Midnight Soul (Fantasyland #5)

by Kristen Ashley

  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.

  He swept his mouth against mine.

  “But you’re gonna come ten times in one night,” he declared.

  My breath caught.

  “One down,” he whispered, his hands beginning to move on me, “Nine to go.”

  “No—”

  I didn’t finish saying his name.

  Noc kissed me.

  * * * * *

  “I want you inside me,” I begged.

  Noc, naked on his knees behind me, me naked on my knees in front of him, his arms around me, one hand at my breast doing delicious things, one hand between my legs doing scrumptious things, his mouth at my neck suckling, nipping, kissing, he lifted it to my ear and nibbled my earlobe.

  Oh my.

  I made my position clear.

  “Please,” I gasped, hips grinding into his hand, feeling his hardness press into my bottom, wanting that for my own.

  “Next go,” he whispered into my ear.

  I almost didn’t hear him. My climax was gathering powerfully, preparing to overwhelm me.

  “Noc, hurry, take me. I’m about—”

  His finger at my clitoris circled faster and harder.

  “Come, Frannie,” he growled in my ear.

  He didn’t have to make the demand. At the workings of his finger I acquiesced, my head flying back and colliding with his shoulder, my body trembling violently in his hold, my hands shooting to his to grasp them in order to stop their machinations because I was learning there was such a thing as too much pleasure. I was experiencing it at that very moment, and it was going to devour me.

  At my climax’s end, tenderly, Noc lay me on my back, covered me with his big, warm body, his hands trailing soothingly along my skin, his mouth again at my neck.

  When I had control of my breath, I put my hands on him, loving how he felt, his warmth, the power at my fingertips that was a part of Noc and yet seemed a contradiction with all his understanding, thoughtful, humorous, teasing gentleness.

  It was on this thought his hand traveled over my hip and in.

  I drew in a sharp breath and turned my head just as Noc lifted his so our mouths were nearly touching.

  “Two,” he murmured and I shuddered under him at that word, what it meant and his fingers trailing through my most intimate part. “So wet,” he whispered, “can’t wait to taste that for three.”

  “You,” was all I had in me to reply.

  “Later.”

  “Noc—”

  He kissed me. He used his tongue. It was magnificent.

  But it was too short.

  “Later,” he repeated against my lips, and before I could utter a word, his lips moved down my body.

  Noc eventually tasted me.

  He took his time. He demonstrated extraordinary skill.

  And in the end, I got three.

  * * * * *

  We were naked and abed, Noc on his back, head and shoulders up on stacked pillows, me cuddled into his side.

  The room was dark, lit only by the misty blue sparking up from Noc’s bare chest.

  I had his hand in mine and was guiding his big palm under the sparks.

  Together, we lifted them up and I turned his hand with my own, circling the shimmers until they formed a ball.

  Willing that ball to do as I wished, I pulled my hand away and said softly, “All yours, darling.”

  Noc continued circling it, replying, “What do I do with it?”

  I looked at his face and experienced something profound, seeing its handsomeness lit by the beautiful blue of my magic.

  At the sight, I felt my body melt more deeply into his side as I replied, “It’s just a plaything. It has no power to harm. Toy with it. Or you can disburse it by drawing your hand through it. You can set it on the night table to return to later. Or, throw it across the room, and if you do that, it’ll travel back to you as it’s yours. I gave it to you.”

  Lazily, he drew his hand back, the ball followed, and he tossed it across the room, the blue-arced streak it made, utterly gorgeous (if I did say so myself).

  It flew nearly to the wall before it stopped and slowly made its way back.

  When Noc took it, he circled his hand around it several times before he curled his fingers into a fist, only his forefinger out, and he twirled the ball on his finger. Eventually, he reopened his hand, drew his fingers through it and it disappeared, leaving us in darkness.

  Without delay, he turned into me, gathering me in his arms.

  “You know you’re the shit?” he asked, his deep voice deeper with obvious pride.

  I knew he thought that.

  I adored that he thought that.

  And I loved that tone in his voice.

  “I’ve done quite well, Valentine says,” I shared softly. “Though now she says she’s nothing more to teach me except, how she phrases it, ‘in the field.’ This means I need practical experience to advance further. And I’ll tell you, Noc,” I went on, cuddling even closer, “I’m quite excited. It’s fascinating, magic, learning to wield it, understanding my power, how to use it, how not to abuse it. Although I missed you gravely while we were parted, Valentine showing me what’s inside me and all I’m capable of doing…I’ll never forget our times together and be forever grateful for all she’s done for me.”

  “You missed me gravely?”

  I stared at him through the dark and stiffened.

  He pulled me closer. “Babe, before you freak you let that out, you gotta know already I missed you gravely too.”

  His words meant much to me and from the moment we were reunited he had not hidden that they were true.

  Even so, for the first time since I came to his world, reality intruded and I wondered at the wisdom of this impetuous shift in our relations.

  Outside Josette, Noc was my truest friend.

  Indeed, the only other friend I had in my world, Frey’s mother, Valeria, I didn’t even explain that I was leaving so it went without saying I didn’t bid her farewell.

  That said, the last I’d heard from her (some months prior), Frey’s father had officially severed ties with her—meaning ending their marriage—not an unwelcome happenstance for Valeria.

  She was currently residing with her longtime paramour, an almost grotesquely wealthy merchant, who was still just a merchant.

  Obviously, the old Franka would think that, but I was right then lying abe
d with a naked city watchman who had treasure, this was true (he’d told me he accepted a reward for his part in ending Minerva’s plot) but no House and no title, and I did not care a whit. Therefore, I no longer cared if Valeria’s love was a lord, a merchant or a laborer.

  Valeria, however, struggled with his lack of position. Until she had no choice but to accept it once her husband finished with her.

  My friend of the other world was one to be very present when things in her life were not going well, in order to have someone with whom to complain about them.

  In the rare occasions she was happy (prior to becoming the kept woman of a wealthy merchant), she’d all but disappear.

  Thus I knew she was deliriously happy. So much so, I barely heard from her, such was her contentment.

  This did not negate the fact that I cared about her, she cared about me, and I’d left our entire world behind, with her in it, without even a goodbye.

  What kind of friend was I, doing that to Valeria?

  And what kind of friend was I, jumping into bed with Noc without thinking of the repercussions that might have?

  “Frannie?” Noc called my attention back to him.

  My stiff body stiffened further. “Perhaps we should—”

  He interrupted me. “No. We shouldn’t.”

  His penchant for interruption was beginning to peeve me.

  “You keep interrupting me and I’m not fond of it,” I shared irritably.

  “You haven’t complained before now,” he replied. “And that’s probably because it led to things like me going down on you and you had no problem with that. Now you got somethin’ to say that I can feel by your change in mood doesn’t need to be said, not right now, but for some reason you feel like fuckin’ this up, and I’m not gonna let you. But you’re not used to not getting what you want so suddenly you’re ‘not fond of it.’”

  First things first.

  “Going down on me?” I queried.

  “Makin’ you come with my mouth,” he explained.

  Well, that certainly was going down, for Noc’s part. He just was so good at it, it made me fly high.

  “That’s explained,” I went on then carried on. “Now I’ll note if I have something to say, I’d like to be able to say it. And truthfully, I can’t believe I even have to make the request.”