The Artifact (Book 2, Time Series)

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Chapter Thirty-Six: A Hot Cup of Consoling

July 2023
Morgan’s Home
Richmond City, Virginia

}}}-----> MORGAN <-----{{{

Morgan listens as Wahya closes the bathroom door behind him, and she knows he’s got to be overwhelmed after learning just how many years into the future he’d literally jumped from that cliff, at what is now the Billings Farm, and into her life. Given the ramifications of realizing he’s about 1,800 years into the future, he has every right to be overwhelmed, she reasons, not to mention upset or frightened by the prospect of suddenly appearing here with no obvious way to get home.

“It’s one thing to grow up on time travel movies and all... And I think it’d still be shocking to the modern person. But his people probably never even considered the idea of time travel!”

Reflecting on the images he drew of his father and grandmother, Morgan determines that Wahya must be very worried about what happened to them. The fact that everyone he knows is long gone now has to be a terrible realization.

Now that reality went and knocked the wind out of the initial excitement of finally being able to communicate effectively with Wahya, Morgan feels a bit down herself and decides to head to the kitchen to make some chamomile tea in hopes it will help calm his nerves. As she sets the teapot on the stove, she still wonders at the surprising and amazing fact that the gorget Ned accidentally discovered is - or was - Wahya’s, and that he’d lost it almost two thousand years ago. The fact that he appeared in the lab while she was carrying it was too coincidental for her taste, and she knew she’d have to run it by Samantha and James for their take on it. Though her first inclination is to assume that the gorget could be the reason he’d appeared altogether. Not to mention, why he appeared in the lab and not on Ned’s property, since that’s where he was when he was jettisoned into the future.

Wahya enters the kitchen shortly after she pours her own tea, and to her surprise, he’s without the sadness, apprehension, or even anger that she expected. Instead, a look of purposeful enthusiasm and determination emanates from his proud, tall form. Despite the 21st century clothing he sports, she finds that his aura exudes with the confidence and presence of a Cherokee warrior. Morgan wonders what had transpired within his mind to turn his emotions from the bewildered state he’d left the living room with only minutes ago, to how he appears now.

“You okay?” She asks worriedly.

Wahya nods with resolution, as he looks deep into her eyes from across the room. She feels as though his soul were reaching out to her with unexplainable optimism, and with it, an equally unexpected magnetism, making her stomach turn in a most pleasant way. Not thinking, she takes a sip of her too-hot tea, snapping herself out of the spell of his gaze, aura, and chiseled good looks. Pulling her eyes away from him, she turns to fill his cup with hot water, attempting to refocus on how he’s coping with the information he’d just been given.

Remembering how, in the lab, his initial fear had quickly turned to aggression upon coming through the time portal, she wonders about his internal defense mechanism in times of duress. And she imagines what he’s like when fighting an enemy, such as he had been before transporting through time. “No doubt about it, he’s a true warrior. It had to take some serious guts to jump off that cliff - it must have been quite the desperate situation to even consider doing that, and then to actually do it... And pop into my time all of a sudden! God!”

Holding his mug out to him as he approaches, Morgan asks again, just to be sure, “Are you okay, Wahya?”

He steps much closer, taking the hot cup, and she can smell his intensely masculine scent as he nods in reply. Wondering if he’s really found some sudden clarity in the situation, or is simply masking his true feelings, she thinks of how traumatic such news could be and ponders what she should do now.

“Has he resigned to the idea that he may be stuck here forever? Does he even want to go back home? Maybe we should draw more - talk it out... Or does he need to be left alone?”

Then, she tells herself, “He doesn’t need to be left alone! Otherwise, he wouldn’t have come out to the kitchen! What he needs is empathy, Morgan! Someone to help him feel secure and safe through the uncertainty of it all. Someone to comfort him.”

Morgan’s pulse suddenly quickens at the implications of comforting Wahya in the way she’d really like to, and she quickly tries to quell the steamy thoughts before her face flushes even more than she assumes it already has. Blowing across the steaming cup of tea, Wahya’s eyes never leave hers, and Morgan is fully aware of the hunger in them, knowing that he’s waiting for her to make the next move. “Is he asking me to ‘comfort’ him now?” She muses with fantasizing hope.

