Puppet Master

Chapter Twenty Two

Jayden had indeed learnt to cook, she thought to herself as she lay on the sofa after he’d satisfied her yet again ... just with food rather than sex this time, although that Wild Mushroom Risotto was probably only a few degrees off Heavenly bliss, exactly how she imagined the taste of Ambrosia ... the Heavenly stuff, not the custard.

She chuckled as she watched him run his fingers across the movie cases on her multimedia unit, a slightly perplexed expression on his face, brows drawn and lips pursed, as he murmured to himself about her poor choice in genre.

She was a little bit of a Romance Junkie.

“Aaaha!” he turned suddenly, wielding one of her brother’s copies of Nightmare on Elm Street that she’d, again, pilfered. She smiled, lazily wondering if she was maybe a little bit of a kleptomaniac.

But she had no idea how she looked to the man whose jaw was now touching the floor, the holy grail of 80’s horror suddenly forgotten in his upraised hand.

Her pale legs lay slightly open, so that he could see the dark shadow of her pubic hair beneath the white cotton, and her arms lay flung about her head, so that her modesty was only marginally covered. The platinum halo of hair spread across the sofa, its length hanging across the edge of the cushions, almost touching the floor.

She looked like a fucking siren, especially with that twinkle in her violet eyes, and that lazy smile gracing her full lips, stained with a blush from the rasp of his stubble against the delicate flesh.

He began to stalk towards her, his eyes burning with the intensity as he dropped to his knees on the floor beside her head, catching her chin between his finger and thumb as he slowly turned her to face him.

“You said you loved me today,” his voice was little more than a whisper, of awe, and amazement, that a walking, talking, living, breathing angel could say such words to him.

His eyes, usually so cold, or playful, were suddenly slate with desire, with adoration, for the beautiful creature in front of him, and they ran over her delicate features like a physical caress.

She simply stared back into his eyes. There was no conflict, no denial, just complete and true, pure love shone back at him. “You’re a fucking angel,” he whispered, touching his lips to hers almost reverently. He groaned against her, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth as he gently moved up off his knees, pulling her body around on the seat so that her hips were lined up against his own, and wrapped her legs around his waist, revelling in the heat he felt from between her legs. He never once moved his mouth away from hers.

Pulling back, he pushed her long curls away from her face as he moved towards the en suite near her bedroom, “I thought we were watching a film,” she protested, as he turned on the bath taps, slowly filling the room with delicious hot steam that rubbed against her hard nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“No,” he said, laying one of her Egyptian Cotton towels down against the Scandinavian oak floors of her en suite, and turning his attention to the buttons of his shirt, “ I need to show you something, Tor, to prove something to you, and then it’s time for my dessert.”