The Muse's Undoing

Matthew wipes my mouth with his thumb before tucking himself back into his pants. I break eye contact with him to do the same. I have a fine tingling sensation running through my body as I stand, and he takes me into his arms. I hold tight, but not too tight. As much as my fingers may want to claw themselves into his clothing to make myself impossible to remove, I show some dignity and self-control—to the extent that’s possible with the taste of him in my mouth.

“Kiss me until you have to leave,” I tell him.

“I plan to, but I’m leaving as many marks as I want.”

36

MATTHEW

On Thursday night Fischer makes the trip out to the Bronx to stay the night with me.

He lets me take him out for a drink before we come crashing through the door of the loft in a race to rip each other’s clothes off and fuck. The night feels rushed, like a clock is ticking. It doesn’t feel like there’s time to talk. Talking feels like stalling—it feels like wasting time we could be more together, closer. It feels like a threat because I have things I could say to him that might send him running into Raven’s arms when he realizes she might actually end up being the less unhinged option.

Because I am completely obsessed. That might not even be the strongest word to use, because what I feel for him is all-encompassing. It’s gone so far beyond craving or love that it feels like poison contaminating me. An infection.

I’m barely keeping my shit together when he’s not around. I draw us. I paint us. I etch him in glass.

He comes back for more on Friday night, but he’s exhausted. I catch him drifting soon after he arrives. I’m in the middle of making a curry that’s taking way longer than I thought it would, and he’s barely able to keep his eyes open after a week of work and me.

“You’re fading on me, princess,” I call out to him from the kitchen. He’s on the couch scrolling his phone, but his eyes are staying closed longer and longer each time he blinks.

“Sorry,” I hear him say weakly.

“Just lie down,” I laugh.

“No, I’m hungry.”

“I’ll wake you up when it’s ready. It could be another half hour, but I can’t give up on it now.”

“It smells good, if that helps.” He stands, but he doesn’t go to the bed. He crosses the loft and winds up beside me at the stove, a hand on my lower back. “I am gonna lie down.”

“Good.”

“I might crash pretty hard,” he says.

I try not to pout. I realize it’s just a curry, but I’m committed to it. Still, once Fischer leaves in the morning, I won’t see him until dinner tomorrow night where he’ll have Vaughn. “Yeah,” I sigh. “It’s okay.”

His hand slides from my waist to my ass. “I’m just saying it might be hard to wake me up.”

Oh.

“I can be pretty persistent,” I say, ridiculously turned on by the implication. Or should I say invitation? I gesture at the curry I’m still stirring with my rubber spatula. “This’ll be worth it, though. You sure you’ll be able to fall asleep without my hands on you?”

“Let’s hope so,” he says with a sly grin before planting a kiss on my shoulder and leaving the kitchen.

I bite my lip, imagining the possibilities. “Sorry about this,” I say, playing the game. “I’d stop if I could.”

“We’re entitled to our disorders,” he tells me, referring to his post-traumatic stress and my obsessive compulsions.

He strips down to his boxer briefs beside the bed and kneels on the mattress before arranging the pillows the way he likes them—my princess is particular. Finally settling beneath the covers, he gives me one final look and closes his eyes.

Forty-five minutes later, when the curry is finally a decent consistency and tastes amazing, I put some rice in my rice cooker and walk over to check on him. I am capable of letting him sleep. Curry is just as good, if not better, the next day as it is when it’s fresh. So I’m torn.

I don’t think he’ll be upset if I let him sleep, but I don’t want to disappoint him either. He dropped some heavy hints earlier, and God knows he’s sexy like this. Extremely sexy.

When I’m not holding him, Fischer sleeps on his stomach, which invites all kinds of dirty thoughts. Before I decide what to do, I slide the sheets down so I can be sure I’m making an informed decision. He doesn’t stir.

But he did manage to do something before he fell asleep without my noticing. He took off his underwear. Meaning he’s naked. His right knee is hitched up, exposing his tight, puckered hole and his dark sac.