Becoming His Muse, Part Two (7 page)

She looks off into the distance for a moment and I remember the crying in the hall the other night. It had to have been her. “I’m sorry about all that.”

Donning a cheerful smile, she looks back at me. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. But I sure hope you’ll take me up on my invitation to stop by for a chat sometime, Ava,” she says.

The lecture hall lights dim for the slide show. I have to go in and find a seat.

“I’ll visit soon,” I say.

***

After a stimulating lecture on the use of stained glass in the middle ages, I decide to go straight back to my room to study. I think it’s safer to avoid the faculty apartments for now, to wait and see Logan tomorrow, maybe in his office, to discuss how to ‘proceed’.

I’m rather surprised at my self-control, which is stronger when he’s not around. Admittedly, I’m afraid to get caught. I suppose fear is at the root of my control, because I end up fantasizing about Logan more than studying. I keep replaying Saturday night in my mind. His lips, his hands, his voice, his panting breath when I held him in my mouth… His coming.

I squirm around in bed, surrounded by books. Maybe I made a mistake. I know I have. I just don’t know if my mistake lies in having let something happen or ensuring that tonight it doesn’t happen again. I agreed after all. To be his muse. Though I’m still not sure what that means.

Later that evening, I hear a knock at my door. I’m not expecting anyone. I shut my textbook and climb off my tousled bed. I sure hope it’s not Stephen. I made it really clear the last time he called that our little encounter had been a mistake. I still sigh with relief when I remember stopping things before they went too far. That night, when I opened the door, I’d wanted to see Logan standing at my threshold. Now, half expecting to shoo away a persistent Stephen, I am shocked to see Logan, wearing a hoodie no less, standing outside my door.

My initial expression of irritation is washed away by open-mouthed surprise and then eye-roving panic. I look past him down the hall.

“What are you doing here? Did anyone see you?”

“No, but they might if you leave me standing here in the hall.”

He’s even wearing baggy jeans and sneakers. He looks ridiculous, but I’m too freaked out to laugh. I grab him by his gray fleecy sleeve and pull him, rather forcefully, into my room.

“That’s more like it,” he says, pushing back his hood.

I shut the door, lean against it, catch my breath.

“You’re crazy!”

Logan yanks off the hoodie and in the process musses up his hair, which makes him look both sexy and cute. He’s down to a white t-shirt. It pulls rather tautly across his defined chest. As is typical in his presence, I’m finding it hard to catch my breath.

“Crazy for you,” he says, turning his searing green gaze on me.

I’m in a T-shirt —the one I slept in last night — and sweatpants. My hair’s tied in an unkempt chignon. I can’t even remember which bra I’m wearing; I just know it’s not a nice one.

I repeat my earlier question. “What are you doing here?” Underlying my question is the complicating subtext of, "You’re not actually staying, are you?" But I don’t know how he’s going to get out now that he’s gotten in. I’m on the 8
^th
floor so the window’s not an option.

“Don’t you like my disguise?” Now he’s removing the bottom half of his ‘disguise’. He’s rock hard under his boxers. The baggy jeans hid all of that — is that why guys favor those kinds of pants? — I can’t hold a train of thought for long because Logan’s t-shirt is now off and he’s coming toward me. I’m still leaning against the door and he pins me there with a kiss. I melt into it. He feels that, and when he pulls away, he smiles.

“Now what were you staying?”

“This is dangerous,” I whisper.

“Which part? Me being
in your room
? Or
me
being in your room? Life is dangerous, Ava.”

He’s holding his cell phone. He looks down at the screen.

“
Come over tonight
. That’s me.”

“
I don’t know. I have to study.
That’s you.”

“Me.
I haven’t given you any homework yet
.”

“
L-o-l. For Dr. T’s class
. That’s obviously you, but please don’t use letters in place of words when you write to me. Would you actually write, or say, “laugh out loud” to anyone?” He shakes his head, not expecting an answer.

I narrow my gaze. “Your first lesson is to tell me how to write text messages?”

He looks up from his phone, his eyes all dark and hazy.

“My first lesson?” He sets his phone down on the edge of my built in desk. With his hands free he reaches for the bottom edges of my t-shirt, which he begins to lift. I tense up. He looks me in the eyes.

“You don’t want me here?”

“It’s not that.” When he stands this close to me, when he’s within ten feet of me, all I’m aware of is how much I want him
everywhere
.

“Good.” He lifts my t-shirt and I don’t stop him. As he slides the shirt over my head, my hair tugs and loosens, the tie falling to the floor with the shirt. I look down at my simple black bra. No lace, no bows.

“Nice,” says Logan as his eyes, and hands, rove over the plain cups. “You are more beautiful unadorned.” He kisses my collarbone, a light kiss on each side, as he unclasps my bra at the back. He does this one-handed, and with this simple move he reveals another layer of his extensive experience. I feel young, unprepared, inadequate, until he says,

“But you are
most
beautiful utterly naked.” My bra drops to the floor. I expect him to take my breasts in his hands or his mouth but instead he reaches for my face, his thumbs rubbing along the ridges of my cheekbones under my yes. “Without make up, without clothing, without expectations. Just here. Just alive. Just present.”

