CHAPTER 8
Embrace The Storm
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" So I showed her my heart
The dark evil parts
The darkness and hunger within
She swallowed my night
Gave wings to my flight
Stoking my fires of sin
Is this love? Is this lust?
Is it fire or dust?
Is it something I cant understand?
Is this wrong? Is this right?
Is this evils respite?
I am lost in the dance of the damned.”
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Michael sat, stunned might sort of describe it. Shell shocked? Definitely over whelmed. The flames had dissipated some time during that journey, receding into faint, hazy flickers.
Morgan sat across the room from him smiling, watching. Thoughts raced, jumbled and confused. Michael did not know how to react. That seemed to be becoming the norm where Morgan was involved. He was looking for a word, any word. He sat up staight, staring at Morgan, slack jawed and stammering. She laughed and, leapt, no, pounced would be more like it. Landing on her knees , on the recliner, straddling a now highly aroused Michael.
Morgan gave him no opportunity to speak, no time for questions, no time for understanding. Not that he could even breathe. She wrapped her self around him and began kissing him. It took only a few moments of her, kissing, nipping and squirming, before Michael could respond. only
He was astonished at the sensations. He could feel the flames of their auras mingling, dancing together. Energies, fields of, sensation mingling. Then to Morgans pleasure, Michael was kissing her back and reacting to this storm that had wrapped herself around him. Morgan laughingly muttered “Finally” against his lips. Kissing him deeply. A different sort of fire raged within and between. Time ceased? The storm broke? Is there an adequate metaphor to describe when a goddess of war and fate, is making love with a new born “god”? Probably not.
What can be said is that chaos destruction and madness marked their passionate union. The back of the sofa broke off, the recliner twisted and destroyed, the coffee table smashed. Blood flowed, nails scratched and clawed, voices moaned and cried out. Michael and Morgan did not notice any of the destruction. Nor would they have cared. There were much more important things significantly demanding their attentions. Absorbed in the taste, the feel, the fires of each other. Does a Hurricane notice the city it floods and flattens? Does a tornado care? Would a volcano? The storm of passions ran it’s course. Leaving a joyous destruction in its wake.
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The late afternoon sun was shining through the little narrow window in the bathroom. Michael woke up to a feeling of being burned. He yelped and snatched his foot out of the sunbeam. That woke up Morgan.
They looked around and began to scramble out of the big sunken Roman tub they had fallen asleep in.They stumbled, moving clumsily, drunkenly. Neither one was clothed. There was no sign of clothing in the bathroom.
In trying to support each other they fell together, laughing on the cold tile floor. Laughter led to kisses, kisses led to touching, caressing, which led to need and desire. A desire that could not be denied or delayed. This was not making love. This was fiercely violent passions. This was a desire, a lust incandescent and fulfilled, temporarily sated for the moment .
They ventured out, tripping over the crumpled up throw rug that had somehow landed in the hall. Michael hit his head on the wall. Of course, Morgan laughed. Michael growled. Morgan, purred in pleased amusement.
Her leather jacket was hanging on the coat rack by the front door. That was the only intact or upright thing in either the living room or the adjoining dining room. There were pieces of clothing here and there. A leather pants leg hung from the ceiling fan. The furniture looked like two tornadoes had been wrestling with chainsaws.
Grabbing her jacket and slipping it on , Morgan stepped gingerly through the destruction, heading back down the hallway to her bedroom. She rummaged about, drawers opened, doors slammed, muttering erupted.
Michael moved about randomly picking up broken things then putting them back down. Fleeting images of the previous night danced in his memories. He was unsure of where to put things away. There were So many smashed and broken fragments he had no idea what to salvage, what would be repaired.
So, he settled for scooting things out of the way making a path to the hall then working his way Into the kitchen.
When Morgan walked into the kitchen, she was holding some clothing, which she tossed onto the counter. Michael had been bent over, head in the fridge as he rummaged .
Morgan perched on a barstool, and enjoyed the view. She could not resist herself, she reached out and smacked his bare ass. “HEY!!” Michael jerked up and yelled out as he set some things on the counter.
When he spun about slamming the refrigerator door closed and knocking the eggs off the counter. Morgan was across the room in a blur to snatch the two eggs before they hit the floor.
