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

he goes deeper, and it doesn’t seem so hard anymore. Each time it feels as if I’m swallowing him, and then he slides back and that feels strange, but as he comes forward again, I feel the urge to swallow him deep.
    “Oh baby, that’s good. Too good. Ahhhh… Oh. Okay. I think we’ll stop there.” He withdraws from my mouth but I don’t want that yet. I grab his shaft with one hand and dig the other into his flexed ass cheek to pull him closer. I stuff him back into my mouth. I want to drive him wild, make him crazy. His legs are trembling slightly. I suck and swallow him as deep as I can. My fingers are wrapped around the base of his cock and my lips are now grazing my fingers.
    “Ava… Oh, Ava. Wait…Not yet.”
    His ass clenches, his balls go taut, and I feel the pulsing of his cock. I pull him out and work his cock with my hand, sucking hungrily on the end. His grip is light in my hair. Glancing up, I see his eyes are closed and his head is tipped back. He’s far-gone now. I feel his coming surging up from deep inside.
    “Ava, watch out…It’s… I’m…” With a deep groan he thrusts forward and warm liquid hits the back of my throat. I pull him out, so I can see, and multiple bursts hit my chin, my neck, and my chest as I watch him give himself to me, his legs barely holding him up now. After the last burst he sinks down to his knees in front of me. He gathers me into his arms, uncaring of his warm cum trickling between my breasts toward my knees. His mouth finds mine and he kisses me deeply, probingly, our scents mingling in a kiss that seals our secret pleasure.

Chapter Six
    The other day he said he didn’t sleep much, but right now he’s sleeping like a baby. I stare at his relaxed face. The intensity is gone, the anger, the ‘act’. I can see a little of what he might have looked like as a boy. I think back to the photos in his office. Were any of him? I’ll have to look more closely next time I’m there.
    Right now, we’re curled up in his bed, and even though I’m tired from our pleasure, I feel as if I could stare at his sleeping face for the rest of my life. The hard edge of his jaw is softer, his perfectly sculpted lips are slightly parted and I can see the glint of his teeth and the pinky hue of his tongue. I’m tempted to press my lips against his mouth while he sleeps, to steal a kiss he won’t remember, but I’m not sure if that will shock him awake or if he’ll push me away or maybe just lie there unresponsive.
    I content myself with tracing a line across his cheekbone and over the soft skin of his temples until I reach his forehead. I let my fingers run along the arch of each eyebrow, amazed at their smooth density and the definition they give to his face. Take away these dark expressive lines and the squareness of his jaw, and with his eyes closed in sleep, I can use my imagination to see him as he might have looked before his tumble into manhood.
    Yet I really know nothing of this man, or his boyhood, or family, or past or future. We’ve only had these few fiery moments so far. In that time he’s gotten under my skin in a way that mesmerizes me. Do I need to know more about him? More than this power he has over me, this way I come alive under his gaze, his touch? Perhaps not. He wants me to inspire him, but I don’t really know how to do that. I only know how to feel what I feel. Maybe all I can do is share that with him in some way.
    I’m tempted to kiss him again, to wake him up so we can keep going, but I resist. It’s late. I have classes tomorrow. So does he. And I’m still kind of in shock at the line we’ve crossed.
    At the same time it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Yet I know it’s not. I know it’s wrong.
    Oh, what have we done? We’ve taken the first beautiful, slippery steps down the slope into the dangerous and forbidden. So why do I feel as if I’m floating in some heavenly dream?
    I graze a finger along his jaw, feeling the stubble