Becoming His Muse, Part Two (8 page)

No matter how controlling and demanding my father was, no matter how much he refused to understand and accept my goals and dreams, no matter how misguided his advice, I knew he wanted the best for me. But that had never been true for Logan. No wonder he’s perfected a cocky demeanor, an ‘act’, to keep people at a distance. But he’d let me in. He’d invited me in. That warmed my heart, and other body parts.

***

I stop by Logan’s office the next day. He’s typing furiously until I knock, interrupting his creative flow. His frown turns to a smile when he sees me. My face remains serious as I tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he can’t come to my dorm again.

“I only did that to make a point,” he laughs, glancing at his computer screen. “And to prime the pump for this. I’ve written five pages today. I’m out of my slump.” He smiles broadly. I’m happy for him, but I need to be clear.

“I can’t risk getting thrown out of school,” I say. “My father would kill me.”

He nods and looks away. “Fathers can be tough.”

Absently he touches a spot just below his collarbone. That little round scar. So I didn’t dream that story.

“But we have an agreement,” he adds. “You’re my muse now.”

I’m still not sure what that means, though I feel different since last night. I feel bound to him somehow.

“Maybe we should find a way to meet off campus,” I suggest.

“Maybe…” He seems thoughtful, but I’m not sure if he’s thinking about us or the pages he’s written. He glances at the clock on his wall.

“I have a student teacher conference in ten minutes and I’m guessing you don’t want to be discovered here?”

I shake my head. “Definitely not. But will I see you later?”

“I’m counting on it.” He gives me a sexy grin.

I frown. “But how? You can’t come to my room and I can’t go to yours.” I’m almost whining with frustration.

“With risk comes challenge,” he says, standing up and coming around his desk.

I’m near to the door, about to go out, but he pushes it closed and pulls me into an embrace. His soft lips pin mine with a kiss that makes me sweetly dizzy. And nervous.

“Ten minutes,” I mutter, knowing I have to get out of there if I don’t want our secret discovered.

“We could be quick,” he whispers, his lips against my cheek, his hand sliding over the curve of my backside.

“No way,” I say, pulling away, though I can’t help smiling.

“Later then,” he sighs, stroking my neck and lightly caressing my collarbone. He opens the door to let me out.

Feeling a little weak-kneed from the kiss, and his suggestion of a ‘quickie’, I cross the quad to the auditorium, thinking, “Later where? Later when?”

I’m scared to get caught but I’m desperate to feel his hands on me again. Maybe if he’d had fifteen minutes before his meeting…

I try to push aside the ‘what if thoughts’ but I can’t control my imagination. I picture him taking me standing up against the back of his door, his chest pressing hard into mine, his hips driving up and into me, my legs wrapped around him…

I feel a bit flushed and dazed when I arrive at the auditorium for Dr. T’s lecture on the use of chiaroscuro in 17
^th
century painting. I look around for Derrick and Casey. I want to ask them about using their studio. Logan and I definitely need some off campus time. But I don’t see them anywhere.

I slide into a seat beside Ronnie.

“Hey gorgeous,” he says. “You all right?” He looks at me quizzically.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look a little hot and bothered.” He winks at me.

I feel my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I guess I walked over too fast. Got myself warmed up.” I sink a little lower in my seat. Dr. T takes the stage and starts talking about Caravaggio.

Ronnie whispers. “Not that I’d blame you for having a bit of a crush on a teacher.” I shoot him a wide-eyed glance. He can’t possibly know about Logan.

“Even I’ve got the hots for Dr. T. But don’t tell Owen.”

I chuckle and then sigh with relief.

After the lecture, I look up Derrick and Casey’s number on Dr. T’s class list

I leave a message, though who knows when, or if, they’ll reply.

I hear nothing from Derrick and Casey, and even though Logan is busy with his new teaching schedule he keeps texting me very tempting invitations to visit his apartment, which I successfully decline for exactly three days. It’s too risky. But on the fourth day, I text him, knowing I’m ready to throw caution to the wind and give in to temptation.

I’ll come over tonight.

Still working
, he texts back.
Come later
.

Disappointed, but forcing myself to remain patient, I accept an invitation for beers with Ruby, Jonathan and Jenny to pass the time. Leaving behind the chilly, darkening afternoon, the three of us all pile into the steamy warmth of Mick’s.

