36. Noah
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
NOAH
RECOMMENDED LISTENING ‘MAHEROO’ BY YASSER DESAI
I crack open one eye and smell Queenie Madhavan. Sugar and flour and jasmine and rain and me . I am drunk on her all over again.
“Good, you’re awake.” She pushes ineffectually on my shoulder. “Get off me.”
I grunt and slide out of her and off to the side of the couch, loose-limbed and spent. I keep one hand loose around her. And I play with her arm, the skin all mine to touch. All mine. I smile. Wide and satisfied, against the fragrant curve of her shoulder.
“I can see that smile, you know.” She brushes her nails on my hair.
I keep the shudder inside with effort. “No, you can’t.” I speak around her skin.
“It’s too self-important, your smile. You’re not that good.” Her murmur’s teasing.
“Liar.”
She giggles and kisses my hand and then cups my hand in hers.
My heart, beating at the pace of slow molasses, thuds to a stop. I wait to see what she does next.
Queenie turns around, her cloud of hair moves all over me, sending chills. “You’re better.” Her whisper falls on my lips before she kisses me. Soft and questing. A blessing. A miracle.
I grip her closer. Kiss her back. Just as soft.
Words float in my head. This was amazing. You’re amazing. I can’t get enough. I lo-
“ It’s not my real name, you know.” She settles her leg over mine. Comfortable around me. “Queenie.”
“It’s not?” I am only half-listening to her. The rest of me is reeling from the words wanting to tumble out of my reckless mouth. Reveling in the feel of her sexy ass against my cock. Even if said organ is tired and done. For now.
She nods. And runs a hand over my neck and presses a finger over the hickey she gave me. She smiles.
“It’s…Devika,” Queenie confesses. “I’m Devika Madhavan. But Devika means Queen in Sanskrit and Tamil, so I decided to use it.”
“Why…Devika?” I test her name out. Deh-vic-ah. I scrunch my brows. “Am I saying it right?”
“You actually are.” She blinks, gives me a pleased smile. “And why’s because I was only one of two Indian kids in my kindergarten class and even the teacher screwed up while using it. So, I figured, I might as well be their queen in their language.”
I shake my head and smile. Half in admiration. “You deserve to be called by your real name, you know? It’s who you are. Your heritage and identity.”
She shrugs. “Four-year-olds don’t understand heritage and identity. They just make fun of anything they don’t understand, Noah.”
I sigh. “I know.”
“What were you like when you were four?”
“Gap-toothed. Gangly.” I stroke her thigh, and she melts into me. “Handsome.” I wink like the cheeky, self-satisfied bastard I am.
Queenie laughs, a full-throated, full-body laugh. The sunshine laugh I don’t hear often. I watch her face move, animated and fairy-like. Some of her makeup’s run off and transferred to me. And her hair’s a complete mess. She is so beautiful she takes my breath away.
I don’t know why it’s her. I cannot fathom it anymore. It just is. I want her. I crave her. There’s no name for what I want from her.
The realization strikes a pang of actual fear in me. Because I don’t know what she feels about me. And I don’t know if I want to ask.
“How do you say Noah in Sanskrit-Tamil?” I ask her idly.
“Noah.”
“And how about?” I whisper a really filthy demand in her ear.
Queenie blushes and bats me away. “I don’t know how to say that, you jerk!”
I laugh and comb through her hair, spilling over the couch cushions. “Fine. How about something easy? How about ‘I want you’?”
She pretends to consider it for a moment. Then she turns fully into me. Holds me in her arms. My heart picks up speed again. So does my cock.
“ Ennekku nee vennum ,” she says in a low voice. Thoughtful. Solemn.
“ Ennekku nee vennum .” I mangle the phrase beyond redemption.
She smiles. And her eyes are dark and intense, honey brown pools of feeling and desire. “It actually translates to, ‘For me, you’re the want.’ Not I want you.”
I cup her cheek, spearing my fingers through the tangle of hair. “For me,” I say solemnly. “You’re the want.”
We say nothing for a long, drawn-out moment.
Then, Queenie kisses me with all her heart, open and giving and wet and deep. Still, I want more. I want everything all over again. We’re sticky and messy and the couch leather groans against my movements. We’re an incredibly tight fit on the generous couch.
I know I should be a gentleman and take her to a proper bed.
“Am I?” she asks, shakily when I stop for breath. Our lips are still melded together. “Am I your want?”
