Becoming His Muse, Part Three (4 page)

“I pictured you coming into my office while I was sitting here touching myself,” says Logan. I smile, imagining along with him. Imagining my own surprise, how turned on I would be to see him waiting for me half naked.

“I imagined you straddling me. Your sweet, wet pussy enveloping this hard lonely cock.”

I move to stand, thinking he wants me to do just that, and realizing I want to do that, too. But he says, “No, don’t move. Imagine it. And touch yourself.”

He guides my fingers to my clit. I have never done this in front of someone before. I feel awkward, unsure.

“Look at me,” he says gently. I do, I watch him fondle his cock, watch his green eyes almost disappear under his heavy lids. “Move your fingers how you like it.”

I slip and slide over my nub and folds spreading my juices everywhere.

“That’s it,” he says, smiling his beautiful half smile. The fingers he’s removed from me are wet and glistening. He spirals this moisture around the head of his cock, moaning as he does.

I want to touch him, and I want him to touch me. The frustration I feel amplifies the sexual tension that’s building. I move my fingers more rhythmically. He sees this and tugs at himself with greater intensity.

“Tell me what you imagined me doing to you,” he says with gentle encouragement. I close my eyes, tip my head back.

“I was lying on my stomach. I couldn’t sleep…”

“Yes?… Look at me as you tell me, Ava. Watch what it does to me.”

When I open my eyes this time I see a bead of clear moisture on the tip of his cock. I feel a surge of heat in my clit. I want to lick that bead up, but instead I keep talking, keep my fingers moving.

“In my mind I was kissing you. First your lips, then your chest, each nipple, and then lower…”

“Yes?…” I see a slight furrow of concentration.

“I thought of your cock, so hard and ready for me.” Oh man, this is hard. “I had to touch myself. I was so wet.”

“How wet?” His voice catches a bit.

“My fingers slipped and slid between my legs. I imagined it was your tongue tasting me, coaxing me to open… I slid three fingers inside.”

“Three?” He starts pulling at his ball sack. The hand on his shaft pulls deliberately upward, stretching, and then down again, and then he works the head in short, quick bursts. Seeing my effect on him. I get a little more bold.

“I was so wet it was effortless. But those fingers didn’t go in deep enough. So I took my other hand, and from behind…” With every word my own fingers are working faster and faster. Every so often I dip one or two inside before returning the center, my throbbing clit. Logan’s eyes are on my fingers. He can’t look away.

In a husky voice, he says, “From behind?…”

“I slid the fingers of my other hand across my ass, along the wet crack, until I could feel my opening. I arched my back and drove those fingers deep while my other hand rubbed my fire-hot clit.”

Logan moans. His hand is pumping faster.

“And I was thinking of you, Logan. Of that beautiful cock you’re holding right now. I imagined it coming for me.”

“Uh huh…”

“As I lay on my bed, all innocent and trying to sleep, I imagined you sneaking into my room, and surprising me. You holding your cock in your hand and seeing me writhing there, wet and desperate to be taken.”

“Oh god, Ava, yes…”

A flush is spreading across his cheeks. The head of his cock is straining between his pulling fingers.

“I wanted you
inside
me so bad, Logan. Just like I do right now.”

I lift one foot and place it on the edge of his chair. He can see more of me now. He points his cock toward me but doesn’t draw me down on him. I get this now, the openness, the sharing of our raw arousal, the refraining from using each other physically but still using each other, still sharing this most intimate experience.

Splayed open as I am, I shove my fingers deeper. “I wanted to feel you
here
, Logan. I wanted you to spear me here with your length, your thickness, your relentless thrusts.”

His hips are moving slightly in his chair and his breath is turning to a light grunt. He can’t take his eyes off my diving fingers. I desperately wish it was him driving into me but this look, this intimacy, is priceless. Soon I will see him come, without a condom, erupting into the air between us. Excited by this, I rub my clit feverishly.

“I’m so close…” I moan. I rock forward so that I am towering over him in his chair. I hold on to the edge for balance and swirl my middle finger against my aching swollen clit. My opening hovers over his hand ravaging his cock. I can see him restraining from lurching out of the chair to close the distance between us.

