Becoming His Muse, Complete Set (17 page)

I feel a force of passion rise in me and I don’t want to just take this anymore, this full-control pounding of his, with me just lying eagerly still under him. His thrusts, and his mounting desire, have triggered a deeper, more primal arousal in me than I’ve ever felt before. Like I want to fight.

I finally open my eyes. He’s staring down at me, his eyes full of challenge, his body bucking over top of me. I put my hands to his hips and try to move out from under him. He looks like he’s about to laugh. I don’t want him to laugh at me, so this time I grab his nipples and pinch, hard. This seems to surprise him and I’m able to shove him off balance, slightly. I think he sort of lets me. As fast and furiously as I can, I roll him back on to the bed. He slips out of me. But not for long.

I jump onto him, straddle him across the hips, force his cock back in, but now
I’m
on top. Now
my
gaze is fierce. I rise and fall over him. Piercing myself this time. He smiles. His desire has amped up. He grabs my ass with both hands to direct my movements. I let him because they are similar to my own. I only needed to show him that he couldn’t just use me like some doll, that despite him being older and more experienced, this is a two way street. If I am his muse, I must be more than just an amusement.

I grind my hips into him, showing him my power, my desire. I think we’re both surprised. He doesn’t try to wrestle me back to the first position. He now seems perfectly content with how things are progressing. And with every spearing drive I am getting hotter and hotter. Then he slides his thumb across the front of my hip until it’s pressing against my clit. I gasp as if an electric shock has passed through me. It’s a shock of such intense pleasure and it’s not going away. It’s as if he’s pressed the “on” button of my orgasm.

I ride him more wildly, focusing on this pleasure and its direct path to my climax. He bucks under me just as wildly. He’s grunting now. Holding my hips hard against him with one hand, pressuring my clit with the other. I hear him growl now. I’ve not heard that before but the sound turns me on in a crazy way and I slip over my edge into a pounding waterfall of explosive orgasmic reverberations. He keeps me moving fast on top of him and all of a sudden I feel his pulsing inside as he lets himself go. He clutches my ass so hard I’m sure he’ll leave marks, and I don’t care. I want his mark on me. He’s claimed me now. We’ve claimed each other.

I don’t know how, or when, Logan snuck out of my dorm room. I only remember that after, awash in a post-coital glow, he held me and told me stories about growing up the son of Irish immigrants trying to make it in New York. Several times he mentioned he was dying to have a cigarette, and how he’d really like to quit, and maybe I’d inspire him to do that eventually.

He said his father used to smoke and drink and hell-raise, that he learned to be a shit-disturber from one of the best, by which he meant the worst, and about how he couldn’t wait to get away from home and try to make it on his own, and about being close to starving in tenement buildings and stealing notebooks from drugstores so he could write down how he felt. His stories blurred into my dreams, so that by morning, I wasn’t sure which ones I’d heard and which ones I’d dreamed. Was it true that the roundish scar by his collarbone was from a cigarette burn intentionally inflicted by his father? Or had I dreamed that? Either way, the thought made me shudder. Either way, I knew that Logan had had a rough start.

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.