As we claim the last empty table, I hear Logan’s voice. He’s
here
? I glance around. He’s sitting at the round table we sat at weeks ago surrounded by his writing students, who are all laughing at some joke he just made. He calls
this
work? I thought he meant he was slaving away in his office.

Our eyes lock briefly when he sees me walk in with my friends, but he quickly carries on with his conversation.

The girls lean in provocatively to hear what he has to say. His story about having a fiancée back in New York seems conveniently forgotten. I try to tame a serpent of envy threatening to uncoil inside me. The few guys in the group seem to be trying to emulate him, except for one fellow, whom I’m pretty sure is gay, and he’s acting like the girls.

“Logan’s here,” whispers Ruby nodding toward the writers’ corner.

“I see.” I sit down at the table Jonathan chooses. “But I don’t see what the big deal is.” I feign disdain. Ruby shakes her head.

“I swear you’re the only one on campus immune to his charms.”

If only she knew what an effort it took not to walk over there and pull his pants down. But it’s better this way. Safer for him and me if I pretend he means nothing.

“Why aren’t you over there?” I ask Ruby. “They all seem to be writing students.”

She squints in their direction. “They’re from his journalism slash non-fiction class. I’m not in that one.”

“Looks like that girl Sherriann is.”

Ruby shrugs. “She has no talent for fiction. She’s focusing on the long form essay.”

“And her teacher.”

Ruby laughs. “He acts super flirty and charming, but he’s awfully serious about writing. I’ve actually learned a lot from him so far.”

Jonathan grunts his disapproval.

“What?” says Ruby turning to him. “I’m serious. He’s dedicated to his craft. It’s kind of intimidating actually.”

“Has he looked at your work the way you wanted him to?”

“As a matter of fact he’s got one of my short stories now. I’m waiting for his feedback.”

“I wonder what form that will take,” mutters Jonathan.

Laura wanders over with a small smile on her face, a smile reserved for Jonathan I assume. He looks away from Ruby and focuses on Laura.

We order beers, take off our coats, and debrief about our midterms, but my mind’s on Logan, and my desire to catch him alone. My furtive glances to his table only heighten my feelings of jealousy and with them, an urge to go over and claim him for myself, which I can’t do. What’s between us is a secret. But, the other night in my dorm sealed something for me. I gave myself to him and I want to know he’s giving himself to me in the same way.

After about fifteen minutes, he excuses himself for a cigarette.

Two minutes later, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom but step outside instead. I can’t help myself. I follow the scent of burning tobacco and find him in the shadows on the far side of the planter box. The pools of campus lights don’t reach this far, but I can see his outline in the shadows.

“So this is your definition of working?” I say, sidling up close to him. “I thought you were typing away alone in your office. I thought you were painfully composing meaningful prose. I thought beers and conversations constituted play.”

He stubs out his cigarette. “I think you think too much.”

He takes my face in his hands and gives me a long deep kiss that tastes of whiskey and smoke. My knees soften and my belly flares with the heat of desire. I moan, straddling one of his legs, as he digs his fingers into my ass cheeks.

“Teaching can happen anywhere,” he says, breaking the seal of his lips on mine.

I slide my hands around his neck, draw him back toward my lips. “It looks like you’re surrounded by groupies.” I pout. He bites my protruding lower lip.

“You sound jealous.”

“I just want to be alone with you.”

“We’re alone now.” He pulls me closer. I’m warm in his grip even though the late October chill makes our breath steam into little clouds. His hands slide up my sweater exposing my skin to the cold air. I shiver, from the chill and his touch.

“Let’s go back to your apartment now,” I say, clawing at his shirt and pulling it up out of his slacks so I can feel his warm skin under my hands. He shivers too.

“We can’t just leave without saying goodbye,” he murmurs into my neck.

“I want you
now
.”

“Do you? How much?”

It scares me how much I want him. I pull his face toward mine and ravage him with my lips to show him just how much. My fingers rake down the skin of his back and I grind my hips against his thigh.

“You’re very hot,” he murmurs. “I bet you’re very wet, too.” He slides his fingers down the back of my jeans. I arch my back so he can reach deeper and feel just how ready I am. When his finger slides through my folds I gasp and feel the first tingle of orgasm ripple through me. I’m more ready than I thought. I have to have him. Right now.

“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. He kisses the side of my neck, whispering,

“You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? I like it.” He bites my neck. 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 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.”