“In my room,” I whisper. “You come to me from behind. You enter me hard and deep until I cry out in ecstasy. Until I beg you to come.”

Logan growls. The hand that’s been fondling his balls strays upward, up along my inner thigh as a burst of heat builds and rises from my clit. Two fingers slide into my opening. “Ahhh, I’m coming!” I cry out. And I feel the rolling, rocking chaos of letting go. With a loud grunt Logan lurches forward. A stream of cum shoots up and hits my inner thigh, and then another and another. My orgasm cascades around us both. A surge of wetness slides along his probing fingers, trickles down my thigh as I strive to keep my balance while I pant my way back from that riotous edge.

I lean back against the desk for support. I rub his cum into my leg like moisturizer. The other streams have fallen into small puddles in his lap. He’s leaning back in his chair, breathless, his eyes rolled back in his head.

“God, yes,” he whispers. “Ava, you are divine.”

We calm our ragged breathing, and then something occurs to me.

“You cheated, you know.”

“Huh?” He doesn’t even lift his head.

“You touched me there at the end.”

“I couldn’t help it. It took so much effort to restrain myself. Sorry. It won’t happen next time.”

“Next time? There’s going to be a next time?”

He lifts his head and grins devilishly. “There will be infinite next times with you.”

He reaches for a tissue box to clean himself up. He hands me one. As I retrieve my panties and my jeans, the word infinite echoes in my mind. I know Logan doesn’t use his words lightly, and infinite harks of some kind of longevity. And yet I know our muse arrangement is temporary.

“Before we discuss your painting,” he says. “There’s something else I want to talk about.”

We’re both doing up our buttons and belts and when I’ve finished he pulls me onto his lap and into a hug.

“I hated you being gone from me for so long,” he says.

Again, I say, “It was only four days.”

I can’t imagine how we’re going to survive the Christmas break.

“I want you to myself for a whole weekend. I’m taking you to New York with me. In two weeks. I already checked your exam schedule so no arguments.”

“Really?!” As if I would argue about something so wonderful. “Just the two of us?”

“We’ll get away from this stuffy campus and revel in the anonymity of the city. Just imagine, we won’t have to hide.” He nuzzles my neck and I notice he doesn’t smell as strongly of cigarette smoke. In fact, the ashtray seems to have disappeared from his office.

“Despite missing my muse, or perhaps because of it, I wrote a lot last weekend. I’m almost ready to send my first chapters to Lowell, and if we go to New York, I can deliver them in person.”

He’s smiling proudly, and I can’t help it, I’m proud of him, too.

“Now let’s talk about your painting, so Rich knows I made good on his request.”

I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to manage that. I suppose only until his next erection.

When my mom calls to ask about my exam schedule and booking flights to Vermont, I tell her one of my exams is very late in December so that I can set aside the days to go to New York with Logan. I have several paintings to work on, and exams to study for, but the thought of two days away with Logan gives me an extra jolt of energy. That and our upcoming Thursday rendez-vous. I told him about DnC’s loft. He was a little unsure, with them being students, but I assured him we would have the place to ourselves with no interruptions.

I call Casey to arrange getting a key, but it’s Derrick who finally calls me back and says,

“You can stay here Thursday night if you feed the turtles.”

Turtles? “Uh, sure. No problem. What do turtles eat?”

There is a pause. I wonder if he’s trying to remember what they eat or when he last fed them. Derrick always sounds a little bit high, a little not quite
here
.

“You’ll find a container by the terrarium.” He enunciates this last word — terr-ar-i-um — very clearly, as if he likes it a lot or is afraid of mispronouncing it.

“What about the key?” I say.

“Casey will give you one in class tomorrow. Oh, and you mustn’t breath a word to anyone about our art project.”

“Of course not.”

He hangs up without saying goodbye.

The oddness of my exchange with Derrick evaporates as soon as I think about a whole night alone with Logan. I text him to tell him the plan and then I go meet Ruby for lunch at the cafeteria.

“How was your aunt?” I ask her.

“Still pretty ill but happy to have visitors. My uncle over-cooked the turkey but I made a splendid pumpkin pie. How did the bomb drop go with your parents?”

I frown. “Never got around to it.”

