Becoming His Muse, Complete Set (28 page)

I watch him in a daze as he slides on a condom, a wicked grin on his wet lips, a sparkle of mischief in his shining green eyes.

“Did you like that?” he says crawling back onto the bed.

I’m beyond speaking words and only nod. My whole body still thrums with pre-orgasmic energy. I want him desperately and he seems to be moving in slow motion.

“What do you want now?” he says teasingly. I reached for his sheathed cock and pull him towards my open legs.

“Whoa, baby,” he says, losing his balance. As he tips forward and slightly to one side, I command my muscles to move and get up and I force him back on the bed. I push his shoulders back hard and straddle him.

“You left me hanging,” I whisper raggedly. My clit rubs lightly against his hard cock and I think that tiny bit of sensation is going to push me right over the edge before I have the chance to feel him inside of me.

“I’d never do that,” he says with a cheeky half smile.

“You just did.” I tweak his nipple in punishment. He flinches but smiles too.

I rub myself along his length but don’t let him inside yet. “If you’re not careful, I’ll come like this and leave
you
hanging.”

“Oh, I’m careful.” He grabs my hips to still me. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

“Oh, really?” I lick my fingers seductively and then aim for my clit. “I could take care of myself right now.” Before I find my sweet spot he grabs my wrist and forms my fingers around his cock. With his hand around mine he starts pumping.

“How ‘bout you take care of
me
?” He winks. My hand is hostage under his. He pumps faster. I see his chest rise and fall with quicker breaths. His eyes twinkle with amusement.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I say, trying to pull my hand free.

“Wouldn’t I?” His breath catches, and his eyes start to roll back in his head. He moans. “Oh, Ava…” With my free hand I pinch his other nipple.

“Logan!”

His hand loosens but not quite enough to release mine. I can move it a bit though and while I’ve got some semblance of freedom, I lift my hips and guide him toward my pussy. As I nestle over him he lets go of himself, and my hand, and sighs contentedly.

“That’s what you wanted all along?” I say.

He nods, his lips curling into a triumphant smile. With all the effort I can muster I remain perfectly still over him. It’s very difficult. His beautiful firm cock is deep inside me. My body is still trembling with a stored up orgasm. It’s all I can do not to ride him like a stallion. He stops smiling and looks at me. It’s a battle of wills now. He tries to move beneath me. I clamp down my hips to keep him still. My inner flexing probably gave him some brief pleasure, but I find my inner stillness once again.

“Truce?” he says.

I realize I’m holding my breath and let out a sigh. Then I shake my head. “Ransom,” I say.

He gives me a quizzical look.

“Two to one” I say. “Two orgasms for me. One for you.”

“Don’t we have the whole night together? I’m planning on more than one.”

“A two to one
ratio
. Every time you come, I come
twice
.”

His lips quirk up into a half smile. “I can live with that.” He reaches for my nipples and rubs his thumbs against their erect tips. “Now can we move?”

I smile down at him and start drawing small circles with my hips. He sighs. With his hands on my hips, he widens the circles and then nudges me back and up so that I can slide down him slowly. I lift and fall along his length, picking up speed. He watches our joining, his face tightening in concentration.

“Ride me, Ava,” he says hoarsely. “Ride me hard.” He watches me intently as I grind against him, finding my rhythm again, riding him and the waves of pleasure pouring through me. He bites his lip, trying to hold back his own climax as I crest and crash over him. My pussy clenches and releases its waves of radiating energy.

“Oh, god,” he moans, losing control. I feel him pulse inside me as we come together. He holds me tight to him until our shudders subside. I fall against his chest to catch my breath. I hear his heart beating fast.

We hold each other until we calm down and then Logan gets up to dispose of the condom. When he returns he kisses my lips, cheeks, nipples, and belly. When he moves lower, I touch his hair and say, “What are you doing?”

“Being true to my word.”

His mouth clamps onto my sensitive clit. “You don’t have to…”

“Be careful what you wish for, Ava.” He doesn’t let up until I come again in his mouth.

After, feeling limp and satiated, Logan gets up to put the pizza in the oven and pour some wine.

For the rest of the long, sweet night, he remains true to his word.