But what scares and thrills her simultaneously is that once she makes that move - opening herself to him completely - she knows there will be no turning back. As Jessica aptly pointed out, Morgan knows her emotions are intertwined with the physical. Therefore, by giving herself to Wahya, she would be giving not only her body, but her heart as well. Is she ready for that? Is that what he wants, too? Or are his feelings purely physical?

Her sister’s words echo in her mind, telling her that their connection is evident, and that she should relax and let the relationship happen if that’s what she wants.

“A relationship - I do want that! Shoot, I’ve wanted that from the moment he knocked me over! And I know he does, too - I don’t need words for that! And at this point, the best way to express that is to show him...”

Morgan sets her mug on the counter beside her and steps closer to the irresistible man, as a surge of hope flows through her at the prospect of communicating her feelings for him - with him. Through hooded eyes, she looks into his deep black ones and whispers his name, “Wahya...”

His seriously set lips flicker momentarily as he barely wets them with the tip of his tongue, apparently understanding the meaning pouring through Morgan’s utterance of his name. He reaches across to set his own tea down after taking another small sip, then brushes his hand up her arm and back down the sleeve of her gray pullover.

“Uwoduhi Walela...,” he states softly, leaving Morgan to wonder what he means as he leans down slightly.

Morgan tentatively runs her hands up his chest and over the gorget - the item they’ve both just learned has somehow transcended time, being the one thing they have in common, and thus bringing them together. She hovers momentarily over the object, then continues to slide her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, then around his neck, pulling him gently towards her.

Her eyes finally leave his, darting to his lips, still wet from the tea and begging her to partake. He doesn’t move a muscle, though he’s far from tense, and she knows that he’s allowing her to guide them through this journey by her own choice and at her own pace. At last, she pulls him in as she also presses into him. And as their lips meet, Morgan feels as though she were floating on air.

Closing her eyes, she devours his mouth, much to his pleasant surprise, as he tenses ever so slightly before meeting her match, engulfing her equally and sending chills of pleasure through her body. He tastes of chamomile and his own savory flavor, and she feels as though she could easily be satisfied with consuming solely his kisses for the rest of her life.

“Mmmm...,” she murmurs into his mouth as his hands find her hips, squeezing gently while the heat between their lips grows. They break apart momentarily, sucking in air, before Wahya claims her mouth in return for her passion. As their tongues intermingle, Morgan can’t get enough of his taste, smell, and the feel of his mouth and fingers on her. Her own fingers run up his neck and into the long locks of his raven-black hair, and she pulls him closer to her yet.

As he leans into her, she finds her back pressing into the counter, providing her greater stability as she continues to consume his mouth and her knees grow weak. The quickening rhythm of her heartbeat pounds in her ears, and the world disappears. Sliding his large hands down her hips and around her backside, Wahya firmly covers her rear, before edging lower towards the back of her thighs, and suddenly lifts her up off her feet.

Morgan, hoisted by his strength, wraps her arms further around his neck, pulling herself higher up his body, while opening her legs to allow him to set her on the counter and stand between her thighs. Able to straighten his own back again, Wahya releases Morgan’s lips, and she gasps for both air and with renewed pleasure as he moves his mouth over her skin, consuming her jaw, then lower to her neck.

“Ahhhh!”

Relaxing into his kisses, Morgan leans her head back, giving him greater access to the tender and sensitive places of her throat and neck. His hands roam up under her pullover, and Morgan longs to feel his fingers on her skin, instead of through the fabric of her tee. Just as badly, she needs to touch his skin, the warmth of his body calling to every fiber of her being. Moving her own hands to his waist, Morgan tugs at the hem of his shirt, hiking the white cotton fabric up along his defined abs as high as she can manage.

“Wahya!” She suddenly gasps, as his teeth graze over her neck and again, she pulls at his shirt. Breaking from her completely, Wahya sweeps the impeding garment over his head, his heartbeat thumping through his massive chest, as his eyes darken more than she thought possible. He leans so that his hands rest on either side of her, and he watches her hungrily as his chest rises and falls in great heaves - the gorget swinging slightly in time with his breath.

Waiting - she knows he’s waiting for something, but what?

He must sense her confusion, and though his eyes remain dark, a flicker of that humor she finds so appealing crosses his features. With a slight nod towards her, he looks down at her body, then over to his own shirt, laying in a crumpled ball next to their soon-to-be cooled tea. Having expected Wahya to remove her tops for her, Morgan smirks, realizing that he’s in this as an equal, requesting reciprocation, give and take alike. He’d removed his own shirt, and now it was her turn.

