Becoming His Muse, Complete Set (18 page)

“Take me back to your room,” I beg, even though I’d already pretty much decided going there was too risky.

He shakes his head. “We can’t leave yet, baby. The people inside, they’re expecting us to come back.”

I shake my head this time. “I don’t care.”

He chuckles as I kiss his throat and stubble-flecked chin. He’s enjoying my arousal, but I know he’s aroused, too. I can feel his hard length as I press against his thigh.

His fingers flicker playfully in my jeans making me crazy. I reach for his button and zipper. I need to touch him, smell him, taste him.

“What if someone comes?” he says. And as if on cue, the door to Mick’s opens and out pours three guys. They don’t even look our way, not that they’d see us in the dark shadows, but their presence sobers me slightly. But only slightly.

I pull Logan behind the planter. Our movement twists his hand from the back of my jeans and I feel the loss of his touch. But I want even more now. We’re deeper in the shadows, with the waist high planter between us and the open courtyard in front of Mick’s.

“If you won’t take me somewhere else, take me here, now.”

He turns me around in front of him so that my back is pressed against his chest. Yes, I think. Like this. He kisses the side of my neck, whispering,

“You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? I like it.” He bites my neck lightly. I sigh, leaning back into his shoulder, as he pulls my ass tight against his hips. The feel of him is driving me wild, and I want to feel
more
. We still have too much clothing between us. Before I can reach around to do anything about that, one of his hand slips down the front of my jeans and two of his fingers slide over my swollen clit. And then further. They dip into my slick, dark center, curl up and begin swirling. Then they slide out, taking wetness with them, and find the nub of my clit again, where they press and pinch, flicker and dab. My legs have gone weak and I lean heavily against Logan. He licks and kisses my neck and ear while driving me primal with his fingers.

He pushes one of his knees between my legs, so I have something to grind against. But I want
him
to grind against. I wanted him inside me.

“Do it now,” I pant.

My hands reach behind my back, my fingers searching for the button of his pants slip accidentally under his waistband. I graze the smooth, hot tip of his cock and whimper with anticipation. His fingers are still dancing inside and over me and I’m so close, so ready to explode, that I know we don’t have much time. We have to hurry. I can’t hold back for long.

I feel Logan’s head shake against my neck. “Nuh, uh. Not that. This is for you, Baby.”

I whine with dissent. His tongue slides along my neck to the edge of my clavicle. I try to go for his pants again. He nudges my hands aside and ups the rhythm of his fingers. Then he slides his hand under my sweater, forces the bottom edge of my bra up until he’s freed my breast and he goes for the nipple, hard. I squeal, as quietly as I can, as the first sharp edge of pain fades and then adds to the pleasure between my legs.

Logan has me pinned against him. He holds my neck with his lips and teeth, my chest with his grip on my nipple, and my hips with his fingers snug in me like a key in a lock. I moan with frustration and feigned defiance. I’m too far gone in the pleasure realm to really fight with him, but I feel a seed of anger at his taking full control. I want to make him feel good, too.

My thoughts shred suddenly as he pushes three fingers deep inside me and grinds the heel of his palm against my throbbing clit. With his knee, he pushes my legs apart wider. With his hand on my breast he pulls me back tight and hard and I can do nothing but lie back against him, facing the dark of trees, closed buildings, and the clouded November sky above us. I keep my eyes open, feeling myself splayed and ravaged by his hands working madly under my clothes and his mouth burning a hole against my neck and jaw. I give up. I melt. I sigh out a deep, surrendering moan as his fingers swirl out their crescendo. My thighs tense, wanting to close together as my orgasm grows. He keeps his knee wedged between my legs, holds me as open as possible with his fingers, as I begin to shudder and convulse against his chest.

“That’s it baby, come for me,” he whispers softly. “Let it all flow out, your beautiful magic, and I’ll catch it in my fingers, and with it weave more magic.”

His words fall through the dilating pleasure of my coming, and it does feel like magic, as I open up to the cold night, supported by his warm, strong body and presence.

I give over to bliss, safe in his arms, completely oblivious to my surroundings, feeling only the shooting flares of delicious coming arcing through me, expanding brilliantly at first and then fading to a soft warming glow.

