The Muse's Undoing

“I wanted it, princess. I always wanted it.”

“How’d you handle that without saying anything?’

“I didn’t know you had sex with guys, first of all, and second I jerked off a lot while you were asleep.”

“You’re gonna make me fucking come,” he says, his voice dangerously low and rough.

“Wait,” I say suddenly.

He takes a sharp breath. “Why?”

“Wait for me.” I stand up and close my laptop. “I’ll be there soon.”

Because it turns out, I can’t stand the idea of him coming without me.

It’s just shy of two in the morning when I slip through the service entrance and hit the button for the elevator. The doorman on duty, a relief guy named Darius, hears me, and I give him a chin nod when he comes around the corner. “Just going up to check on my brother. He’s having a rough night. Eleven-seventeen.”

“Sorry to hear that, man. I didn’t know you had a brother here.”

“Yeah. He’s fancy,” I say. “His friend hooked me up with the job.”

“It’s all about who you know, right? I have a cousin who works up the street at Gramercy.”

When the elevator opens, Darius wishes me a nice night, and I take a deep breath, hoping all the truths I told obscure the fact that this is a basic booty call. I use my key to let myself in to Fischer’s apartment and find him exactly where I pictured him. Behind all his screens, glasses on, but with his cock nicely tucked away.

“Were you able to stop?”

He grins when he sees me coming and stands up. “Yeah, but what took you so long? You find blue balls attractive?”

“They’ll match mine, at least.”

I come around the table so he doesn’t have to go far, and we collide in a kiss. I take his glasses off and set them on the table. I’d love to bend him over it, pull down his pants and make him come all over his legal pads, but I’m afraid we’d break something. “Time to get naked,” I tell him.

“Here?” he asks.

“Here. The balcony. The kitchen. But I was thinking bed. For your comfort.”

“Aren’t you sweet,” he says, running his hands up my arms. “But if you want to fuck me on the balcony, I’ll make it work.”

His voice sounds worse now than it did when we were on the phone. I rub his throat with the pad of my thumb. “Does it hurt?”

“If you keep worrying about hurting me, nobody’s ever gonna get what they want.”

“Are you saying everything I do hurts you?”

“I’m saying I wanted you here for a reason. If I wanted gentle, I’d go to the club and ask for it.”

The comment pulls me up short. I scowl. “You’re still going to the club?”

He cocks his head to the side, regarding me carefully. “Why do you ask?”

“How often do you usually have sex?” I ask, letting the conversation take an awkward turn.

“A few times a week. Your turn.”

“No. Wait,” I say, not finished yet. “What’s a few? Three? Five?”

“Depends.”