The Muse's Undoing

He covers me with his cum. The hot blasts land on my sweat-cooled skin, and I shiver at the thought of being marked this way. Painted. This goes on for so long, I turn my head to catch a glimpse of him. He continues to jerk himself, no longer producing streams but drops and rivulets. He guides where they land, creating a splatter pattern down my spine.

Our eyes meet briefly, and I see the wildness in him. The part of him that growing up in the suburbs could never contain. A flicker of the beast who lives beneath his skin. And like he’s proving me right, he bends over, pressing his mouth to the arch of my lower back and cleans me with his tongue, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Oh fuck…” I moan at the sight. My mouth goes dry, and I’m positive my eyes are black holes as I look at the hottest, most depraved thing I’ve ever seen. He kisses and slurps. Sucks and licks. Tracing a new pattern as he works his way up my body.

When we’re face-to-face, I stare, fixated, at his cum-covered lips. “Give it to me,” I whisper.

He kisses me.

When I wake, the loft is saturated in pure sunlight. The white sheets are blinding. My asshole is on fire, and I’m as hard as a baseball bat.

It takes me a few seconds to register I’m not just sore. I’m being penetrated, and I’m very, very close to orgasm.

This is insane. What is happening to me?

But I don’t say that. Instead, I’m back to begging. “Put your dick in me,” is what comes out of my mouth. If I’m going to come again, I want my ass around his hot cock, not a couple of his fingers.

Rip goes the condom packet and up goes my knee. In goes his cock, and he locks an arm around my chest, thrusting into me with rough, hurried strokes, his hot breath on my neck coming out in blasts.

But he’s not trying to leave hickeys this time. He’s branding me in a different way.

With words.

“I couldn’t control myself, Fischer. I couldn’t leave your ass alone. I told you this could be the worst idea, and I was right, wasn’t I? Fuck…fuck, you feel so fucking good. Wasn’t I?”

I lick my hand, grip my dick, and jerk it. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back, welcoming the filth and the fear coming out of his mouth. “I was asleep…”

“I know. I’m out of control. All out…”

I groan something wholly unintelligible.

“You weren’t even hard until I was two knuckles deep, and then you started squirming like you needed dick. This dick.”

“Fuck yes,” I gasp, so close.

“Is this what it would’ve been like? You’re so fucking easy. I can do anything I want to you, can’t I?”

“Yes…Matthew…” My words are barely more than sharp breaths.

“Because you can take me, now, can’t you?”

His question is vulnerable and pained. It shouldn’t turn me on, and it definitely shouldn’t make me come, but it does. So hard.

He drills me through the orgasm again, but this time it’s not to milk me for all I’m worth, it’s to get himself off. His choked cry comes as my dick is spilling yet another load onto his already soiled sheets, and my asshole heats and fills with his release.

This time, he allows us both to bask in the refractory period. And I do find myself basking in it, trembling like I’m fucking possessed, but contained in his tight hold.

It’s eerily familiar, the way he molds his body to fit mine, the only new element being the blissfully erotic sensation of his dick going soft inside me. I notice his hand on my upper abs and the way my body moves slightly with each breath he takes.

“What made you think you could do that?” I ask him. Is there something else about me he sees that I have no clue about?

He buries his face in my neck and shakes his head. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not.”

“Promise?”

“I told you to do whatever you want. I meant it,” I remind him.