I take her hand to my heart, beating recklessly fast. Like I’m about to take the winning runs of a match. Like I’m running the twelfth mile on a ten miler. Like I’m about to make Devika Queenie Madhavan mine all over again.
Then, I take her hand lower. To where my cock juts out. Brushing against her sensitive skin. All ready. All hers. All wanting. All over again.
“You’re the want, Queenie,” I answer baldly. “You’re it.”
She kisses me hard then, mashing our lips together. Her nails scratching my face in her desperation. Insistent and inevitable. My fate coming to meet me.
I shuck off the used condom and wear the next one, while we kiss like horny, horny teenagers. Fumbling under the sheets with panting breaths and handsy hands. The blanket falls off my back. Uncovering us both.
She doesn’t mind. She’s too busy licking and biting the curve of my shoulder.
“God, you’re so…” Queenie kisses me again. Wherever she can find skin. And space.
I quiver inside when she does it. Each time she does it. My blood rushes to whichever spot her diligent mouth finds.
But I don’t make it easy for her because I’m eating at her tits. The curve of them beckoning me with their scent and feel. Heavy and perfect. They overflow against my palms, and I love that.
“So… what?”
“I don’t have words. I can’t thi—” Queenie arches, shudders and can’t talk anymore.
I grab the backs of her knees and shove them a little higher than last time. She goes one step farther and crosses them at the small of my back, giving me full and complete access.
I brush my thumb over her curls and find her wet. Moisture staining and sticking to my fingers. I press into her hot cunt.
She moans. Loud and unfettered, her honey brown eyes drifting shut.
“Don’t…” I grit out as I place a finger inside. Make sure she really is ready for me. She clenches around my finger, and I go cross-eyed with pleasure. “Don’t close your eyes,” I pant out.
“I—” She shakes her head.
“You can. Please. For me.” I kiss her again. “For me, please.”
Queenie opens her eyes with effort. Lashes trembling against the lids.
I feel ten feet tall, a fucking king, when I slowly carefully ease into her in this new position. Her breath catches at the movement, the tension and give of it. For a second, a hot, immeasurably hot second, her entrance denies me. Then she relaxes against me, and I slide in. Bit by bit.
She arches into me, with every stroke. I watch her. Watch the minutest of expressions go off in her lovely face. How it changes from tension to need to surprise to fulfilment. How her well-kissed mouth goes slack and draws breath audibly. How her cheeks flood with color and flushes down her neck, to her chest.
Queenie Madhavan blushes with her whole body, I think with wonder.
With one last rocking, I am seated in her.
She moves her hand restlessly over my back. Urging me with small, urgent fingers.
I don’t move.
She strangles out. “Move.”
“For me,” I rock into her.
Queenie cries out, high and thin, and her eyes almost drift shut. But she opens them at the last moment.
“You’re the want,” I say before I withdraw completely and go all the way in again. The sensation of her muscles hugging me, inviting me, taking me is so good I’m breathless, mindless with it.
My back flexes with the need to move, to hurry. But I don’t. I draw it out. I hold her in my arms, her shoulders, her waist. I stroke in and out. Queenie cries out again, burying her lips in my bicep, so my skin absorbs it through osmosis.
I love it. I need it. Again and again.
I move a little faster, hitting her channel deliberately. The withdrawal and surging a pleasure-pain for me. My knees shake a little from the enormity of it.
Seeing this strong, brave, independent, hellcat of a woman come apart for me. Because I’m taking her. I’m moving in her. And she’s letting me. It’s a privilege, a gift.
I kiss her forehead. And then seal my lips to hers, as I go faster, losing control because even I can’t hold back anymore. Against the feelings or the tide of desire burning my bones into ash. Making me hers in every way that counts.
This time, I can’t hold back my orgasm. It hits me all of a sudden. A thunderstorm I have to ride out. I stretch her out in every way possible, eating at her lips, her stiff peaks, the scented cove of her neck. And I hammer into her, wringing every last bit of pleasure I can when I come.
My eyes crash shut against the pleasure consuming me.
So, I can only feel her when I jet into her. Hot and spurting and endless. When she murmurs my name, so brokenly.
Noah. Noah.
And I know, in the deepest corners of my heart… I can’t lie anymore.
Queenie comes against me, her cunt clenching my cock so tight it makes me breathless. She contracts and undulates, her knees dig into my back, leaving grooves there. Her nails dig into my skin, making permanent marks. Branding me.
For me, she is the only want.