Free Becoming His Muse, Part Two by KC Martin

grunting now. Holding my hips hard against him with one hand, pressuring my clit with the other. I hear him growl now. I’ve not heard that before but the sound turns me on in a crazy way and I slip over my edge into a pounding waterfall of explosive orgasmic reverberations. He keeps me moving fast on top of him and all of a sudden I feel him pulsing inside as he lets himself go. He clutches my ass so hard I’m sure he’ll leave marks, and I don’t care. I want his mark on me. He’s claimed me now. We’ve claimed each other.

Chapter Ten
    I don’t know how, or when, Logan snuck out of my dorm room. I only remember that after, awash in a post-coital glow, he held me and told me stories about growing up the son of Irish immigrants trying to make it in New York. Several times he mentioned he was dying to have a cigarette, and how he’d really like to quit, and maybe I’d inspire him to do that eventually.
    He said his father used to smoke and drink and hell-raise, that he learned to be a shit-disturber from one of the best, by which he meant the worst, and about how he couldn’t wait to get away from home and try to make it on his own, and about being close to starving in tenement buildings and stealing notebooks from drugstores so he could write down how he felt. His stories blurred into my dreams. By morning, I wasn’t sure which ones I’d heard and which ones I’d dreamed. Was it true that the roundish scar by his collarbone was from a cigarette burn intentionally inflicted by his father? Or had I dreamed that? Either way, the thought made me shudder. Either way, I knew that Logan had had a rough start.
    No matter how controlling and demanding my father was, no matter how much he refused to understand and accept my goals and dreams, no matter how misguided his advice, I knew he wanted the best for me. But that had never been true for Logan. No wonder he’s perfected a cocky demeanor, an ‘act’, to keep people at a distance. But he’d let me in. He’d invited me in. That warmed my heart, and other body parts.
    ***
    I stop by Logan’s office the next day. He’s typing furiously until I knock, interrupting his creative flow. His frown turns to a smile when he sees me. My face remains serious as I tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he can’t come to my dorm again.
    “I only did that to make a point,” he laughs, glancing at his computer screen. “And to prime the pump for this. I’ve written five pages today. I’m out of my slump.” He smiles broadly. I’m happy for him, but I need to be clear.
    “I can’t risk getting thrown out of school,” I say. “My father would kill me.”
    He nods and looks away. “Fathers can be tough.”
    Absently he touches a spot just below his collarbone. That little round scar. So I didn’t dream that story.
    “But we have an agreement,” he adds. “You’re my muse now.”
    I’m still not sure what that means, though I feel different since last night. I feel bound to him somehow.
    “Maybe we should find a way to meet off campus,” I suggest.
    “Maybe…” He seems thoughtful, but I’m not sure if he’s thinking about us or the pages he’s written. He glances at the clock on his wall.
    “I have a student teacher conference in ten minutes and I’m guessing you don’t want to be discovered here?”
    I shake my head. “Definitely not. But will I see you later?”
    “I’m counting on it.” He gives me a sexy grin.
    I frown. “But how? You can’t come to my room and I can’t go to yours.” I’m almost whining with frustration.
    “With risk comes challenge,” he says, standing up and coming around his desk.
    I’m near to the door, about to go out, but he pushes it closed and pulls me into an embrace. His soft lips pin mine with a kiss that makes me sweetly dizzy. And nervous.
    “Ten minutes,” I mutter, knowing I have to get out of there if I don’t want our secret discovered.
    “We could be quick,” he whispers, his lips against my cheek,