Between exams, studio time, and another trip to DnC’s loft, the following two weeks fly by and then we are on our way to New York.

When we emerge from the bowels of Penn Station on Friday evening, a light snow is falling. The tall buildings and hum of the city envelope me. I feel as if I’m stepping into a painting of my life, as if a new story is just beginning.

Christmas lights blink from windows and street lamps. People bustle along the street, intent on their destinations. A scent of roasting chestnuts wafts by.

Logan steps onto the street to hail a taxi. Immediately, one of a stream of yellow cabs pulls over. We climb in.

“Eleventh and Waverly in the village,” says Logan to the cab driver.

“I thought you lived in Soho,” I say.

“I sublet my apartment for the duration of the residency so we’ll be staying at my friend’s place.”

I’m a little disappointed. I wanted to see Logan’s apartment, his home.

“He’s gone for the weekend. But he always keeps the place well-stocked—food, booze, music, movies, condoms. We won’t ever have to leave.”

I whack him on the arm and laugh. “I’m here for the museums and you know it. I want to see art, be inspired, soak up the genius of masterpieces.”

Logan leans over to me and whispers in my ear.

“The only art I’m interested in is the masterpiece between your legs.”

I’d have whacked him again, and harder, for a crack like that, except that the way he says it is utterly genuine and full of longing.

His green eyes bore into mine and he adds, “And what’s between your ears, of course. It’s not what you think.
You
are my inspiration, Ava. All of you. Your pussy, your eyes, your mind, the mole on the outside of your left tit.”

He reaches for it as he says the word.

“Logan! We’re in a
taxi
.” I glance at the cabdriver.

He laughs. “You think these guys haven’t seen everything already driving around this city?”

He slides his hand from my knee to my upper thigh. My whole body tingles.

He leans closer and whispers more ardently.

“Ava,
everything
about you inspires me. And when I am between your legs, when I’m inside you, I feel a masterpiece growing inside me. So if you, my inspiration, want to go look at dead people’s paintings to get inspired then I will trail along behind you, waiting for you to be filled with a passion that art gives you, until you are overflowing and ready to lie back and let me take my fill of you.”

I’m afraid he’s going to try to do that right now. He’s sliding his hand right between my legs. I’m wearing thigh high socks under my skirt and I feel his fingers brush up against my soft folds barely concealed by my silk panties. Instinctively, I want to give in to his touch, but we’re at a stop sign and people are looking in the cab window. I push his hand away and try to distract him.

“What about your chapters?”

This seems to work. He releases me and leans back against the seat.

“I’ll give what I have to Lowell this weekend. These next few days will no doubt inspire me to write a whole bunch more over Christmas…At this rate, I’ll be done by spring.”

Which is when I would graduate. Then what? What will happen to us? When he finishes his novel, will he be finished with me too? But I don’t want to spoil this magical weekend in New York, this first time we can really feel free to be ourselves, together, so I push thoughts of the future away for now. I decide I’m going to focus on having fun this weekend.

The taxi slows in front of a red brick building with small wrought iron balconies framing each window. The bare trees that line the street are dusted with a fine layer of snow. As I step out of the taxi, my boots crunch on the salt scattered along the sidewalk. Logan pays the cab driver, who passes our bags from the trunk to the curb.

Logan digs around under a flower pot for key.

“They left a key outside?” That seems awfully trusting. He withdraws a small box.

“It’s got a code.” He presses a sequence of numbers and the box opens. Taking the key out, Logan unlocks the door. Once inside, we pass a collection of built in mailboxes and head up the stairs. There are two apartments per floor and Logan opens the door on the first floor on the left.

Flicking on the lights, we’re in a narrow foyer with white wood paneling and oak floors. Logan leads me to the living room overlooking the street where we were just dropped off. The high ceilings, crown molding, and Edwardian fireplace make me feel as if I’ve stepped back in time, or at least onto a movie set. A couple of plush chairs flank the fireplace and face a long chocolate brown couch. Bookshelves line two walls.

“This friend likes to read?”

“He’d better. He’s an editor.”

“Your editor?”

“No, but an associate of his.”

