The Muse's Undoing

She flicks her tongue over my slit before sucking my crown to her throat again. It should feel so fucking good—she’s perfection at this—but nothing.

“Please, Val, I wanna suck you so bad.”

She ignores me again, fisting me at the base and working the rest of my cock with her considerable skill. She doesn’t give up until I lock my hand around her wrist. Then she looks up at me with wet lips and shocked eyes, a single crease between them. “What am I doing wrong?”

“It’s not you.”

“Is sucking me gonna get you hard?” she asks, looking doubtful.

“Maybe?” Normally, I get hard when my underwear is snug. I get hard when I bend metal into a curve. I’m a fucking hard-on machine. Sex is my life fuel. I put it more important than food, just behind water and shelter. I don’t know why what she’s doing isn’t working. Maybe I just need to relax. “Let me make you feel good.”

“I do feel good.” But she must realize I need more than what she’s currently offering.

She stands, her panties in my face, the small bulge behind the satin is fucking mouth-watering. She gives my cheek a caress. “You want me to use my boy voice, too?”

I shake my head. “I want you just like this,” I whisper, rubbing my face against the satin as soon as the light turns green. She hums and threads her fingers through my hair, giving the strands a slight tug.

Valentine’s penis isn’t more than a mouthful, the tip of it barely nudging the back of my throat once I’ve sucked her to the root. I grab her by the ass and inhale her, taking my time, rolling her taste around on my tongue. All floral and sugar.

“Matthew,” she groans when I touch her hole. “Are you getting hard?”

I’m fascinated. Fixated. But I’m nothing close to hard. I take a second to suck two of my fingers to get them wet before slurping her erection back into my mouth. When I breach her entrance, I get a gasp out of her, and she rocks back and forth, into my mouth and onto my fingers.

She comes best when I treat her like a lady—when I suck her little tits and fuck her missionary-style. When I kiss her deep.

But she goes off like a rocket when I peg her prostate and don’t let up. “Fuck—oh my God—fuuuccckk…!”

I drink her cum like nectar, making out with her dick like it’s her mouth—passionate and greedy, my oral fixation in high gear. Her legs shake, and her hands yank my hair by the roots as she whines and lets out shocked breaths. “Fuck, stop, I can’t…stop…”

I pull away. Tears of frustration well in my eyes, my hand moving from her ass to her hip.

She grips my face and makes me look up at her. I close my eyes, but not before a tear slips out. She swipes it away with a gentle brush of her thumb. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I just can’t get out of my head.” I press a kiss to her belly.

She scrunches her nose and takes a seat on my left thigh. “Kiss me?” she asks.

I cup her breast and touch my lips to hers, my mouth still hungry to move and feel and taste. Since we’ve come this far, I can’t just send her away. She’s been more than generous. “Lie down?” I ask her.

“No…” She gives her beautiful head a subtle shake, like she can tell I’m grasping at straws. “It’s over isn’t it?”

My chin trembles. I’m on the verge of breaking down. This isn’t what I want—or, more accurately—this isn’t how I want to feel.

She looks over at the tree and smiles softly. “We made an amazing thing. Let’s not ruin it.”

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” I whisper, burying my face in her neck as she strokes my arm.

“It’s him, isn’t it? The one that got away?”

I nod.

“I hope he finally realizes what he’s missing,” she says.

I sigh. “He won’t. But I sure as fuck do.”

I only know one way to purge this feeling. And I have to purge it. This isn’t some run of the mill whim—it’s a compulsion I can control about as well as the sun rising.

It’s late, but not late enough for the bars to be closed. After another shower, I head to the nearest, seediest gay bar.