Yes i was going to post another chapter but this came out. Sorry but it just flowed out in about 10 minutes. I figured if it came that easy, it deserved to be seen. Not sure if it is M but I was in that mind frame when I wrote it so that is what I'm posting it as.
Disclaimer - Not mine.
Sated, panting and sweating, you lay in a tangle of limbs. He has ruinedyou for other men, not that you wanted them anyway. Definitely never would now. He was more than you ever expected in a lover. you still can't tell what sort of control he has over you. Some things are better left to the imagination where Patrick Jane was concerned. His blue eyes, blond hair. They could disarm you. The mind and the damage would finish the battle to destroy what you thought you dreamed. You really didn't care anymore. He was there and that is what mattered. Naked and beautiful. For however long you need. Yours. Beautiful damage.
And he would roll toward you, all sorts of damage and pain and longing. How do you resist heaven? Fallen Angels at your feet? He would give you what he could. So much more than you ever expected. Beauty born of pain.
He strokes your face with gentle fingers. He is touching you. Not his wife. Your name is breathily expelled through his rosebud lips. You are there with him and not the damaged version of a corpse that you think that he would like to resurrect like Lazarus.
Lazarus would love this pleasure.
But it is yours. You breathe it in like fresh air in a dank basement. He is the one lying between your thighs. Quivering. Dreams. Pain.
Angela flails in the corner and demands to be recognized the gold on his finger is dull. Charlotte still holds sway.
But you are Teresa. You are not a ghost. An apparition. You are Alive.
He sees you. You are his Teresa. Saint Teresa.
The ghosts in the corner nod in understanding and leave you space to stand with him. They know the demons are powerful but so are you.
You all love the same man.
Enough room for three here. Enough room to save a life.