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Chapter 20

Ellie sighed, snuggling deeper into the soft pillow and mattress beneath her, relishing in its softness and warmth. Even though she fought it, the slivers of consciousness slipped their way into her well-rested mind, reminding her that she had to wake up eventually.

Since when had her bed felt this comfortable in the morning?

She smiled, just enjoying the moment, when the lucid thought hit her that it had never felt this way because this wasn't her bed.

What happened? What had she done?

She rubbed her eyes, slowing opening them to the memories of what had happened last night. The scene between her and Tristan vividly replaying in her mind as her eyes recognized that she was, in fact, laying in his bed. Slowly moving her head around, she could see that there was no one else in the room, giving her the confidence to slowly roll over and confirm that there was no one else in the bed with her. Turning over onto her left side, she could see that that side of the bed had been left completely undisturbed, the pillows and comforter barely marred by her presence.

Where had Tristan slept?

She wondered with concern knowing that as much as it would have shocked her, he could have slept next to her. Somewhere deep down inside of her warmed at the idea of waking up next to him in the morning. She wondered what his face looked like completely at rest; every time she saw him, he was always so focused, so intense it made her wonder if he ever really relaxed. The closest she had seen him come was when he was drawing her, there was a focused peace over him as if it were just taking a moment to breathe; that rarely lasted, though, since their portrait sessions seemed to be rife with sexual tension.

Ellie gingerly sat up in the bed, realizing with that last thought that she was wrapped in a blanket, but naked underneath. Gathering the material around her, she looked frantically for her clothes, spotting a pile of dark silk on the bench at the end of the bed. On top of her dress sat a crisp, white piece of stationary paper. She picked it up, reading the words scrawled across it:

Good morning Ellie,

I hope you slept well. I had to leave for the office earlier and couldn't bring myself to wake you. Make yourself at home, whatever you need. I'll call you later.

Tristan

P.S. – You are exquisite when you sleep. See reverse.

Ellie blushed at his words, in total disagreement with them.

She was not exquisite, hell, she probably drooled in her sleep.

She contented herself to know that if he saw her now, he'd agree that she looked like more of a sea monster than a siren. Flipping over the card, her breath caught. On the back was a small, rough sketch of her in his bed, fast asleep. Her thumb brushed over her face. Here, here she saw herself like he did. Even though it was by no means very detailed, she could see how serene her face was while she slept, her features in perfect relaxation giving her an ethereal exquisiteness.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, setting the card back down where she had found it.

How he always managed to make her see something different and beautiful in herself, that was truly the work of an artist.

She stood for a moment and took in his bedroom, like the rest of the common areas, there were windows lining the entire room, gazing out over the rising city. It was beautiful, but a little unnerving – the thought of getting dressed in complete view of the world. Picking up her stack of clothes, she let the note slip off to the side, carrying them into the bathroom to chance; she needed some sort of privacy this morning – a small compensation for her willing and enjoyable exposure last night.

Don't be ridiculous, Ellie, it was dark outside, no one could see in or over the furniture to see you.

Setting her clothes on the bathroom counter by the sink, she let the blanket fall to the floor, a small gasp in reaction to what she saw. Her neck and chest dotted with red spots from where Tristan had kissed and bit and sucked on her skin. Her nipples especially were still a vibrant red and very, very sensitive.

They'd never received so much attention before.

She shivered as a chill came over her, her breasts painfully erect against the cold assault. She'd shower when she got home, but she needed to just wipe off before that; there was still some residue covering her skin, especially on her inner thighs – a mix of him and her from last night. Browsing through the cupboards, she finally found a washcloth, walking over to the shower to wet it.

Ellie paused when she slid the glass door open, noticing the white streaks down the dark grey tiles.

Had he showered this morning?

She'd been fast asleep, but she couldn't remember hearing any noises coming from the bathroom. No, he couldn't have showered. This must be from last night; she vaguely remembered him walking away from her after he tucked the blanket around her, sleep too potent of a drug for her to resist.

Had he…

Her eyes widened at the thought while her had moved to turn on the water. She hadn't even considered him, as terrible as that sounded. She had seen, had felt, how aroused he had been, but knew that last night he had climaxed with her which meant that he had pleasured her, taken care of her, under the pain of needing release. She'd been barely able to function, to speak, when he brought her that close to the edge, and here, he had held back…for her.

The thought humbled her as she wet the washcloth underneath the warm water; he'd put her first, her needs before his, and only when she was cocooned in comfort did he relieve himself.

She was an idiot.

She didn't even realize or think, she'd been so shattered – her orgasm had exploded through her, sending every cell bursting into space, burning so bright with pleasure that they could have lit the night sky with their stellar sparks.

Tristan had brought her back down to Earth, like astronomy in reverse; he pulled her into focus with his soft words and gentle touch.

And she had left him, surely tortured with lust.

What were you going to do?

Ellie bit her lip, acknowledging that she wasn't particularly skilled the realm of sex, but she knew enough; next time she wouldn't be the only one to be utterly sated. She angled the shower head against the back wall, washing away the white marks, just as she took the washcloth between her thighs to wipe away the remnants of her own release from her remarkably tender folds.

Finally feeling a semblance of clean, she rung out the cloth and dropped it in what she hoped was the dirty towel bin. Pulling on her crumpled thong, she carefully draped the silk dress over her head, every skin cell feeling the fabric slide over it. Slipping her arms into the sleeves of her blazer she paused, realizing that they too had been completely bared to Tristan last night.

He couldn't have seen anything, could he?

