The Muse's Undoing

His grin is wicked. “You should try a public scene one of these days. Loosen up some. It would be good for you.”

I snort. “I enjoy my privacy.”

“It’s always the same old thing with you, and you’re more than you think you are.”

There’s too much to unpack in that statement. “Who’s the most efficient?” I ask him instead. I’d like to get off, but I don’t want to be here all night.

Gibson looks down at his companion. “Pet, who gives the best head?”

“Emilia, sir,” she says softly.

I sigh. It’s not that I don’t trust “Pet’s” judgment, but I’ve never gotten a good blow job from a woman. I gave Nicole three chances. After that, I never let her mouth near my cock again.

Gibson seems troubled by her answer, too. “I expected you to say yourself.”

“But my mouth is so tiny,” she pouts. “So tight.”

Gibson grins at me.

“How’s her pussy?” I ask instead.

“Pet…answer my friend’s question.”

“It’s small. Everyone says I feel like a virgin,” she says softly.

Gibson lifts her chin, turning her to look up at him. “You wouldn’t lie to Daddy, would you?”

Eyes wide and innocent, she shakes her head.

Daddy. The more you know…

At any rate, they’ve succeeded in making me want to fuck her. But before I can take them up on the implied offer, red chiffon floods my field of vision. “Hello, you.”

I look up and meet my downstairs neighbor’s heavily lined green eyes. “Raven,” I say. “It’s been awhile.” It would be impolite to acknowledge that she’s in this place. We all signed our fortunes away on our membership contracts. Confidentiality at any cost is the primary rule of the club.

“Would you like to catch up?” she asks, pale cheeks flushed and eyes bright. She looks like she’s ready for anything tonight—exactly what I’m in the mood for.

Gibson and I share a look, and I give her a nod.

Standing, I take hold of my cane and let Ravenna Gallo lead the way to a private room off the main floor.

8

MATTHEW

Ishow up at #1107 on Saturday morning with a bag of bagels, a coffee for Fischer, a tea for me, and a blueberry muffin for Vaughn, whenever he shows up.

It takes Fischer a while to open the door, I’m assuming because of the cane, which was new to me when I saw him Monday night. He’s mentioned in our emails that his leg has gotten worse over the last year. After all he’s gone through, it doesn’t seem fair, but it isn’t surprising, either. I’m just glad to have him home—safe—even if he does move slower these days.

Fischer is freshly showered, wearing gray sweats and a black zip-up hoodie. His face breaks into a wide grin when he sees me, and it’s contagious. For someone who’s not a smiler, when he lets one loose, it’s blinding.

I wrap an arm around him, and he pulls me into a tight hug, which I guess I can let myself get used to now that he’s back. “You brought me coffee.”

“I did.”

“That’s amazing.”

We hang onto each other a moment longer before I need to breathe.