The Muse's Undoing

He might actively be trying to kill me. I stare into his mirror eyes.

“I can’t have you not coming back here, or taking space or a break or whatever,” he says, his voice low and urgent. “I know it’s a big joke to you, but I actually need you. Or at least I firmly believe I do, which is more or less the same thing.”

“I’ll come back whether we kiss or not,” I whisper. “I need you, too.”

He gives his head a short shake, like I can’t possibly understand. “It’s not the same. You can go three weeks without seeing me in any meaningful way, and I can’t do that. I’m not asking to be everything to you again, but you’re kinda everything for me.”

If he’s only scared, then… “Fischer, you don’t have to kiss me.”

His thumb presses gently into my chin cleft. “I want to.”

“Oh.”

He lowers his gaze to my lips. “Do you not want me to?”

“No, I do.” I mean, I think I do. I’m also low-key terrified it’s going to be bad, that I’ve totally misread our chemistry, but maybe that’s a good thing? It might knock some sense back into us. Or me at least.

“Why do you keep saying I don’t have to?” he asks.

“Because if you’re only kissing me because you’re scared you’re gonna lose me, then please don’t.”

“I’m terrified I might lose you,” he says, and it chills me, the thought of that. “I won’t risk it. I’ll pull out all the stops. I’ll fight dirty.”

I’m not sure I’m still breathing. I’m torn between wanting to argue his rationale—it’s not a good enough reason to cross this line—and wanting to cross the line so bad I can almost taste it—him.

“What if I freak out?” I ask, because I already am, and maybe he needs to prepare himself.

He frowns.

I mean it, though. “What if this is the worst idea? What if it’s better if we never…”

“Hmm…” He presses his forehead to mine and sighs against my mouth.

Fuck, just the feel of his breath on my lips gets me going. I’m so turned on my heartbeat has a heartbeat.

“It’s a good question.” His thumb leaves my cleft to sweep softly across my lower lip.

We both get hard as we remain like that for a while. Maybe minutes, contemplating the impossible. “I still think I should do it,” he finally says just when the silence fills me to the point of near bursting.

“It feels sort of inevitable, huh?” Which doesn’t make it right.

“Yeah,” he says on another soft exhalation.

I want him too fucking much. The compulsion to have him is too overwhelming to resist. My hand tightens on his waist, and his chin dips.

Our mouths meet in the softest caress. Softer even than when I kissed him goodbye. I take a breath, bracing for what comes next, no clue what to expect.

He wraps his hand around my jaw and moves his lips against mine again, this time capturing my lower one between his for a light tug. “That doesn’t count,” he whispers, sounding nervous.

A not insignificant part of me wants to tell him to stop. We can still come back from this. But I’m too far gone. I’m already painting murals of this moment in my head. Feeling it, but also seeing it like I’m hovering above our bodies, too.

“You sure you wanna do this?” I ask him.

Nodding, he says, “I have no fucking doubt,” which is a strong affirmation.

If that’s the case… I slide my hand from his waist up his back until I have a fistful of his hair in my grip, and I kiss him. His lips part, and my tongue doesn’t hesitate.

Once it finds his, he moans and pulls my head in, sealing our mouths together, and holy shit. His tongue is wet, hot, firm, and still it yields to mine. His lips are as soft as they look, plush and full against mine. I’m instantly obsessed.