His gaze into my eyes is so deep, and he doesn’t blink. I feel mesmerized, and then I think I might cry. I feel so exposed as he holds me with his look, his hands.

“My first lesson,” he says. “Is to show you the hold you have over me and the hold I have over you.”

I’m not sure what he means. He leans into me, his hips pinning me against the door. My nipples brush against his t-shirt, tightening their tips with the added friction. His cock pushes bruisingly against my pubic bone. I am wet. It started as soon as I opened the door, and the flow’s been building with each passing minute. I want to wriggle out of my sweatpants. I want to feel his skin against mine. I don’t know how I’m going to sneak him out of this building but he’s here now, and I want him, and he wants me.

“You remember our agreement?”

I remember it even if I can’t really define it. I nod. “I’m your muse.”

“What does that mean?”

Uh oh, is he testing me?

“I’m supposed to inspire you?”

I know he’s nodding by the sweep of his hair against my jaw. My hands find his hips, the back of his t-shirt. I pull upwards.

“You inspired me to come over here tonight.”

“But you shouldn’t have, we could get—”

He silences me with a kiss and his mouth slides down the other side of my neck. “So next time you could just come over when I ask?”

“But I had to—”

Another silencing kiss, and honestly I’m losing all interest in talking right now.

“Who knows what other crazy things you might
inspire
me to do…”

“But I can’t just—”

“I’ll help you study, if that’s what worries you, but first… This.”

He pulls his shirt the rest of the way off and then holds my hands above my head. He pushes his chest into mine and the touch of his skin sets a fire throughout my body. My knees are weak and I don’t want to be pressed against the door anymore. I want to shove my books off my bed and take him down with me. He must feel the same way because he pulls me toward him, turns me so my back is to the bed and I’m now facing him, with the closed door behind him. He tugs at the waist of my sweat pants and they fall to my ankles. I step out of them eagerly, removing my panties with one thumb.

His eyes soak me in head to toe. “You’re the muse, Ava. But you’re
my
muse. And when we’re together it’s your job to serve my creative desires.”

I nod, still not quite understanding but willing to do what I’m told. For now at least.

“Lie back on the bed,” he says, reaching for the abandoned denim he arrived in.

I do lie back. My breath is shallow as I wait with anticipation for what he’ll do next.

He kneels on his knees, between my legs, and fiddles with the condom packet he must have pulled from his baggy jeans before I pulled him onto the bed.

Opening the packet, he positions and unrolls the contents, and then he pauses to stare at me. His intense green eyes lock on mine. His brow furrows slightly.

“You’re mine, Ava. You’re
my
muse. I’m going to claim you now and there’s no escaping until I release you. Understand?”

I nod, staring at his erect, condom-sheathed cock. I’d agree to anything right now. The thought of him “claiming” me makes my skin hot, my thoughts empty.

“I’m yours,” I say, opening to him. He fingers me, making sure I’m good and wet. Can a pussy be too wet? If so, mine must be, but Logan moans with happy surprise. He positions himself over me.

“I’m going to take my pleasure now, Ava. I’m going to fuck you first. We’ll make love many times after this, but for now, I’m going to fuck you straight and hard.”

I’m not sure how to respond to this. My mind wants to argue but my body is already trying to draw him in. My skin says yes, yes, yes. My pussy says, ravage me. I don’t want to think with my mind, just my body. I just want to feel him inside me.

The round head of his cock touches my opening. Despite my wetness, he does not slide in effortlessly.

“You’re okay with this?” His green eyes, momentarily tender, find mine.

“Yes.” A small part of me worries he’s going to use me fast and blindly like the college guys I’ve dated. I want this to be different.

“Will I get to…?”

“What? Come?”

I nod shyly, embarrassed at my rising desire.

“That depends. Follow my lead. Do what I say. And we’ll see what happens.”

I’m not sure what that means but I lie there complacently waiting for him to make a move.

“You do want this?” he presses.

I nod again.

“You want me?”

“Yes, I want you.” It hurts how much I want him. What is he waiting for?

I reach up for him, thinking that I’ll stroke his nipples, but just then his eyes narrow fiercely and he plunges into me. His full length, in one thrust.

My spine and neck arch and I cry out with shock and temporary pain. My hands fall to my sides without ever touching his nipples. He pounds into me with swift hard strokes. My eyes roll back with the intensity of his rapid, relentless rhythm. I feel totally full, totally taken, and totally taken aback at his full invasion of my senses. My wetness makes his movements easy now, while at the same time the shape of me wraps around him tightly and he quickly gains momentum toward his climax. My senses slowly return. My pussy’s on fire and my clit is full of desire.

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 him 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. 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.