" Impressive! Breakfast?” Michael exclaimed reaching for her. Morgan spun out of his reach still holding the eggs. ” Not in the kitchen!” Echoed off the tiles. “Theres clothes on the counter, and those cabinets are new, so none of that in my kitchen!”
Disappointed, Michael took the clothes and examined them. He rejected the baggy shorts in favor of a pair of tiger striped BDUs, and a black t shirt. Morgan watched him wriggle into the tight fitting t shirt. It was clearly too small. Michael squeezed in to it stretching it to fit. Morgan approved of his choices. She had already dressed, boots on, jeans, black camisole top and the leather jacket she wore everywhere. Michael eyed a pair of flip flops Morgan had scrounged. They were too small. He tried to rember where his shoes were. There had been no sign of them in the debris of the living room.
Morgan cheerfully announced ”Waffle House! ” tossed the eggs to Michael and spun about heading for the front door. He carefully put the eggs back in the fridge along with the bacon and ham he had pulled out. Before folowing her.
Morgan called from the front porch, ” Shoes! Your boots are on the back porch! " Michael followed her voice. When he opened the sliding glass door, Morgan was standing in the driveway at the side of the house beside a 1968 Dodge Coronet 440, black of course. From the glance he got as he was hopping about trying to get his boots on.
Morgan had gotten in and started the car by the time Michael got his boots on. He got in on the passenger side, enjoying the rumble of the big block and glass packs. They were off to Waffle House.
Cruising along north bound on A1A, in a classic Dodge with a stunningly gorgeous redhead beside him. Shaking his head, Michael sat back enjoying the world. Twenty four hours ago, he would not have even fantasized that he would be doing this today, let alone everything else.
Morgan glanced at him grinning. Things had not gone as she had planned at all. Last night she had been on her way to a job when she had seen Michael walking on the beach. Oh well, today she would just have to pay her job a visit in his office. Food first. She and Michael had fed from each other during their romp, that was not going to be sufficient. She felt twinges of thirst. She had been seriously drained by last nights activities. One little stop in Boca, then off to Waffle house.
They pulled into a strip mall parking lot. ” I have an errand, be just a minute.” Morgan remarked getting out. Before Michael could say anything, she was gone.
Just a minute turned out to be ten minutes. Morgan reappeared looking satisfied. Hopped in and started the car. “Missed a spot” Michael remarked, reaching over wiping a spot of blood off of Morgans chin.
They drove north , passing several restaurants. Michael marvelled how quickly he had accepted this new life. He had thought nothing of Morgan feeding. His stomach grumbled. ” We will stop in just a sec!” Morgan tossed aside at Michael.
Barely a minute later they pulled into the parking lot of this ratty little convenience store. Morgan threw it in park, and bounced out of the car. ” You are gonna love this!” She said opening the glass door. Michael followed.
In the back of the store was a deli counter. Morgan let loose a stream of Spanish and the short elderly man behind the counter, nodded, held up two fingers, as he scooped several empanadas into a bag. He handed them to Morgan. A teen aged girl handed Michael two tiny cups.
The Cuban Coffee was black, sweet and very strong as he tossed it back, handing Morgan the other cup. She slammed hers as well then leaned across the register counter and kissed the old man on the cheek. He smiled and headed for he back door as Morgan and Michael went out the front.
A few minutes later, Michael was on his second flaky spicy meat pastry spoke around a mouth full. ” These are great” came out “cheese err grey!” Morgan laughed ” Told you!” They were driving west now.
It was not until after they had merged onto the north bound lane of the turn pike that Michael spoke up. ” I thought we were going to waffle house.” “We are.” Morgan replied. “Where, Orlando?” Michael asked. ” No. Yeehaw Junction, best t-bone and pork chops in the State.”
Michael said nothing, he just reached into the bag for another empanada. It would be about an hour still. He settled in, munched, and sneaked the occasional glance at Morgan driving to waffle House. Shaking his head, Michael sat back and enjoyed the ride. Morgan clearly had something to do, Michael was just along for the ride.
" I was really wanting a waffle soaked in butter and maple syrup! You promised me Waffles, where are my waffles?”
Morgan looked at Michael amused by his fake petulance. “Patience sir.”