Midnight Muse

“Oh yeah?” He questions, peering down at me curiously. “What is it?”

“I think you mean to ask who is it?”

He takes the bait. “Okay, who is it?”

“Guess.”

“Quinn,” Knox grumbles warningly. He’s not one for dragging out teasing unless he’s the one keeping me on the edge of orgasm until I’m crying and begging like a harlot to come. This is nothing like that, so he doesn’t need to be so moody.

His thumbs brush across the sensitive skin around my nipples, drawing them into tight circles that make me hiss. I want him to touch them, to pinch them and kiss them and bite them.

Knox gives me a knowing smirk in return for the glare I shoot him.

Apparently, two can play at this game.

“It’s you,” I breathe out, more than interested in the way his fingers roam my body sensually. They’re rough against my skin, dragging in the most delicious of ways. I love everything that he does to me, and that thought awakens all of my nerve endings.

“Me?” He teases lightly, but his touch is a taunt. It’s moving lower, a hand slipping through our legs, the tips of his fingers brushing the insides of my thighs that his hips are pinning open for him. My pussy is a weeping, aching traitor. “What made you decide that?”

“What you said earlier changed my way of thinking. It reminded me of exactly why I loved drawing in the first place.” I think back on my first drawing competition where I took home the first-place ribbon for my piece of the two swans. What I felt at the time was a pride so intense that I carried that ribbon around all weekend, showing it to anyone who would give me attention. My parents and brother were happy because I was happy. I drew that swan because I wanted to, and I drew it for me.

I won that competition because I loved my work because of me. I spent those hours putting in the effort and it didn’t matter if I won or lost because I was proud of the finished product.

“Somewhere along the way,” I continue, playing with his hair. “I stopped drawing for myself and started doing it for others. I started drawing what they wanted to see, what they suggested. I stopped drawing what I really wanted and started pleasing those around me, and sometimes it wasn’t even people who knew anything about art at all.” I want to snort, because the thought of letting someone who doesn’t know a fucking thing about drawing critique my work is totally ridiculous. “Your love for your own art is inspiring. You don’t let anything get in your way or keep you from trying to achieve your goals, not even your past. You don’t care about what other people think, you are completely and unabashedly yourself, Knox. And I love you so much, for that and so many other reasons,” I rant, blurting out the thing that has been on my mind for a while but didn’t think would come out during a conversation like this.

It feels good, finally admitting it to him, but when Knox’s body goes tight against mine, my heart drops into my stomach.

I sit up quickly, my mind racing. I hadn’t meant to blurt them out like that, but it doesn’t make them any less true. I thought he felt the same way. I thought?—

“I’m sorry, I?—”

“Quinn,” Knox calls, and I haven’t managed to untangle myself from the sheets before he’s following me, locking his arms around my waist to pull me back into him. My chest is heaving, blinking away the stinging in my eyes. Knox’s breath is hot in my ear. “You’re not going to admit that and think I’m letting you leave, right Princess?”

“I didn’t mean to say it,” I answer quickly, my anxiety rising again. The fact that he’d only stiffened against me and still hasn’t said it back has a sick feeling crawling up my throat. I can’t be here if he doesn’t feel the same. “It just slipped out,” I manage weakly, slumping against him when it’s clear he isn’t going to let me go.

Maybe it’s a good sign.

Knox maneuvers me easily and I hate the way that my pussy clenches at his bulging muscles. He pins me to the mattress, draping himself over me so there’s really no chance for escape.

The room is dark but through the soft light coming from the street lamps outside, I can make out his serious face, the straight of his jaw and lips, his intense eyes focused on me.

“But you meant it. Right?” It’s not a soft question, but a stern one, like I should choose my answer very carefully.

I swallow harshly. I want to reach out, to brush back the onyx hair falling across his forehead, fix it on the top where it’s been mussed from our earlier endeavors. I want to rub that crease between his brows because now that I’ve had a little taste of loving Knox, it hurts to see him so stoic again.

My voice is loud in the quiet of the night even though it’s barely a whisper. I swear my heart is beating louder than the admission that passes my lips.

“Yes.”

It takes all of a millisecond before Knox is shoving himself forward, connecting his lips with mine. A zip of electricity passes through us and my limbs wind around his of their own will, pulling him even closer.

The kiss is hot and heated, a battle as our tongues slide over each other.

“Say it again,” he begs me, and I do.

“I love you,” I repeat, and this time he’s tasting it directly from my lips. Knox’s hands are tight where they’re holding me, like I’m still trying to run away. His cock is hot and hard against my thigh, and I might be working up to another round after all.

When Knox finally pulls away from me, his eyes are sparkling and he’s sporting the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. He’s utterly breath-taking when he’s happy.