Free Becoming His Muse, Part Two by KC Martin Page A

his hand sliding over the curve of my backside.
    “No way,” I say, pulling away, though I can’t help smiling.
    “Later then,” he sighs, stroking my neck and lightly caressing my collarbone. He opens the door to let me out.
    Feeling a little weak-kneed from the kiss, and his suggestion of a ‘quickie’, I cross the quad to the auditorium, thinking, “Later where? Later when?”
    I’m scared to get caught but I’m desperate to feel his hands on me again. Maybe if he’d had fifteen minutes before his meeting…
    I try to push aside the ‘what if thoughts’ but I can’t control my imagination. I picture him taking me standing up against the back of his door, his chest pressing hard into mine, his hips driving up and into me, my legs wrapped around him…
    I feel a bit flushed and dazed when I arrive at the auditorium for Dr. T’s lecture on the use of chiaroscuro in 17 th century painting. I look around for Derrick and Casey. I want to ask them about using their studio. Logan and I definitely need some off campus time. But I don’t see them anywhere.
    I slide into a seat beside Ronnie.
    “Hey gorgeous,” he says. “You all right?” He looks at me quizzically.
    “Yeah, why?”
    “You look a little hot and bothered.” He winks at me.
    I feel my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I guess I walked over too fast. Got myself warmed up.” I sink a little lower in my seat. Dr. T takes the stage and starts talking about Caravaggio.
    Ronnie whispers. “Not that I’d blame you for having a bit of a crush on a teacher.” I shoot him a wide-eyed glance. He can’t possibly know about Logan.
    “Even I’ve got the hots for Dr. T. But don’t tell Owen.”
    I chuckle and then sigh with relief.
    After the lecture, I look up Derrick and Casey’s number on Dr. T’s class list
    I leave a message, though who knows when, or if, they’ll reply.

Chapter Eleven
    I hear nothing from Derrick and Casey, and even though Logan is busy with his new teaching schedule he keeps texting me very tempting invitations to visit his apartment, which I successfully decline for exactly three days. It’s too risky. But on the fourth day, I text him, knowing I’m ready to throw caution to the wind and give in to temptation.
    I’ll come over tonight.
    Still working , he texts back. Come later .
    Disappointed, but forcing myself to remain patient, I accept an invitation for beers with Ruby, Jonathan and Jenny to pass the time. Leaving behind the chilly, darkening afternoon, the three of us all pile into the steamy warmth of Mick’s.
    As we claim the last empty table, I hear Logan’s voice. He’s here ? I glance around. He’s sitting at the round table we sat at weeks ago surrounded by his writing students, who are all laughing at some joke he just made. He calls this work? I thought he meant he was slaving away in his office.
    Our eyes lock briefly when he sees me walk in with my friends, but he quickly carries on with his conversation.
    The girls lean in provocatively to hear what he has to say. His story about having a fiancée back in New York seems conveniently forgotten. I try to tame a serpent of envy threatening to uncoil inside me. The few guys in the group seem to be trying to emulate him, except for one fellow, whom I’m pretty sure is gay, and he’s acting like the girls.
    “Logan’s here,” whispers Ruby nodding toward the writers’ corner.
    “I see.” I sit down at the table Jonathan chooses. “But I don’t see what the big deal is.” I feign disdain. Ruby shakes her head.
    “I swear you’re the only one on campus immune to his charms.”
    If only she knew what an effort it took not to walk over there and pull his pants down. But it’s better this way. Safer for him and me if I pretend he means nothing.
    “Why aren’t you over there?” I ask Ruby. “They all seem to be writing students.”
    She squints in their direction. “They’re from his journalism slash non-fiction class. I’m not in that