Becoming His Muse, Part Three (3 page)

“Sure he did…” Or not. Come to think about it, I don’t think I ever bothered to ask Warren about his friends.

“In middle school you were always the princess,” said Lou.

“Huh?”

“In D and D, when we played, Warren went on and on about you. You were his princess. That’s why we’re so happy to finally meet you. You were like this imaginary goddess to us.”

“I saw you for real once,” said Darryl seriously. “When I was at Warren’s and you were suntanning in your back yard. Yup.”

I’m feeling super awkward now. And my third beer’s gone. Behind the guys, I see that Warren and Devina are heading back to the table now with drinks for everyone. I lean over the table and whisper,

“So is there something between those two?”

“Devi and Warren, nah,” says Darryl.

“Hey dumbass, she’s been trying to get him to ask her out for weeks,” says Lou. “He’s just too simple to cotton on.”

“Really?”

Regardless of Warren’s outer transformation, it seems he might not have grown up as fast on the inside. His friends seem proof of that.

Darryl looks at me. “Maybe it’s not that he’s too dumb to get the hint. Maybe he’s hoping for a different opportunity.”

Devina and Warren are laughing as they place beer bottles in front of everyone.

“Remember that all-nighter Settlers of Catan marathon?” says Devina, and Lou and Darryl light up and start making comments that make no sense to me. Warren also sets a glass of water in front of me.

“I thought you might need that more than another beer, but I got you one of those, too.”

He is kind of like a brother to me I realize. A nerdy, newly gorgeous big brother. So why this sudden need to flirt with him? Why do I want to draw him into some attraction when I’ve got Logan waiting for me?

I look at Warren talking to Devina. They look cute together. She could be good for him. It hits me that Warren is tempting because he could make my life easier. Logan will never meet the approval of my parents, he’ll never fit into this part of my life, but Warren already does, and so I feel tempted to take the easy road, to slowly give in to my parents’ plans for my future because my own dreams, while clear, don’t have a map. I don’t even know if Logan is a part of those dreams, and I feel the burden of our secret affair weighing more heavily than before. We can’t go on forever as secret lovers, but I can’t imagine ever being able to be honest about our relationship. Warren is so innocent, so sweet, so parent-approved, but I can’t play with him like this.

“I’m going to slip off to the little girls room. ‘Scuse me.”

I’ve got to get my head on straight. Standing, I find moving in a straight line is not the easiest task but I roll with it, weaving as gracefully as I can toward the back of the bar.

I tuck myself into the stall and pee the near equivalent of three beers, which gives me time to check my phone. There’s a message from Logan. When my heart skips, I realize what I really want, regardless of the complications. But his message takes me totally by surprise.

I want a picture of your pussy for my desktop.

Not the kind of text I expected to receive!

Then I laugh. He must be drunk. And so am I. Why the fuck not? Though the lighting sucks in here. I dab up, position my phone far enough away from the rim of the toilet seat. I realize I’ll need to pull up my heels, and then … with a silent snap,
voila
. Ugh. Nope. Delete. I try a few more times but I just can’t do the part justice. I keep the best shot, throw on a few filters, and save it to my album. I text Logan back.

I’ll paint you an abstract.

After I’ve flushed, washed up, and added another layer of lip gloss, I feel my phone vibrate again.

I wrote a chapter
.

I send him back a smiley face.

Come home
.

I am home.

I want to be your home.

That’s the most serious and romantic thing he’s ever communicated to me. And I don’t believe it.

I’ll be back in a few days.

I can’t wait.

You have to write without distractions
.

I can’t write without you
.

You just did.

Not really. I imagined you here with me. I’d write better if you were here.

“Ava?”

Devina peeks around the corner of the bathroom door. “Are you all right?”

I’m standing at the sink with my phone in my hand. I guess I’ve been gone long enough to worry about.

“Yeah, good. Just got distracted.” I slip my phone back into my purse.

“Hey, Devina?”

“Yeah?”

“Warren and I are just friends. Well, neighbours. Hardly even friends. Seems like we’re getting to know each other all over again.” I smile. “But I’m kind of with someone. That’s who I was texting.”