As rippling waves of satiated desire recede, he holds me, kissing me lightly on my cheek, my hair. He slides his hand out from under my sweater. He leaves his other hand in my jeans a little longer, holding me still and quiet. The pressure of his still hand is comforting, soothing, after my satisfied desire, but I know he’ll pull away soon. I feel his heartbeat against my back. I don’t want to move, but we need to. We’ve been gone longer than we intended and it’s chilly; our heat flared and burned and now it’s dispersing into the cold night. When I shift, trying to get my feet under me so they might effectively hold me up, he slides his hand, slowly, out of my jeans.

I turn to see him pulling something from his pocket. A handkerchief? I smile as he wipes his damp hand.

“Always prepared, are you?” I hear something I don’t like in my voice, a kind of veiled suspicion. Where did that come from?

Why did my mind immediately jump to him doing exactly this with other women in other places? Why, after the delicious pleasure he’s just given me, do I suddenly feel defensive and suspicious?

I don’t like my feeling of powerlessness, of him rejecting my urge to touch him, of him having such control of me. Of me not having any. Is he always in such control? With everybody? I think of the group of wannabe writers, mostly women, waiting for him in Mick’s. How each and every one of them would probably love to be in my shoes right now. In my jeans more like. Maybe they are. My jealousy flares.

“Are you fucking any of your groupies?”

Logan’s eyes widen, and then blaze with anger for a second. He gives me a hard appraising look. “Only with their minds.”

My stupid, blurted question has clearly pissed him off. I want to take it back. I feel like a petty insecure child.

“I’m sorry, Logan. I just…”

“Listen, Ava. You asked if I’m always prepared. The answer is no, because tonight I found myself without a condom, otherwise I might have fucked you doggy style against this planter. I would have liked that. But I wasn’t ‘prepared’. I am, however,
adaptable
. And I quite enjoyed this.”

“But you didn’t even…” I glance down at the front of his pants, at the remains of his erection.

“You energize me, Ava. You were damned sexy a few minutes ago, in your desperate desire for me.”

I feel a little embarrassed now. I was so hungry for him. I literally begged him to have sex with me.

“But the green monster comments dampen the flame,” he says, frowning. “It might give you a sense of control to feel jealous about a handful of writing students, but it looks ugly on you. Your real power over me— and that’s what this is about, isn’t it? Your sense of power? The power you want lies in your desire for me, and desire for its own sake, that place where you are vulnerable and
out of control
. You gave me something tonight, Ava. Something greater than an orgasm. I’m going to go back into that bar, say my goodbyes, go back to my room, and ejaculate on the page.
Figuratively
.”

I feel stupid now. He’s right. I ruined a perfectly sexy moment.

“I’m sorry I got jealous.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I understand jealousy. I know when it gets its teeth into you it doesn’t want to let go. But it kills things. Ruins them. The reassurances you want are words I can give you, but they’re just words in the end, promises. And promises, like rules, often end up getting broken.”

A sharp sadness lodges in my heart. Logan can be so warm one moment, so cold the next. But is it coldness, really? His words are true. I can’t argue with the truth. But I want to. I want to know he’s mine. All mine.

“At the moment, I can assure you of one thing, Ava,” he says. “All my condoms have your name on them.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Every foil packet has a tiny A-V-A written on it.”

“Seriously, you label your condoms?”

“Helps to keep me focused.” He winks, but I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. He adds, “I told you before, I favor quality over quantity. And no one around here compares to you, Ava.”

He leans in close, brushes his lips across my temples. “Does that make you feel better?”

I nod, feeling his soft lips move across my forehead. “I don’t want anybody else,” he says. “I want
you
.”

“I want you, too.”

He kisses my eyelids and the bridge of my nose. “We should go back. Everyone’s going to be wondering where we are.”

He’s right, Ruby could send out a search party any minute now.

“When can I see you again? I mean alone.
Naked
.”

I hear a little catch in his breath. I wrap my arms around him, pull him close, felt him stiffening again under his zipper.

“See what you can do to me?” he whispers.

