Puppet Master

Chapter Eighteen

She woke to the feeling of his fingertips, running softly across the red flushed skin of her wrists; slowly opening her eyes to see him crouched at the side of the bed next to her.

“Morning Sleepyhead,” he murmured, kissing her wrists.

“What time is it?”

“10.30, move over babe,” he handed her a mug of steaming coffee, so she complied. In truth she probably would have agreed to jump off a cliff for that coffee, she felt exhausted; every cell in her body carried on snoozing languidly, completely content and satisfied.

“I need to go to the gallery for twelve, I have a meeting,” she muttered, somewhat uncomfortable. While he was modestly covered in his black Calvin Klein’s, she was completely naked, and she pulled the duvet further up her chest to cover herself, much to his amusement. “I called your Reception desk, it’s being rescheduled.” His eyes wandered over her upper body, almost swaddled in the covers, ”I have seen it all before you know, Tor,” he had a smutty grin on his face as he pulled her into the crook of his arm, stroking her hair over her shoulders. “I’ve seen it, touched it, kissed it, I worshipped every square inch. Have you forgotten already?”  His voice was a husky growl, as he kissed her jaw, and across her throat. She moaned, and shifted her body to a more comfortable position under the covers.

“Well” she sipped the hot, bitter drink and lowered it to rest on her chest, “I’m just uneasy about the morning after, not too experienced in the whole thing.” She managed to keep her voice neutral, there wasn’t an accusation in sight; she was just explaining her own reactions. She would always be angry to a certain extent; he’d taken something she’d built an entire lifetime of fantasies around. She’d dreamed for years of giving herself to him, and, in the morning, he’d picked up his shoes and high-tailed it out of there.

There was no way to take that moment back; all of those doubts and insecurities, nor any of those hopes and dreams that he crushed in a single slam of the door. She could never have the whispered endearments that she’d dreamed of.

But she could forgive him.

She could forgive him, because she had no choice; hating him hurt her because of the way she loved him.

With everything she had.

To love like that, you take the absolute prick that you have on your hands at times, and somehow, you love that, just as much as you worship that man you waited for your whole life.

Angels have better places to be than here, after all, so you’ll never find one on any of these streets. 

She felt him tense up though, despite her diplomatic tone; his eyes burning into her skin, watching her face, his fingers stilled; threaded through her long, blonde hair. Slowly, he pulled her towards him, his lips meeting her temple, as he stared at the wall over the top of her head, not having a single clue what to say to that.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Tor, I really am. I don’t think it could have ever gone any other way with us, though; I hated myself for touching you when you were so innocent, and pure, and so ... you I guess, but then, I’d have hated it any other way as well. I think I went a little mad when I saw you kissing that guy,” Jake. God, she’d forgotten all about him!