She nods. “Since we’re confessing, I’ve known Warren since high school. I’ve had a crush on him since senior year. But you should know that he’s been in love with you since he was like five years old.”

“No. I don’t think so.” I’m shaking my head and feeling the beer fuzz that comes from not keeping up a steady enough drinking pace.

“It’s true. He’s told me himself. And meeting you, I can see why.”

I shake my head again and am about to protest but she holds up a hand so that she can continue.

“I know he’s got you on a pedestal. You’re like his ideal girl but you’re also real, and right next door. If you’re serious about this other guy, be up front with Warren. I don’t want to see him with a broken heart.”

“We’re just—“

“—We all see what we want to see. I’m just giving you a heads up.”

“But aren’t you and he…?”

“Maybe when he’s over you he’ll be able to see what’s right in front of his nose. Just let him down easy, okay?”

She leaves then, doesn’t give me a chance to answer, not that I have anything in particular to say.

My phone vibrates.

Come home.

I hit reply and attach my filtered photo. That should keep him busy for a while.

The rest of the weekend I try to work up the courage to tell my parents about my desire to move to New York after graduation but I just can’t seem to do it. Obligingly, I look through the law school catalogues, but it must be obvious to my parents that my attempt is half-hearted. Before long I’m packing to take the train home and we’re all talking about how much fun Christmas will be in Vermont, where we’ll all gather at my grandfather’s chalet. I decide there’s no harm putting off breaking the news until Christmas. My parents can have their hopes for a few more weeks.

My train is delayed due to bad weather and I don’t arrive at my dorm until after midnight. Even though I’m exhausted, I remember my promise to Dr. T to “pull out all the stops” so I force myself to get up early the next morning and go to the studio. Before long, I receive a text from Logan.

Rich asked me to be your mentor. Fancy that. My first mentorship advice: get your sexy ass over here.

I know I should finish my work in the studio first, but I can’t resist his demand. And I’m supposed to listen to my teacher, right? I clean my brushes as fast as I can and hightail it over to his office.

“Well, Miss Nichols,” says Logan with polite formality as he opens the door. “Do come in. I’ve been studying your paintings, looking for the literary signs discovered by Dr. Tennenbaum. Very interesting…”

He strokes his chin as if he has a beard, and then he closes the door behind me. And locks it.

I raise one eyebrow. “Won’t that draw suspicion?”

“The creative process is very personal, very private.” He slopes over to me. I see a bulge in his jeans already.

“You missed me this weekend?” I say.

“I missed you so much I started to hate you.”

I grow worried at this statement.

“However, that level of emotion compelled me to write some decent pages,” he adds.

I sigh with relief, and say, “Good. That’s just what you needed.”

He shakes his head and narrows his eyes at me. “You are a tease, Miss Nichols.” He drags me around his desk and stands me in front of his computer.

I gasp. My pussy shot fills the screen. I cringe. And then I feel Logan’s erection digging into my backside.

“If cum were ink I’d have written six novels this weekend.”

He sucks at the back of my neck. The feel of his tongue on my skin makes me wet instantly.

“Turn it off,” I say. “Get rid of it. Delete it.”

“That is the most beautiful image I have ever seen. No way I’m deleting it. The only thing better is the real thing, and I want it right now.”

“
Here
?”

He twists me around to face him and plants his lips on mine. My thoughts fuzz as he probes my mouth with his tongue. When we come up for air, I say,

“We’re supposed to be talking about painting—
”

Kiss.

“— And narrative allusions or—
”

Kiss and bite.

“— Or … whatever,” I sigh, giving over to the tongue dance he’s invited me to.

“Discussing your painting will be our pillow talk,” he murmurs, fumbling with my jeans. “First this.” He slides them lower, taking my panties with them, and kneels to slide the denim bunches from my ankles.

“And this.” He rises to his knees and laves his tongue across my labia. I draw my breath in sharply.

“And this.” His tongue points and probes through my folds until he touches my clit. I whimper as I lean back to a half sitting position against his desk so I can open to him. Despite all the feasting this past weekend, I’ve got the sexual appetite of a starving fiend, and the flowing juices to prove it.

