Part 68 (1/2)
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 p.i.s.sing me off.”
It wasn't me behaving in a way that would p.i.s.s 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 b.u.m.
”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 s.e.x.
”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-”
Both his hands left me and went to the bed on either side of me.
This was not what made me stop speaking.
He'd s.h.i.+fted his hands so he could lower himself to my back.
”And this is perfect.”
I grew still.
I felt him move even if I couldn't quite feel what he was doing. My guess was that he was running his lips along a scar.
One of many.
I closed my eyes tight.
”You feel that, Frannie?” he asked.
”Please get up,” I requested.
He did not get up.
What he did was move upwards so his mouth was at my ear.
”You don't, do you, sweetheart?”
I opened my eyes but looked only at the pillow. ”Again, I'll ask you to get up.”
”You know how you're perfect?” he queried.
I knew the glaring evidence of my imperfection was right in front of his eyes but I did not point that out to him for I didn't wish to and he could b.l.o.o.d.y well see it for himself.
I remained silent.
”You don't feel much at your back. I gotta go hard if I want you to know I'm touching you there. And the reason that's perfect when you think it's imperfection is that they took that from you. They crippled you here. This will never be the same,” he said, and I could feel him running his hand down my back, putting pressure into the touch so I could experience it. ”They did that, Frannie. They took that. And you survived.”
”Yes, I am aware. I was there each time,” I returned cuttingly, beginning to get angry at discussing something I did not wish to discuss and he very well knew it.
”You survived.”
”I am aware.”
”They did not survive.”
I quieted.
”They're beaten and broken and as good as dead. Their lives are over. You, though, you're here and getting pedicures and worried about making your girl eat dinner alone, carrying these marks not as their brand, but your badge of honor because you survived. I know. I know the elves could have healed you, taken this away.” His hand soothed deep down my back. ”I know Frey offered that to you. And I know you refused. That makes this perfect, that you took from them what they did to you and twisted it into something that was yours. Something that was beautiful. Something that means you're a fighter. A warrior. Victorious. And you wear their mark as your medal of valor.”
I held my breath, no longer angry.