In one wall of books, an open archway leads through a dining room and then a kitchen. Turning a corner, I’m at the other end of the hall from the foyer. Here I find the bathroom and bedroom, with a canopied bed, gilded mirror, and more bookshelves.

Logan leaves our bags in the bedroom and follows me back toward the living room. I stand in front of the windows. Snow is falling.

“It’s so beautiful.”

Logan comes up behind me, slides his arms around my waist. “Now where were we?” he murmurs. “When we were in the taxi…” His hand slides across my belly and between my legs again.

“I think you were talking about masterpieces?”

He turns me toward him, letting one hand slide along my waist toward my back. He trails his fingers along my spine exploring the curve of each vertebra.

“Ah, yes. Masterpieces. The inspiration in my arms.” I feel him splay his hand between my shoulder blades and then he draws me toward him. With his other hand, he lifts my chin upwards and runs his thumb along my lower lip.

“This mouth,” he says, his breath against my lips. “This mouth is its own work of art. And right now, I plan to defile it.”

His mouth drives against mine with a swiftness I didn’t see coming. I gasp, which brings his lips tighter to mine as his tongue probes deeply toward the back of my throat. He so fills my mouth with his insistent kiss that I can’t help imagining other parts of him defiling me…

Soon I’m desperate to taste him, that hard hot part of him hidden below his belt.

I grab at his belt with both hands as his lips continue to maul mine. I feel an ache between my legs that makes me want to squirm. A masterpiece? I didn’t think so. But the source of one maybe? What I felt there was certainly connected to my inspiration as well. A complete inflow of inspiration was not unlike the feeling of the fullness Logan’s cock inside me. It was a penetration of something close to divine, a hot temporal magic that had the power to seek out my deep center and return with its treasure. I was transformed in the process. Each time another piece of me rose to the surface. Like layers of paint building up to form a complete image, I was being drawn up, built up, to form a complete self.

With his belt buckle now unclasped, I dig into his pants and draw out his rigid, pulsing cock. I duck away from his ardent kisses so that I might fill my mouth with this phallus of blood and heat rising from the center of him. The soft, smooth skin sheathing the hot, hard pulse of his erection feels so sensual, so erotic, I feel as if I were swallowing memories, the ones that seed dreams, the dreams that inspire art. In this primal act of darkly devouring him, I’m aware of an enlightenment, the strange paradox of the physical clashing with the divine. I’m so hungry for it, and yet I sense a part of me will never be fully satiated. I will need to keep feeding, over and over, and this thought makes me deliriously happy.

Logan moans. I reach my fingers up to his wet mouth and slide them against his tongue. He starts sucking. He matches his rhythm to mine. With one hand I pump his shaft while my mouth swallows and swallows, sucks and sucks.

“Oh, Ava. Yes.” He moans, a deep animal grumble from somewhere low in his chest. His hands grab my head, fingers tangled in my hair, as he holds me tight to him, trying to guide my movements. He thrusts into me, banging against the roof of my mouth one minute, the next forcing his way down my throat until I gag. I release so much saliva, I feel it trickling over my pumping hand. He’s getting more regular with his thrusts, more melodic with his moans. I have a decision to make.

I withdraw my fingers from his sucking mouth and reached into the inner pocket of my purse. I let go of his throbbing cock and tear open the little package. He opens his eyes wide, seeming shocked to be empty-mouthed and cock-lonely. But it isn’t for long. With two hands I push him over toward the couch and then down onto it. I straddle him. Then I slide the condom over his length and with two fingers I pulled aside the gusset of my panties. I can’t wait long enough to get out of the rest of my clothes. I want him inside me. I want to impale myself on him. Once I nudge him to my opening, I place both hands on his chest and push him gently. I lean back slightly, and then I bear down hard and fast. He inhales sharply, watching my face. He looks surprised and a little bit vulnerable. I quickly move past the pleasure-pain sensation of such a sudden, deep entry and begin to move smoothly and quickly over him. I slide up and down, taking him in deep one second and then nearly releasing him on the upward motion. He grabs my ass cheeks to hold me close, to keep me from spiraling off him. He hunkers further down into the couch so that he can use his legs to thrust up into me. Soon it’s like a dance. A close, hard, dirty dance. He rubs my ass and squeezes my thighs.