The Muse's Undoing

He says my name again and again as he does exactly what I ask—clenching hard around my thrusts. I find our angle again, and he throws his head back.

“Jesus!” he shouts. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

I grab hold of his hair, yanking his head back, and snap my hips, slamming into him while I grit my teeth and feel panic rise. “Come, goddamnit.”

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” he says like he’s pleading for understanding. “Ohhh…. God…” his air escapes in a high whine as he lets go, finally, and I bury myself deep, plant my hands on his back and spill. The orgasm makes my spine twist. My vision blacks out, and my fingers curl, leaving scratches on his back.

I’ve never had better orgasms than the ones I have with Fischer. This isn’t an exception, but it might edge the other ones out based on the amount of time it takes to fully empty my balls. I’m not sure this or any condom could take it.

I’m a wreck as the long, earth-shattering release has its way with me, and the head rush that follows is better than any other high could possibly be.

I indulge myself by covering his back with my body for a few minutes, savoring the warmth of his skin and listening to his slowing breaths. My cock continues to twitch through aftershocks inside him, and with each one I shiver and groan like it’s the first one I’ve ever felt.

My soul, which must have left my body at some point, eventually settles back into place.

Fischer’s breathing is heavy, and I realize I’ve got all my weight on him and a soft dick still wedged in his ass.

“One second,” I say quietly, pushing myself up and sliding my cock out as I hold the bulging condom in place. I get my bearings, make sure my legs still work, and get out of bed. When I slide off the latex in the bathroom, my cum is everywhere. It’s a huge mess, and I imagine all of this load dripping from his hole. The vision makes me have to grip the countertop to stay steady. Once my knees stabilize, I wet a towel and bring it back to the bed where he hasn’t moved an inch. I take half a second to appreciate the splay of his body.

It’s fucking art.

The arch in his back, the angle of his open legs. The waves of dark blond on his pillow. I step over to the bed and run the towel down his back, then through his crack to wipe up what’s left of the lube. “Turn over for me, princess.”

Eventually, he does. I toss his cum-soaked pillow past the other side of the bed. It hits the floor, and I quickly assess an exhausted Fischer. He looks close to passing out again, so I quit staring at him and get to work. As gently and clinically as I can manage lest I get turned on again, I clean his cock, his stomach and chest. I even refold the towel and use it to wipe some of the sheen from his face. That’s when our eyes meet, and I give him a warm smile. “That was fucking perfect,” I tell him.

“Yeah?”

He sounds drunk, and I get it. I feel euphoric.

“Best I’ve ever had,” I assure him, meaning every word. “You wanna rinse off in the shower?”

“There’s no way. No bones.”

I wipe his face again, running the towel over his sweaty hair. “Drink your water, I’ll be right back.”

He props himself on an elbow, and I pass him the glass. He gives me a look I recognize over the rim as he takes several long sips.

“I swear I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good, because now that I’ve had a nap, I was wondering if we could talk.”

33

FISCHER

“Yeah, sure. We can talk. If you’re up for it.” Matthew drops his gaze before disappearing into the bathroom again.

I drain the water and set the glass aside, then I flop onto my back, unable to hold myself up anymore. My ass gives a sharp twinge, and yet it also feels miserably empty. I hear the shower turn on and roll my eyes. He’s never in a hurry to do anything. I hope he doesn’t take so long that I fall asleep. I actually do have a few things I’d like to tell him.

I’m not sure whether I technically fell asleep while he was fucking me or not. I had thought I was blacking out, briefly—ears ringing, vision blurring from the insanely intense prostate-driven orgasm, but the next thing I remember, Matthew was railing me, and I had no idea how much time had passed, only that my body had completely reset. The heat in his eyes was searing. That he was still using me was beyond filthy and so hot. I’ve never been so fucking turned on. Despite having had multiple prior orgasms, one of which may or may not have knocked me out, that last one was even more bone-melting and by far the most draining.

I’m not sure what any of this means about me, but as long as it’s working for him, I’ll try not to stress about it.

His shower doesn’t last long, and he comes out with a towel wrapped around his waist, hair damp but not soaking. Jesus Christ he’s perfect. How was I able to resist him for so long? And was it too long? As far as I know, he doesn’t do emotional commitments with his lovers. What I have yet to find out is why. And I’m not sure I’m ready to hear the truth.

I have to avert my eyes. My brain literally can’t take his beauty. I happen to catch the time on my watch and see that it’s almost dawn. That means we’ve been in bed more than four hours. Or my watch is broken.

He eyes his clothes on the ground. “I’m starving. Wanna go grab something?” he asks.