A/N: I would like to thank all those people who favourited, followed and reviewed my story. Thanks for all your support and the result of this well reception releases much needed endorphins in my brain (from reading good stuff about my story) and in your brain (from reading Mara and Noah fanfiction.) Thanks again everyone.
Chapter 3:
After our endorphin-thrilling yet bittersweet make-out session that ended with Noah taking off his shirt, and torturing me with excuses on not taking off his bottoms as well, we were hungry.
"So what do you want?" asked Noah. He was now fully clothed and stood in front of his ginormous fridge in his ginormous kitchen. "I can make you omelettes or a sandwich. I have a taco kit so we can make tacos or I can take you out?"
I sat on the bar stood facing him from across the table. Fists on my face. "Sandwiches are cool. And besides, I don't want to go out."
"I know why you don't want to go out," he said condescendingly. He had brought out the bread and a plate and settled them on the table in front of us. "You want to be in the pleasure of my amiable company," he smiled. "I was telling the truth to Daniel."
I smiled, despite him recognising my objective. "I guess you nailed me, then."
"Not yet."
I smiled in reminiscence of our first meeting. "Asscrown."
He placed four pieces of bread on the plate and he took out some of the many American spread brands. "So the Asscrown wants peanut butter, what does the subjugate to the Asscrown want in her sandwich?"
"I want peanut butter too."
"The Asscrown complies to the now named subjugate: a belle brune."
"You're quoting it in totally irrelevant context, you irritate me, Noah, and "beautiful brunette" does not mean anything, even it if is in French. And you still haven't given me Lolita."
"All in good time." He put the spreading knife in the sink and pushed the plate to me. "By the way, I hope the mere mortal likes her sandwiches cut into triangles."
We ate our sandwiches. Noah had lathered them so consistently in peanut butter that I had to cut the triangles into smaller, bite-sized pieces to prevent any of the peanut butter going astray. Noah ate his in amusement.
We went to his room after lunch. The sun was out and it cascaded his room into oblivions of light. I scanned his bookshelves for Lolita while he sat on the chair closed to the window with a book open. He didn't offer to help.
There were rows upon rows of books that stretched from floor to ceiling. I gave up, reaching my third shelf, and belly flopped onto Noah's bed.
Noah didn't look up.
I sighed an exasperated sigh.
He still didn't look up.
I picked up the guitar that was next to his bed and strummed an inharmonious tune.
He still did not look up, but he said, "You are a horrible guitarist." His eyes never left the book.
"Why don't you play?" I asked. He was still firmly planted in his chair, leaning back with one leg propped on the knee of the other while his hands held some sort of thin book. I couldn't really see his face because the sun behind him made it hard to look for long.
"Do you want me to?"
"I haven't really heard you play."
"So is that a yes? Or another excuse to rip of my clothes?" He had closed his book now and he looked at me with a smirk.
I gave a half-laugh and I felt a blush rushing up my cheeks. "I do not want to rip off your clothes all the time." Although I am on your bed. "And I only want you to play the guitar. If you don't, fine."
He stood up, put the book in the shelf and walked over. Noah picked up the guitar and sat next to me.
"As a matter of fact, Miss Dyer, I am an excellent guitarist. As for playing it, I only play for you."
I gave Noah a stern look. He probably didn't take it seriously according to the look on his face.
He placed his right hand on my cheek. "Nothing compares to you." He put his fingers on my lips. "Now, would you like to hear?"
I didn't say anything but he played anyway.
He strummed in an easy tune and although he had considerably slowed the melody down I recognised it as Death Cab for Cutie.
And then he surprised me with singing. It was a low, husky sound, and each note was sung in pure clarity.
"Love of mine, some day you will die
But I'll be close behind.
I'll follow you into the dark.
No blinding light or tunnels to gate of white,
Just out hands clasped so tight,
Waiting for the hint of a spark."
He stopped singing and playing altogether and looked at me.
I was astounded. "I didn't know you could sing." I said quietly. I could only hear my own faint breathing. He was sitting opposite me on the bed. "Play the rest of it."
"That's all I know."
"Well that's amazing."
"You're amazing."
"Well–"
"No I'm serious, Mara." He put the guitar down and I was only consumed by his eyes and the words coming from his mouth. He took my hands into his. "I love you. And I know that it may not seem so likely now but I know that if I were to live another life, I could not dare to live it without you. I love you, with all the cells and units in my soul and being. If you were the cake, I'd be the cherry on top." He smiled and looked at me through his lashes. "And you know, I love teasing you too."
I gave him an Are you serious? look and he nodded.
And then I kissed him.
And pushed him backwards onto the bed.
I tasted peanut butter and the scent of his skin. The faint smell of cigarettes in his being and him. Him. Him.
Our lips collided and I suddenly didn't know where we were or what we had done earlier in the day. I didn't care.
He turned us around so he was on top.
His hands were around me and wrapping me closer to him. They were a cage and I felt so safe and warm and so incredibly hot. I stopped kissing him and tugged his shirt up while his mouth furiously kissed my neck.
He didn't get the message, that damn asscrown.
"Noah," I said and he kissed that place under my ear and I moaned subconsciously. He took it as encouragement because he repeatedly kissed there. "Noah," I said again. He looked up and I tugged his shirt up.
In seconds it was up and off. And in seconds I had my hands running over the hard muscles that contracted with every touch I made.
He was still looking at me and I tugged him down to kiss me again.
He did and I was lost to that bliss again. Noah's hands were moving down my torso, touching the sliver of skin that was open when I reached up and oh, so heavenly teased me with intimate touches. His hands then tugged my shirt up and before I could comply, he arched my back and it was disregarded on the floor somewhere.
We were now too topless beings, one with heavenly abdominals on top of one with a very plain, black bra on moving in harmony on a low-level bed in the middle of a room full of books with the windows only in witness of the events unfolding.
"Belle, tu es à moi," he said. His hands caressed my face while the other was wrapped in twirls in my hair. "C'est assez simple." Noah's face was now only inches to mine and his whole torso was in contact with my pale skin.
"I don't know French," I whispered.
He laughed. "This is simply enough," he translated. Noah kissed me once again, soft and sweet and long.
I kissed him back because I knew what he was going to say. And because I was happily content with how we were at this very moment.
