Midnight Muse

All I needed was one look at the brunet haired boy she invited over, well dressed in his olive slacks and gray sweater vest, to know that I don’t like him. The collar of his button-down white shirt popped dramatically against the colors, and with each of his eyes a different splash of butterscotch and sky, it was entirely too much for me to handle. Especially when I noticed the bottle of wine loosely hanging from his grasp, even though he tried to tuck it behind his leg like he was trying to hide his intentions going to Quinn’s apartment.

I’d turned on my heel, something hot and heavy slicing through my veins and settling in my stomach like a boulder. I walked right into my own apartment while Slate extended niceties with Reid in the hall. Into my room I went, snatching the dark bound sketchbook from the shelf above my desk and the pack of my favorite pencils. I flopped onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling with the familiar book clutched to my chest.

“Who was that?” I ignored Slate’s question when he stuck his head into my room, demanding I play a round of Call of Duty with him.

“That was Reid. He’s in Quinn and Rory’s drawing class. Architecture major, I think. Seems like a decent guy.”

Architecture major? How pretentious.

I declined the game and Slate huffed, leaving my room grumbling something about how Ace would’ve accepted, which is why I’m currently sitting in my bed, attempting to draw while my mind keeps wandering back to Quinn.

If we hadn’t gotten off on the wrong foot, I probably would’ve pursued her.

She had a bra on, a rather nice, maraschino colored one that matched those rosy cheeks of hers. The body that she hides under those clothes…my fucking God, I hadn’t expected her to look like that. The perfect handful of plump, round breasts, the tease of her stomach between her bra and the waistband of her pants.

I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off of her.

Those gorgeous hazel eyes blazed with the heat of a thousand fires when I was finally able to make my way back up to them, and the intensity of her harsh glare made my heart stutter in my chest like I was a kid with a crush. I watched the way that look in her eyes faltered, and I swear I saw something raw, like she was feeling the same thing I was experiencing: a hot, unyielding need coursing through my veins. But those walls were back up as quickly as they dropped and I was shoved out the door by Slate.

I find myself wanting to hear those foul words rolling off her tongue as she cusses me out. I want her to fight with me again.

It’s not difficult to picture the way she stood there. My artist’s memory keeps that image fresh and my cock rouses when I draw it back to mind. How Quinn’s shoulders curled in on herself with her surprise. The color of her bra stuck in my head like it’s tattooed there forever. I saw entirely too much of her: the creamy skin of the tops of her breasts, spilling from her bra, the curves of her sides, rounding out at her hips.

Fuck, do I feel like a pervert right now, thinking about her body—how she’d move under me. What shapes I’d be able to fold her into as I feed her my cock. Would she look at me in that way that makes my stomach tight? Would she fight me every step of the way, vying for control?

Charcoal clings to my fingertips. My kneaded eraser is dark with use, the number of times I’ve had to go back in and erase is unusual for me. I’ve always prided myself on being able to put on paper exactly what is in my head, but with the noises on the other side of the wall distracting me, I’m feeling more than frustrated.

Quinn laughs again and I desperately want to shove my headphones over my ears so that I don’t have to hear her so happy. Her laughter is a beautiful sound, one I think she should make more often, but I’ve only known her sour mood, thanks to my actions toward her.

I don’t wear my headphones because as much as I’d like to drown out the low rumble of her date’s voice, I don’t want to miss out on any of the noises slipping past her lips.

I hate that I want to listen in.

Teeth clenched, I force myself to go back in with my charcoal for a third time, and finally, I perfect the line I’ve been working on. The touch of the chalk is a comforting weight in my palm, and when I smear the medium into the paper, I can almost picture my hands tracing the curves of her body, leaving darkness in their wake.

Something causes Quinn to gasp dramatically and I have to squeeze my eyes shut. My mind wanders back to the time when she was in there all alone and the noises that she made. Pleas of desperation, as if she wasn’t the one doing it to herself.

Fuck. I shouldn’t be here. I should go see if Slate still wants to play that game, or get out of the house, maybe go to a local bar or have dinner at the diner. Ace is nowhere to be seen lately, so he’s out of the question.

Slate’s likely to see right through my ploy because I don’t usually want to go out and do things. I prefer being in my own space. I never was one to want to get wasted off my ass like the other drunken college kids our age. Working on my art and tattooing—oh, I bet I can convince Slate to let me practice on him.

I get up from my bed, and when I leave my room to knock on his door, a neon sticky note plastered to the front stops me.

Gone to get laid. BRB. Love you Knoxie!

P.S. You should think about getting some yourself 😉

As if I wasn’t just thinking the same thing.

Deflating, a noise from the other side of the wall tears my attention away from Slate’s note. I frown because I don’t know if it’s a noise of pleasure or pain, or perhaps a bit of both. I only know that I need to get out of here before the sounds Quinn is making drive me completely insane, or before I barge into her apartment and rip that fluffy-haired fuck right off of her.

They’re so fucking annoying, these thoughts that are clogging my head. I don’t even like her, and yet, here I am, wondering what she’s doing with the guy who’d been standing outside of her door.

Fucking whatever.

I snag my jacket on my way out. The worn leather is a comfort in my hands as I stride to the elevator. It’s time to take a ride because if anything, I know that the wind against my body and the open road will wipe the thoughts from my mind.

I don’t see Quinn for the rest of the weekend, and her side of the wall is suspiciously silent.