“I can do more,” I say suggestively.

“Not tonight. I need to write.” I loosen my grip. I have to respect his need to create.

“Don’t you have early studio time?” he says, reminding my own creative priorities, which feel blurry when I’m in his presences.

I nod.

“Let’s go in,” he says, grabbing my hand.

“Probably not together though?”

“Good point.” He pulls out his smokes, taps one out, and sticks it between his lips. “You go in first.”

I pull the unlit cigarette out of his mouth and kiss him long and deep.

“I wish you’d quit that filthy habit,” I say.

He grabs my ass and squeezes. “Which one?”

I run my fingers lightly across his crotch feeling the outline of what I missed tonight. Then I walk into Mick’s, aware of all I gained.

The next morning on my way to the studio, I remember what Logan said about his condoms. Was he just joking?

Maybe I’d start carrying condoms with Logan’s name on them. That way, if we got caught up in a moment like the one outside of Mick’s again, at least I’d be prepared. I could print his initials, L and O. I wonder if he has a middle name? I wonder a lot of things about him now. I know he’s from New York City, grew up there, and not in the fancy parts. He’s the grandson of Irish immigrants, and I sense he had a tough childhood, a difficult relationship with is father, but other than that I know little about his roots and his family. I want to look at the photos in his office again, to ask him about those people, ask him about the things that matter to him.

Pushing through the art building doors, I remind myself that, right now, I have to focus on what matters to me. I have at least a dozen more paintings to complete before my February show, and half of those I haven’t even started yet. Soon it’ll be Thanksgiving and then Christmas and the New Year. This secret affair with Logan is proving to be both an inspiration and a distraction. On the one hand, my imagination and creativity has skyrocketed, on the other, I am so intoxicated by his taste and his touch, I’m thinking about him more than my studies.

As I turn down the hall to Studio 21, I see Jonathan up ahead. He’s leaning against the wall, looking tired. He doesn’t hear me coming but turns his head when I say,

“Hey. What are you doing here so early?”

“Ruby,” he says by way of explanation.

When I raise an eyebrow he adds, “She’s not feeling well. Sent me to cover for her.”

“Oh.” That changes my plans. I can’t work on Mad For You like I wanted.

“Is that a problem?” says Jonathan rubbing his eyes. He’d probably like to go back to bed.

“No, no. It’s great of you to fill in for her on short notice. Thank you. I’ll start a new painting with you.”

I unlock the studio door and flick on the lights. It’s cold in here. Might be mean for me to make Jonathan model nude.

“What’s up with Rube?” I say as I pull out a new canvas and my tackle box of paints and medium.

“She puked her guts out last night.”

“Oh damn. Yuck. That’s awful.”

“Yeah. It was too bad. After Mick’s we were totally getting along great and I thought, you know, there was this chance that we’d, you know… So we’re back in her room talking and then I lean over and kiss her and thank god she kisses me back but then she turns all green and pretty much barfs in my lap.”

“Gross. Poor Ruby. Poor you!”

“Yep, well. Them’s the breaks sometimes. We can’t
all
get lucky in the same night.”

I freeze for a moment, turn to look at Jonathan, who’s getting undressed despite the chill in the room.

“What are you talking about?” I say, feeling cagey. Does he know about Logan and me?

“Ruby went to the bathroom and said you weren’t there so when I went to take a leak, I popped outside for a sec and saw… well, didn’t
see
you exactly, more like heard you panting.” He breaks into a wide grin and starts chuckling.

I’m feeling a blush overtake me from head to toe.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Are you denying you were finger fucked by the illustrious Logan O’Shane?”

“No. Yes! I mean, no. Fuck, Jonathan. Did you tell anybody?”

He’s naked from the waist up and now working on undoing his pants.

“Just stop for a second,” I say, holding up one hand. I can’t talk about finger fucking with a naked friend. He stops with his fingers grazing his perfect abs and stares at me with this mischievous sexy smile.

“Don’t worry, you’re secret’s safe with me,” he says.

“You didn’t say anything to Ruby?”

“Nope. Though I don’t know why you’d keep it a secret from her.”