don’t even fucking think about it Ennis.”
When Vincent pulled back, his eyes were sparkling at Noah, and Noah couldn’t stop himself from grinning.
Ennis followed Vincent inside when he went to pay the check, and leant against the desk while the waitress ran Vincent’s credit card through the machine.
“Noah’s changed a lot in the last year,” Ennis observed.
Vincent nodded and signed the slip the waitress handed him.
“Look, I just want to thank you for being there for him. I’m glad he trusted you enough to go to you for help, and you could. I suspect all of us owe you a huge debt for that.” Ennis looked out through the glass to where Noah was strapping Emily into her stroller. “More’s happened to him than he’s told us, hasn’t it?”
Vincent watched Noah again, squatting down beside the stroller to settle Emily, then he looked down at Ennis and shook his head. “You need to ask him, Ennis.”
Ennis shrugged. “Damn, I was hoping to charm some sort of admission out of you.”
The tabloids ran the headline: “Whose Baby?” with photos of Vincent and Noah holding Emily, and Noah cut the pages out of the magazine and stuck them on the fridge. The photo of Vincent kissing him he carefully stored in his box of photos.
Morgan opened the front door as Noah slid his key into the lock, Emily in the sling, her eyes wide open, peering over the edge of the fabric, her fingers pushed into her mouth so she could suck on them.
Morgan undid the sling and Noah lifted Emily out and into his arms, grinning his thanks at Morgan. “You wanted to leave early, didn’t you? Just grab your things, and go. I’ve got Emily.”
Morgan nodded. “Thanks, Noah. I’ve got a date.” She ran a hand through the newly multicolored tufts of her hair. “I haven’t had a real date for years. Guess I’d better get dressed up.”
Emily gurgled on Noah’s hip, and Noah said, “What you going to wear? What do dykes wear when they get dressed up?”
Morgan started hunting through the pockets of her jeans, checking for keys, wallet and phone. “That’s the problem. I can borrow a radical fairy party dress, or I can wear leather and mesh. If I wear mesh, how many piercings should I show? How many would be too many for you on a first date?”
Noah considered, and Emily sucked her fingers industriously. “What about a tight T-shirt. Show your rings, without actually flashing nipple?”
“Good idea. If I get laid tonight, I’ll have you to thank for it.”
Then Morgan was gone, after pulling the sling over her head and pushing it at Noah.
Noah dropped the sling over the bottom of the stair balustrade and carried Emily up the stairs. Vincent’s studio door was closed, and Noah pushed it open.
Vincent was sitting on his worktable, illicit cigarette in his mouth, studying the large painting he had propped against the far wall, two smaller painting bracketing it.
He ground the cigarette out on an empty plate as soon as he saw Noah and Emily, and leant behind him and opened his window wide.
“Busted,” Noah said.
“It was a celebratory cigarette, that’s all. I finished the paintings. What do you think?”
Noah let Vincent distract him from the whole issue of smoking in the house and studied the paintings. He knew the central painting well. Underneath the milky white caul were the colors of the mountains and sky around the ranch. That was the ‘waiting for Emily’ painting. One of the side panels was her birth; the khaki green of the operating room, and the red of his blood, midnight blue for the song Vincent had sung him. The third painting was Emily herself; brown eyes and creamy skin, the pink of her mouth. Bright turquoise for happiness, yellow for sunshine, and the sky blue and mauve of the quilt that Tami made were all there too.
Tingles of recognition sparkled through Noah as he gazed at the painting, and he tightened his arms around Emily. “It’s amazing,” he said, letting the painting settle over him. Emily squirmed in his arms and he looked down at her. She was frowning in concentration, and he could feel her tummy rumbling. “Go on, honey, you let it all out,” he told her.
“If she grows up to be an art critic, I’m quitting painting.”
Noah knocked on Ben’s do
or, then impatiently knocked again more loudly when there was no answer.
When the door swung open, Ben was looking bemused, holding the headphones for his mp3 player in his hand, the music playing loudly enough that Noah could hear it clearly. “Yeah?” Ben said.
“Sell anymore cigarettes to your father, and I’m telling your mother.”
Ben rolled his eyes expressively, said, “Whatever,” to Noah and closed the door. It opened again a moment later and Ben said, “Hey, Emily,” and tickled her tummy, making her smile and squirm some more, then closed the door again.
Emily wriggled in Vincent’s arms as she spotted Noah, gurgling at him, and Noah spun around delightedly. He grinned at them, coming across to kiss Emily, and then Vincent.
“Hello, Emmie,” he cooed at her, holding his arms out. “Want a hug, Emmie. Come and get your first taste of makeup, honey.”
Noah kissed her, leaving traces of make up on her face, then handed her back to Vincent. “Good timing, Cedric has just called a half hour break so he could go hassle the bank about a check that bounced.”
“We’ve just come to say hello, haven’t we, Emily?”
“Morgan not working today?”
“She is. I left her at home tackling the mountain of washing. Didn’t seem fair to ask her to do all those nappies with Emily in the sling too. How’s work going so far?”
Noah sat down and Vincent sat beside him. “How is it? It’s pretty good”
***
Ben was sitting at the sound board, head phones on, concentrating intently. Ella was in conference with Amy on the other side of the soundproof glass, guitars in their hands. Noah had been delighted to find out that Cedric Bright was in town and staying with Ella. He was crowded into the sound booth with them too, Emily in his arms, burbling at him as he blew raspberries on her face.
Vincent was leaning over the sound board beside Ben, talking to Ella through her headset, and he looked up and glared over his shoulder at Cedric and Noah.
The Omega's Dearest Baby Page 11
