The Muse's Undoing

“I’m such a fucking pervert,” I say into his shoulder.

“Mmm…fuck… Why does that feel so fucking good? What did you do?”

“I fucked you.”

“You…mmm…” He rocks back on me, and I give him a few deep thrusts.

“Touch yourself,” I beg him, needing to level the playing field.

“Jesus, I’m so fucking hard…” he says, like he needs to give me a play by play.

I come clean. “I’m wearing a condom, but I just came inside you…”

“Matty…fuck…” His breath catches.

“It was so hot, Fischer. Your body sets me on fire. I can’t keep my hands off you. Can’t keep my dick out of you.”

“Fuck, you feel good. Don’t stop…”

I don’t stop. I suck his neck and lock my arm around his chest while I leave my cock inside for him to use as he jerks himself to an orgasm that shoots across the mattress. “I love you,” I mumble into his skin as he’s shuddering through his release. “I love you. I love you.”

His hand, covered in cum, moves to rest on my face. Breathlessly, he replies, “I love you, too.”

37

FISCHER

Matthew’s loft is incredible. As disorganized as he can come across when he’s trying to tell me about what happened to him on the subway on any given day, his place isn’t messy or chaotic, and it’s a far cry from the sterile gray walls and watercolor prints in my place on Park Avenue. Even the light here seems warmer. The vintage sofa in the sitting area is pale pink velvet while the kitchen cabinets opposite are a dark turquoise, as are the shelves lining his workshop holding his sculpting equipment and supplies.

The tree sculpture sends sparkles of light across the floor and the bed—like rainbow fireflies.

But when I arrive on Monday morning with him after his overnight shift, I get about two seconds to take it all in before he has me backed up against the door, his hands up my shirt. His mouth is on mine, and I’m clinging to his arms. After he reclaims my tongue, he drops to his knees, makes quick work of the fastenings on my pants and sucks my cock into his throat.

My knees threaten to buckle as he blows me ruthlessly. The cab ride had been tense, sexually, but I didn’t realize he was this close to the edge. Though I had Vaughn last night, the kid sleeps like a rock, and Matthew didn’t have to be at the desk until ten. It’s not like we’ve been hands off.

He brings me to the brink so fast I don’t have a chance to handle it gracefully. I’m all moans and grunts and curses, mind-blown and overpowered.

“Matthew…”

I come forcefully, and he groans as he drinks me down, sucking me to the point of my legs actually giving out. He catches me by the hips and shoves me back against the door, like he’s reminding me it’s there to hold me up.

He stands and adds his body weight to keep me upright, kissing my entire load of cum into my mouth and breathing as heavily as I am. I’m forced to swallow myself, which is odd and insanely erotic in a narcissistic and satisfying way.

When I regain control of my thoughts, I kiss him back properly, or at least, give way to him. I get so high off his want, it’s gotta be bad for my brain. But once a man comes inside you when you’re passed out from exhaustion, you have to acknowledge that he fucking owns you.

I try not to question why he needs me the way he does—or at least—the way it feels like he does. And why am I only too willing to offer myself to him like a nun offers herself to God?

Because I am.

“You’re gonna get a lot of those today,” he tells me, finally giving me a chance to breathe. Not that I wanted it. I stare back at him, dazed.

“Laundry,” he says like he just thought of it. “It’s critical.”

“Yeah.” It’s one of the many reasons we’re spending the day here and not at my place. He’s behind on laundry and can’t or won’t remember to bring it with him so I can have it sent out with mine.

“Sheets are the priority.”

I tilt my head toward the couch. “I’ll just be over there.”