He releases me and leans back against the seat.
“I’ll give what I have to Lowell this weekend. These next few days will no doubt inspire me to write a whole bunch more over Christmas…At this rate, I’ll be done by spring.”
Which is when I would graduate. Then what? What will happen to us? When he finishes his novel, will he be finished with me too? But I don’t want to spoil this magical weekend in New York, this first time we can really feel free to be ourselves, together, so I push thoughts of the future away for now. I decide I’m going to focus on having fun this weekend.
The taxi slows in front of a red brick building with small wrought iron balconies framing each window. The bare trees that line the street are dusted with a fine layer of snow. As I step out of the taxi, my boots crunch on the salt scattered along the sidewalk. Logan pays the cab driver, who passes our bags from the trunk to the curb.
Logan digs around under a flower pot for key.
“They left a key outside?” That seems awfully trusting. He withdraws a small box.
“It’s got a code.” He presses a sequence of numbers and the box opens. Taking the key out, Logan unlocks the door. Once inside, we pass a collection of built in mailboxes and head up the stairs. There are two apartments per floor and Logan opens the door on the first floor on the left.
Flicking on the lights, we’re in a narrow foyer with white wood paneling and oak floors. Logan leads me to the living room overlooking the street where we were just dropped off. The high ceilings, crown molding, and Edwardian fireplace make me feel as if I’ve stepped back in time, or at least onto a movie set. A couple of plush chairs flank the fireplace and face a long chocolate brown couch. Bookshelves line two walls.
“This friend likes to read?”
“He’d better. He’s an editor.”
“Your editor?”
“No, but an associate of his.”
In one wall of books, an open archway leads through a dining room and then a kitchen. Turning a corner, I’m at the other end of the hall from the foyer. Here I find the bathroom and bedroom, with a canopied bed, gilded mirror, and more bookshelves.
Logan leaves our bags in the bedroom and follows me back toward the living room. I stand in front of the windows. Snow is falling.
“It’s so beautiful.”
Logan comes up behind me, slides his arms around my waist. “Now where were we?” he murmurs. “When we were in the taxi…” His hand slides across my belly and between my legs again.
“I think you were talking about masterpieces?”
He turns me toward him, letting one hand slide along my waist toward my back. He trails his fingers along my spine exploring the curve of each vertebra.
“Ah, yes. Masterpieces. The inspiration in my arms.” I feel him splay his hand between my shoulder blades and then he draws me toward him. With his other hand, he lifts my chin upwards and runs his thumb along my lower lip.
“This mouth,” he says, his breath against my lips. “This mouth is its own work of art. And right now, I plan to defile it.”
His mouth drives against mine with a swiftness I didn’t see coming. I gasp, which brings his lips tighter to mine as his tongue probes deeply toward the back of my throat. He so fills my mouth with his insistent kiss that I can’t help imagining other parts of him defiling me…
Soon I’m desperate to taste him, that hard hot part of him hidden below his belt.
I grab at his belt with both hands as his lips continue to maul mine. I feel an ache between my legs that makes me want to squirm. A masterpiece? I didn’t think so. But the source of one maybe? What I felt there was certainly connected to my inspiration as well. A complete inflow of inspiration was not unlike the feeling of the fullness Logan’s cock inside me. It was a penetration of something close to divine, a hot temporal magic that had the power to seek out my deep center and return with its treasure. I was transformed in the