Shrugging off her pullover, Morgan lets it fall behind her. Something about how he watches her now fuels an overwhelming desire to have him watch as she removes her lightweight tee, giving her a new and exhilarating feeling of independence and confidence inside. Crossing her arms at her waist, she grasps both sides of her shirt, pulling it inside-out, over her head. Discarding it to the side, she can tell Wahya is both pleased and somewhat perplexed by what he sees as he wets his lips again and swallows heavily.

Her orange, semi-lacy bra is the other half of the lingerie set she wore today, matching the bright panties Wahya had barely glimpsed as she answered the door this morning. Intrigued by the brightly colored garment, Wahya reaches out to touch first the narrow strap of her right shoulder with the tip of his finger. Morgan laughs softly, looking down at her bra, then back to Wahya who seems to find the colorful confinement of her bust unusual and appealing at the same time.

Leaning forward slightly, Morgan can feel his breath against her cheek, and finds her own breath momentarily stolen as he runs the backside of his index finger carefully along her clavicle, then down her swelling breast until he reaches the frill of tangerine-colored lace. As his large hand cups the smooth fabric, his mouth again captures hers, and she instinctually wraps her arms around his neck, a moan escaping as their tongues compete against one another yet again.

Wahya slides his supporting hand under Morgan’s bottom, easily lifting her from the counter with flexed muscles, as she wraps her legs around his hips - she’s never wanted anyone more. Splaying his other hand across her back, and tucking her body close, he carries her past the island and out of the kitchen. Morgan doesn’t care where he’s taking her, so long as he doesn’t let go - his touch and kiss as crucial as the air to breathe. As he enters her bedroom, the ache at her core flares with the realization that her hottest dreams from last night very well have the potential to come true in the flesh, here and now.

Carefully, he lays her back onto the plush white comforter of her bed, his hands supporting his weight as the gorget swings between them. Reluctantly releasing his lips from hers, Wahya silently moves to stand at the edge of the bed, his chest still heaving with anticipation and desire. Keeping her eyes locked on his and breathing equally hard, Morgan wastes no time in kicking off her shoes, then unbuttoning her jeans, sliding them down and pushing them off and onto the floor. She lays back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows, as Wahya begins to unbutton his own pants in turn, discarding his shoes just before pushing down both his pants and boxers together, releasing his very erect manhood, more than ready for her.

Morgan’s eyes dilate and she inhales sharply as another wave of pleasurable chills wash over her at the sensuous sight of his beautifully masculine body in full splendor. His own wild eyes roam across her body and he smiles that sexy, hungry, yet playful smile that she finds so appealing.

“Ah, Walela...,” he whispers huskily, and somehow, she knows that this word is something endearing and private, meant for her alone.

Crawling onto the bed next to her, Wahya sprawls beside her, supporting himself on one arm as his other reaches for her hip, rolling her to face him equally, as she also props herself up. He runs his fingers up her arm, watching her reaction, and she knows he’s waiting - ensuring that she’s truly ready. His apparent care and concern for her, makes him just that much more desirable, and Morgan reaches up to caress his face, smiling at him in return. He closes his eyes and cups her hand in his, rubbing his face lightly against her palm, then brushing his lips against the inside flesh of her wrist towards her elbow. His now softened breath on her sensitive skin sets her on fire again and a sigh escapes her lips.

Releasing her hand, he traces along her shoulder again, then along the strap of her bra down to the cup. Tugging slightly at the snug-fitting undergarment, Morgan senses his confusion regarding its removal, and she’s more than happy to accommodate, the desire to have his hands rove this part of her body almost unbearable.

“Allow me...,” she reaches behind her, unhooking the back, allowing the straps to fall over her shoulders and the cups to release her breasts. Laying it aside, Morgan reaches for his hand, pulling him to her, closing her eyes as he instantaneously begins to knead her soft mound. Dizzy with enhanced desire already, she reaches out to grasp his bare hip, not only to balance herself, but to feel his skin beneath her own fingers.

Overcome with sparks from his firm, yet soft touch, she utters breathily, “Ohhhh, Wahya...”

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