Logan moans. “Oh, I’ve missed this.”

“It was only four days,” I whisper choppily.

“Felt like forever,” he says between long licks. I moan in agreement.

He slides one finger inside me as he works my clit with his lips and tongue. I start to vibrate with a building orgasm.

“Did you masturbate this weekend?” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Did you pleasure yourself? Did you think of me doing this and make yourself come?” Each word is spaced out with a lick or a suck that drives me wild but also delays my pleasure. I’ve never had a guy ask me that before. But Logan’s not just some “guy”. He’s a man. Clearly a hungry man.

“No,” I lie. I’m too embarrassed to tell him. Too shy to explain how I propped my pillows under my hips as I lay on my stomach in my old room and bucked against my fingers and palm desperately wishing he was there to stick his cock in my drooling pussy. From behind. How I imagined him giving it to me hard and deep, practically forcing me to obey his desires while I writhed uncontrollably under him.

He stops licking me. “Why not?”

“Um…”

“Are you lying?” He sits back on his heels. He’s undone his pants. His erect cock sticks out and up against his taut stomach.

I blush. I don’t want to talk about masturbation in front of him.

“Tell me,” he demands.

“I didn’t imagine
this
,” I finally confess.

He grins, reaches for the backs of my thighs and massages gently. “Then what?”

Oh god, he’s not going to make me
tell
him? I start to close up my legs, feeling shy. He holds my legs open. I look away from his penetrating stare, but doing so allows me to see, peripherally, my pussy shot filling his computer monitor. I feel a flush of shame-heat radiating out from my chest.

“Why are you embarrassed?” he says.

“It’s personal. Private.” I say with a lack of conviction.

“That’s what lovers bring to each other,” he says gently. “Their most personal, private fantasies. Your trust in me is the greatest turn on, Ava. Trusting me with your desire is what inspires me. You know that don’t you?”

I’d never thought of it that way before. I shrug lightly.

“The more you can embrace the truth of your own desire, the more your creativity will soar.”

He slides his long fingers up and down the insides of my legs making me tremble on the edge of a tickle.

“I’ll tell you what
I
imagined,” he says. He wets one of his fingers with his mouth and then trails it between my legs. I shudder while he keeps talking.

“I pictured you, here, dripping with honeyed wetness, and me drinking you. Drinking up your sweet ambrosia.” His finger caresses each fold, roves down each valley between each fold, and arrives at my still swollen clit. I take a deep breath.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” he says. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. I meet his green gaze.

“We have our fantasies, and then we have our fantasies realized with a lover.”

He rises slowly from his position on the floor and sits in his office chair in front of me. I’m still leaning against his desk, my back to his computer screen. He shimmies his pants past his waist and pushes his boxers down so that I can see his cock and balls without impediment. I want to touch them. I lean forward to try but he shakes his head.

He holds his cock himself. “I’ve done enough of this while you’ve been gone but I’ve got it in me to do it one more time.” Several fingers loosely slide up and down his shaft. Is he planning to masturbate right now? Am I supposed to leave?

“Touch yourself, Ava.”

Oh, no. This is not what I expected. I squirm on his desk. I want to pull my jeans back on. Only I don’t. I’m wet and swollen and want relief, but if he’s not going to give it to me…

“Put your inhibitions aside and turn me on, Ava, by turning yourself on.”

He lets go of himself and leans toward me. He slides two fingers inside my wet opening. I whimper with pleasure. Yes, let’s go back to doing that. His thumb rubs small circles against my clit.

“Mmmmm….” I lean my head back, feeling a rhythm build.

“Look at me, Ava.” His tone is surprisingly firm. “Tell me what you imagined when you were away, at home.”

His other hand palms his balls as he fingers me. He looks so sexy touching himself. I feel as if I’m watching something I’m not supposed to. Private porn. A secret stolen moment. I think of the image behind me, and how he said he came to it over and over. He didn’t say how many times. I imagine him coming, alone, moaning to this picture. An awkward sense of arousal transforms into a fuller, sexier desire.