The Muse's Undoing

When my focus scatters as a result of exhaustion, I know I need to sleep. I hesitate as I contemplate the bed. It’s going to smell like him, which means I’m going think about him—hard. And knowing I’ll be thinking of him makes me start thinking about him until I need to know what he’s doing, and I call.

His voice is raspy when he answers.

“Did I wake you?” It’s one in the morning.

“No. But I think my vocal cords took some damage today.”

“Jesus.”

“It’s fine.”

He always says that. It’s fine. He’s fine. We’re fine. But is anything really fine?

“Miss me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I admit too easily.

“Told you.”

“You did.”

“If you come over now, you’ll be closer to work tomorrow,” he says.

“If I come over now, you won’t have a voice or a functioning asshole tomorrow.”

“You really know your way around seducing a man.”

I laugh. “Is it working?”

“Too well. Hang on.”

There’s a brief pause on his end and then my phone lights up with a text.

“A dick pic?” I chuckle. “Fischer, you shouldn’t have.”

He’s in those navy flannel pants, his hand fisted around the base of his beautiful cock, all hard and shiny tipped for me.

“Started getting hard when I saw your name on the screen.”

Fuck, that’s hot.

“Are you jerking it?”

“You want me to?” he asks.

“Assuming that’s a contemporaneous picture, what else are you planning to do with it?”

“I could save it for you.”

“I don’t know. It looks pretty needy.”

“Mmm…” he rumbles, and I picture him sinking back into his chair. He’s at his dining table, working. I could tell from the picture. “It’s not good without you here.”

He’s the fucking worst. He knows I can’t resist him. Can’t resist being wanted, much less needed. “I don’t want to interrupt you. I know you’re busy.”

“Please, like you could distract me from all my important work?”

I can’t resist being dared, either. Fucker. Maybe he gets off on being needed, too.