The Muse's Undoing

“You like it when I suck you?”

“Yes.” I’m verging on losing my temper. This side of him is sexy and infuriating, and he’s been keeping this from me.

“You ever pass out from coming before?” he asks.

I shake my head, biting the inside of my cheek almost hard enough to draw blood, definitely enough to leave a mark. My hips are still moving. I feel high. Vibrating with primal need. “Is that the plan?”

“It’s a fantasy. Can I keep fucking you if you’re passed out?”

“You can do whatever you want to me.” I only halfway understand what I’m saying to him. But my general thoughts are yes. Yes to everything. Anything.

“Fuck, that’s a good answer.” Using his left hand, he jerks me back to the edge, then wraps his lips around my tip and literally sucks my next release straight from my core.

I shout out in shock. It shatters me so completely, I lose sensation in my arms and legs. I collapse back, but he’s got me by the hips and doesn’t let go. Doesn’t miss a single drop. All that’s left of me is a stream of pathetic whimpers.

Instead of going straight back to blowing me this time while I shudder and gasp, he kisses and licks, covering every square millimeter of my dick. I get the sense he could do this all night, and just when I start to get genuinely concerned that’s what he’s planning, I feel my jeans sliding down my thighs, and I stop breathing.

I sling an arm over my eyes because I know what he’s seeing now. Scars, both surgical and jagged. Staple marks. The dent above my left knee. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but never like this. His fingertips dip into my missing piece, and he mutters something I can’t hear beyond the blood rushing through my ears. The waistband of my jeans settles behind my calves as he takes off my shoes, then my socks, before he strips my pants all the way off.

“Lie on your stomach and get comfortable,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

Thank God. We’re moving on. Also…oh shit.

I assume the lube and condoms are about to come out. I need to take some deep breaths and rally.

Blinking the post-orgasmic haze from my eyes, I get my bearings, focusing on the exposed duct work in the ceiling above me. When I can feel my arms again, I make my way up the unmade bed, flattening the lightweight covers to clear a path toward the pillows.

I get comfortable on my back, but then I vaguely remember he told me to lie face down. Without putting any thought into it, I flip over, gathering a pillow beneath my head after giving it a long sniff. It smells feminine. I could be like him and make him change all the sheets, but I don’t have the energy to be jealous. I’m sure I’ll get plenty of opportunities for that later.

He appears in my periphery from the bathroom door to my right. He’s taken off his jeans, but his Calvins are still on, and he’s a vision. I can’t take my eyes off him.

As he comes closer to the bed, I notice he’s still brutally erect, still hidden behind the thin, black, cotton cloth.

He opens the drawer of the steel file cabinet next to his bed that serves as a nightstand. A bottle of lube comes out. A roll of condoms. He sets them on the shiny surface and turns on the lamp. I watch as his gaze roams the length of my backside, fully displayed for him, my right knee hitched up slightly, mirroring the position I sleep in, and I am close to drifting. Two orgasms and a soft bed…

His hard-on has my attention, though. Aesthetically, there’s just something about a big dick that I, like most people probably, can appreciate. However…knowing where he means to put it has me clenching with anxiety. I’m no longer relaxed.

Nicole took months to warm up to my cock, and if she were faced with Matthew’s, she’d nope out quick, but maybe it’s different for women since there are structures inside them that stop progress, but an ass goes on forever, as long as he can manage to get through the hole.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” I tell him in a low, quiet voice.

His mouth quirks slightly, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. “Afraid it’s gonna hurt, princess?”

“Is that unreasonable?”

He takes off his boxer briefs, and I get the full frontal picture. His cock’s not just big, it’s fucking beautiful.

He gives it another long, slow stroke as he kneels on the mattress. He slides that same hand over my scars. “How bad did this hurt?”

His touch soothes, but the memory eviscerates. Being hit by the bomb blast was the worst physical pain imaginable. Agony. A shattered femur, shrapnel piercing my spleen, a blown up knee-cap. I could only black out for so long. Inevitably, the pain brought me back to consciousness again, and yes—nothing hurts a man worse than a metal spike through the testicle. I close my eyes as his hand moves over my ass cheek, gripping the flesh and sliding his thumb through my crease.

What I thought he was saying at first was that it couldn’t be any worse than what my body’s already been through. But what he’s telling me with his hand is there may be no comparison. That this agony may be the sweetest I’ll ever know.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he whispers. “I’m not in any hurry.”

26

MATTHEW