Ruby rolls her eyes. “Maybe you should just send them a postcard after you get there.”

“I’ll tell them at Christmas. It’s just a few weeks away.”

“They’ll love that. Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad. I’m breaking the family covenant and running off to join the circus.”

“New York is not the circus.”

“To some it is.”

“I don’t know how I’ll manage it without their support.”

“If you win that art award you’ll be set.”

“Maybe… Are you still seeing Dale?” I say, purposefully changing the subject.

Ruby scrunches up her nose. “He was fun, but you know what? Over the holidays, I really missed Jonathan.” She sighs.

“Seriously?”

She nods and says, “Hearts are such fickle contraptions.”

Fickle or not, I don’t have the heart to tell her I saw Jonathan walking across the quad with Laura earlier today.

“Tell him how you feel before it’s too late,” I say.

“Too late for what?”

I shrug. “Just tell him, if that’s really how you feel.”

She sighs again. “I honestly don’t know how I feel.”

“At least tell him that.”

Then I tell Ruby about Logan’s invitation to go to New York after exams. She is ecstatic for me and promises not to breathe a word to anyone.

“What if you don’t come back?” she says, leaning over her half-finished plate of spaghetti.

I laugh. “Of course, I’ll be back. I have to graduate, and there’s the show, and opening night. This trip will be a little taste test, and the inspiration I need to convince my parents.”

Ruby’s eyes kind of glaze over and she grabs my arm, whispering intensely, “What if…? What if you end up moving to New York and living with Logan O’Shane and he gets even more famous with this new book he’s writing and
you’re
in the book and
I’m
your friend and I’ll come visit you two in New York and we’ll go to readings and plays and fancy restaurants and—”

“—Ruby! You’re getting carried away.” Chuckling, I shake my head. “You and your imagination. Use it for
your writing
.”

She narrows her eyes and gives me a mischievous smile. “Hmmm… Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll write a story about you two…”

“You promised you wouldn’t tell a soul, remember?” I glance around the cafeteria double-checking that no one’s listening to us.

“But
after
you graduate, after you’re a famous painter and you two are a couple and you have kids and—”

“—Ruby stop!” I’m full on laughing now, but I do feel a giddy excitement deep in my belly. I
like
where her imagination is taking her. But how do I get myself there?…

At Dr. T’s next lecture, Casey gives me a key with sparkly bike handle tassel attached to it.

“You can keep that one for a few weeks,” she says.

“Thanks.” I tuck it into my back pack for safekeeping.

On Thursday, I send Logan the address to Derrick and Casey’s loft on Thurlow and tell him to meet me when he’s finished teaching. I decide to skip Thursday’s classes and do some painting at the loft during the day, which means I can sleep in, since I don’t have to compete for early studio time. I carry over a canvas and my paint box, plus a small overnight bag. I pick up some milk and coffee and things for breakfast plus a frozen pizza to bake later. We will not be leaving this place until we absolutely have to.

The loft is above a printing shop. An iron gate to the left of the shop blocks access to a narrow flight of wooden stairs. I try the first key. Once up the stairs, I find a metal door painted with graffiti. I’m pretty sure that’s Derrick’s work. He’s a fan of graffiti art. I try the second key.

When I open the door, I’m engulfed by the scent of sandalwood and vanilla. The light inside is murky and tinged crimson, the effect of several gauzy red curtains over the large windows. The floors are beat up old planks except for a square of linoleum marking the kitchen area, which does not look very clean. It’s when I look up that I nearly have a heart attack.

Suspended from the ceiling beams are dozens of puppets, about half of life-sized. Some are unfinished, but there must be more than thirty of them. They are dressed in vintage clothing cut down to size. Are they part of DnC’s secret art project? Very strange.

I carry my supplies inside. The place feels a little creepy. There’s a puppet-free corner with an easel and table set up. And off to one side, not far from the easel, is a low bed heaped with colorful silk pillows. Thankfully, the puppets are segregated from the bed by partially painted white sheets. The sheets are splattered with graffiti markings and calligraphy squiggles. Maybe they’re part of the art project too? I shake my head, having no idea what these two are up to, but grateful, at least, to have a private space to work for one day.