Free His Inspiration by Ava Lore Page A

layer removed, it seemed he scraped away ten of my own. I was too
pliable towards him, all because I wanted him to get in my pants. And yet I
hadn't even achieved that yet. And maybe I never would because he didn't even
know if he wanted to do so.
    His tongue on my clit, tenderly probing my quivering inner core,
and the huge, aching cock that resulted from those activities weren't enough to
tell him he wanted to fuck me. What was?
    Perhaps I could be forgiven for what I said next. Perhaps not.
But I tell you this: it came from a very honest place.
    “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I demanded. “Why can't I suck
your cock? I suck great cock. What the hell?”
    His brows rose at my crude words. I didn't care. I wanted to
shock him. “Sadie...” he said. I saw him searching for the right words, and I
crossed my arms, waiting. I suddenly didn't want it to be easy for him. I'd
been easy for him for the past two days. I wanted him to be easy for me for a
change. Or at the very least throw a wrench in his works.
    Stop playing with me, I wanted to say. Stop running
hot and cold, you enormous fuckstick tease.
    Even I knew that saying something like that was probably beyond
the pale, so I bit my lips together and waited for him to tell me why he didn't
want to fuck me.
    “I don't know,” he said again. He drew back, his shoulders
straightening, his face smoothing. He seemed puzzled, and then a strange look
passed over his face. It was almost... sad. “You do things to me, Sadie,” he
said at last. “I don't know if I'm comfortable with them.”
    I knew what he meant, but I said it anyway. “I don't do anything
to you,” I replied. “That's the point. When am I going to get to make you happy?”
    His brow smoothed, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “You do
make me happy,” he said, and then the smile faded, replaced by shock. “You do make me happy.”
    “Well don't sound so surprised by it,” I said crankily. “You're
going to give me a complex.” I tossed my hair and looked out the window,
meaning to stare out at the cold February day in a huff to let him know I was
really totally mad at him, okay?
    His hand on one of mine, warm and uninvited, shattered that
resolution. Before I could stop myself, I was gazing at him from the corner of
my eye.
    “Sadie,” he said. “I want to fuck you. I want to fold you up and
fuck you until you scream. But I won't yet. I don't want to ruin it.”
    His words made me dizzy. “Ruin what?”
    “My masterpiece,” he said. “You will see what I have in mind
when we get to Dubrovnik. It will be perfect. And I will give you everything
you want when we get there. Until then...”
    He trailed off and drew my hand down into his lap, mere inches
from his straining erection, but he kept his hands between my fingers and his
cock. Gently, insistently, he stroked the back of my hand with his thumb,
reminding me of how he had plunged into my core with that very thumb during our
photo session. “Until then what?” I asked finally.
    “Until then, I want to keep you coming.”
    I wavered. Just accept it, I thought. When are you
going to find another guy who just wants to give and give?
    “Fine,” I said. “I grudgingly accept.”
    His eyes met mine. “I don't want you to accept,” he said. “I
want you to submit.”
    I swallowed. Submitting. The idea was strange, foreign to me. I
didn't lie down and die for anyone. I didn't lie down and take it.
    And yet there was a trembling note of need in his voice.
Vulnerability. He needed me to submit. I didn't need to be his puppet,
his plaything, his far-off muse come to earth to inspire him. He needed. it.I wanted it.
    “All right,” I said.
    He ran his fingers over my cheek, sending shivers down my spine.
“You will be the most brilliant thing I have ever done,” he said as we pulled
up to the airport. “You will see.”
     
    *
     
    He had a private jet, of course. And the moment we took off, he
had me standing in the middle of