Her mind frantically parsed through the memories, finally concluding that with the lack of light and his intense preoccupation with other areas of her body, he couldn't have seen the scars. Even looking at her arms now, she knew her fears were unfounded. The faint white lines were barely noticeable on the insides of her elbows and wrists; she'd made more of a bigger deal about them then he probably would have.

You could have just told him you have a cat.

She huffed, a convenient excuse that was a little too late; too wrapped up in the moment, his questions hitting too close to home; letting him think that she'd been abused by a person, instead of a disease, seemed like the closest thing to the truth.

Seeing the bottle of mouthwash on the counter, she quickly swished with some Listerine, knowing that it would have to do for now. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she splashed some water onto her face from the sink, before smoothing down her hair.

Sea monster was pretty accurate.

Her stomach grumbled – she needed to leave. She walked out of the bathroom, stopping at the bed to rearrange the covers as best as she could, picking up the small notecard he had left her on her way out into the living room.

Ellie laughed out loud; sitting in the middle of the kitchen counter was a small plate, on top of which was a chocolate chip muffin, wrapped in plastic, the tie around which she read as she got closer – Eat me.

Again, her stomach grumbled, threatening to revolt if she didn't obey the delicious orders. Opening the plastic wrap, she took out the moist muffin, biting into its sweetness. Enjoying the not-so-nutritive, but yet so satisfying breakfast, she looked out across the condo, first noticing the bright blue, clear skies that illuminated the entire room.

Her eyes then trailed instinctively to the living room, the scene of the crime. The wine spatter all over the drop cloth next to the settee where the glass had tipped. Ellie blushed remembering her concern about…and what Tristan's response had been.

'The only thing I care about having all over the carpet is you.'

She shivered as the words touched the most carnal part of her. She remembered telling him how she wanted to feel 'alive'.

How he had made her feel could have raised the dead.

She closed her eyes, taking another bite of the muffin, and trying to refocus herself. Walking over, drawn to the memories of the spot, she noticed the crumpled blanket at the edge of the settee, and how the pillow at the other end had been positioned.

This is where he had spent the night.

She set the muffin down, bending to pick up the blanket and fold it, feeling guilty that he had surely slept uncomfortably out here while she had rested peacefully in his bed. She knew why Tristan had slept here, she remembered how he had abruptly pulled back from her, distancing himself; he was afraid he couldn't control his desire for her. She'd seen the look in his eyes – the longing, the pain, and the forceful control that contained it, and she had continued to torment him. Ellie remembered how she had stood, foolishly attempting to cover herself…

'when I just had my tongue buried inside of you.'

Warm liquid rushed between her thighs, her lower parts remembering even more clearly the sensations that had evoked.

Then, her body, overwhelmed with every sense, gave way. He'd caught her, thankfully, and she wished she could chalk it up to the overpowering orgasm, but deep down she knew it was because of her weakened health that she had collapsed. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried not to think about it, but there was no denying that something was going on. Even with the medications, this wasn't the first time this week that she'd almost collapsed; twice in the elevator at her father's firm, she gotten out and had to pretend that she dropped something, or that something was wrong with her shoe, allowing herself to bend over and let blood flow back into her brain. Then, on Wednesday, at home, she'd gotten out of the shower – the heat and the steam almost suffocating her. Again, thankfully, she'd made it out, away from the glass doors before she collapsed onto the floor, her vision going back, nausea rolling through her.

Today, she'd have to call. She had an appointment for her bloodwork on Friday, but after last night, she couldn't wait that long and she knew that Dr. Sion wouldn't want her to.

She'd felt alive.

A tear escaping down her face, she tilted her head down to wipe the offending liquid from her cheek, now able to clearly see the extent of the wine stain on the cloth, the sight blessedly distracting her from her worries. It looked like Tristan had at least removed the glasses from the floor this morning.

Turning, she saw his sketchpad was back up on the easel. Walking around it, her eyes widened at what she saw. Ellie turned over page after page, sketch after sketch of herself. Better than her memory, she relived the events of yesterday through Tristan's eyes, a flipbook of her emotions as they had transpired throughout the day. She paused on some longer than others – the ones where she didn't even realize he had been watching her, like at the theatre, or the very last ones where he had drawn her as she slept with the same peaceful expression on her face as the drawing on the back of the note that he had left her.

She looked at the images in cognitive dissonance, how she saw herself contradicting what the portraits in front of her showed. In the theatre, she'd been awed and amazed, and yet still felt like a fool that she'd never been there before – sure that all of the other patrons would laugh at how easily impressed that she was. Just like when she had connected the dots and realized where he had taken her, she had reacted as if someone had given her the cure for cancer.

Ok, maybe not quite to that extent, but close.

When they had walked into the theatre, she'd felt ridiculous for accosting him on the street like she had; to her, she'd acted like a silly child – overreacting in her excitement. Conversely, from Tristan's eyes, from the image that he drew, she only saw the depth of gratitude and unrestricted joy that he had provided her.

Cognitive dissonance – the Ellie that she assumed herself to be was not the one in these drawings, or was she?

She wished she could always see herself through his eyes, then maybe should wouldn't be so hard on herself. Flipping the pad closed, she crumbled the muffin wrapper up in her hand, going back into the kitchen to throw it away. With one last, long, hard look at the safety of the condo, she slipped on her shoes and gathered her purse.

Walking out the door, she thought that if Tristan drew her now, she'd be able see herself as unbreakably brave; without him, she instead felt fearful and frail as she pulled out her phone to dial Dr. Sion.

"Hi, this is Elsa Carter. I'm calling because I was wondering if I could move up my appointment to have blood drawn to this afternoon. Dr. Sion told me to call if I thought my symptoms were getting worse, so I guess this means that they are…"