Free Becoming His Muse, Part Three by KC Martin

glutes. I pull him toward me, pressing his growing erection against my pubic bone. He tips his head to kiss my lips. Both of his hands dig into my hair and hold my face tight to his. At the end of the kiss, he pulls away and whispers.
    “Oh, Ava, what ever did I do to deserve you?”
    “Why would you have to do anything to deserve me?”
    With my hands still on his ass cheeks, I bend my wrists and push his loosened slacks off his hips. The soft fabric falls quietly to the floor. My knees soon follow as I kiss my way down his chest to his abs and his belly button. My hands cup the front of his boxers, one hand rests along his hard length, the other palms his balls through the thin jersey fabric. He moans lightly as I slide my hands up his legs and under his boxers. I grip his shaft of warm, hard skin, letting my fingers trace the ridge of his glans. The fingers of my other hand feel the soft tender not-quite-roundness of each ball.
    “I’ve done less than nothing to deserve this,” he says hoarsely.
    “Do you want me to stop?” I look up at him as I pull the back of his boxers down. His cock falls forward slightly and brushes my lips. His breath catches as he looks down at me. He’s shaking his head. “Please, don’t stop,” he whispers.
    I take him in my mouth, my eyes still on his. I know how much he loves this and yet his eyes look rather pained. I kiss and suck gently, lovingly fondling his balls and letting my fingers occasionally caress his ass and thighs. When I look up at him again, his eyes look dark and haunted… and a little wet.
    At first I think he’s disappointed, and I’m about to grip him firmer and suck faster and deeper, but then I feel his finger on my chin, and I hear him say the word, “Stop.”
    He drops down to the floor beside me, kicking off his shoes and the slacks and boxers bunched at his ankles.
    “Didn’t you like it?” I say, wiping away the saliva that’s gathered around my lips and chin.
    With a slightly choked voice, he says, “I love it. I just…” Logan is not someone I’ve ever known to be at a loss for words. He reaches for a tendril of my hair and stares me in the eyes, unblinking. His erection hasn’t faded but the ardor’s gone out of him.
    “You didn’t lack for anything growing up, did you?” he says quietly.
    “I guess not.”
    “Your parents adored you and gave you everything you ever wanted.”
    I’m not so sure about that, but it’s true that they doted on me. Still do, in away that’s irritating and inappropriate at my age. I settle beside him and wrap my arms around my knees.
    “Did they ever hit you, Ava?”
    I shake my head quickly. “Never.”
    My father had a slight temper, but my mother was always there to curb it.
    “Not even a spank?”
    I don’t remember any. “I’m pretty sure not.”
    Logan and I sit on the floor facing each other. The pale winter light from the windows reflects off the bare skin of his chest. I stare at the scar near his collarbone.
    “Spanking’s mild compared to what my father did to me.”
    I wince at the thought. I don’t know the details but I can imagine, and it hurts to think of Logan as a young boy in pain. I wish I could take that pain away.
    He takes my face in his hands, turns my eyes up to his.
    “You’re lucky to have been so loved,” he whispers. “You deserved that.”
    “So did you,” I say, feeling tears begin to prick behind my eyes. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.
    “The past is over, gone. I try not to let it haunt me now. But sometimes…”
    I reach up and touch his scar, ever so lightly. I feel him start to tremble.
    I take his hands away from my face so I can lean in and kiss his chest. His arms slide around my shoulders and he draws me close.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go to that dark place,” he says.
    “It’s all right.” I say. “I’ll go there with you.”
    His arms tighten around me. He buries his head in the crook of my neck. “No,” he says. “Be