“You’re soaked,” he mutters.
The pads of his fingers are coated with wetness, and he brings them to my clit, rubbing slow circles over the swollen bud. His touch is precise yet indolent, as if he has all the time in the world. His teeth graze my shoulder, sending pleasure dancing through me. I feel his erection against my ass, but he doesn’t release it from his boxers. Doesn’t try to kiss me. He just rubs my clit until I’m mindless with need, desperately grinding against his palm.
“I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” I whisper.
“And that’s a problem because…?” His voice is a husky tease.
I’m practically fucking his hand now. My muscles coil tight. Every inch of skin starts tingling, pleasure building in my core. I try to draw a breath, but it happens to be at the same time as he summons the orgasm from me. I choke in surprise, crying out as waves of bliss spread through my body, from my fingers to my toes and everywhere in between.
“Such a good girl,” he says in approval while I gasp for air.
The orgasm short-circuits my brain. I trap his hand between my thighs, my pussy spasming from each delicious, blissful pulse. Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I roll onto my back, heaving as I stare up at the ceiling. I feel him watching me, so I turn my face toward his.
“Is this awkward?” I ask him.
“No, but it should be,” he says gruffly.
I fully agree. I search his uneasy expression. “So why isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
He stretches out beside me, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting on his abdomen. He’s silent for so long, I wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then his chest rises on a long inhale.
“I figured something out a while ago.” He exhales in a rush. “You’re my muse.”
My heart skips a beat. “I am?”
“Yeah. Since you got to Tahoe, I’ve been writing nonstop. And none of it is trash. I’m writing good shit, freckles.”
I smile at that. “So why do you sound so upset?”
“Cole told me I can’t bang my muse.”
“I mean, technically we didn’t bang,” I point out.
“True… And I do like a good technicality.” He sounds more upbeat now. “Maybe it won’t go away then. The inspiration.”
“Is this a real thing?” I wrinkle my forehead, a part of me wondering if he’s messing with me.
“Sort of. It’s an unspoken rule that you don’t sleep with your muse.”
“Then you’re in luck. I have it under good authority that Wyatt Graham doesn’t follow the rules.”
He laughs, but the humor dissolves fast. “Probably should, though,” he says. “About this at least. About us.”
I roll onto my side, studying his serious profile. “You want us to come up with rules?”
“Yeah, maybe. If we do this—”
“What do you meanif? We’ve already given each other orgasms.”
“I mean if we continue giving each other orgasms. We can’t let it get messy.” His voice strains. “We can’t, Blake.”
“Okay. So what rules are you proposing?”
He’s quiet, thinking it over. “It ends when the summer ends,” he finally says.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “You think it’ll even last that long? Because you keep telling me you’re only good for a short time, remember? Now you’re okay with a monthslong fling?”
