Page 82 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“I loved watching your face when you came undone. Swallowing your hot cum after I sucked you dry would have to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Jesus. Fuck.

I shoot her a fierce look. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She raises her chin as if she didn’t just fucking talk like that in public.

I snap, “We didn’t do shit.” I glance around and feel a sense of relief that no one is near us.

Briar’s eyes narrow dangerously, “I seem to remember differently.”

“Well, I don’t remember anything.”

“That’s impossible,” She snorts, “Or, maybe you’re telling some truth. You did pass out immediately after you came while you fucked my mouth.”

“Shut your mouth, Briar.” I can feel my face heating up. “I don’t know what sick mind games you’re trying to play, but we did nothing. Okay? Nothing.”

She stops her treadmill and turns her whole body to face me. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“You know, this whole push-and-pull game you’re playing is getting fucking old, Rurik.” She leans forward so only I can hear. “One of these days, you’re going to push me away for real, and it’ll be too late.”

“Good,” I retort back, feeling like a complete asshole already. But I can’t stop the awful word vomit from heaving out of me. “That’s exactly what I want! Kindly fuck off and leave me alone. You said you want to be mine? Well, guess what, that’ll never happen.”

Her body becomes rigid, and her eyes blaze with anger, offering me a glimpse of the storm raging within her.

Shut the fuck up, asshole. Stop talking!

But do I pay attention to the warnings my conscience voiced?

Hell no.

“You’re a disgusting murderer,” I add like a fucking idiot. “I can never want someone like you.”

Out of nowhere, my treadmill comes to an abrupt stop. I suck in a breath, nearly losing my balance from the unexpected halt.

What the fuck?

She had hit the emergency button on my treadmill! I whirl around, thinking she's about to beat the shit out of me — and I probably would have let her — only to find that she's already walking away, not even sparing a glance in my direction.

I blink, staring after her. Instead of a sense of satisfaction that she finally, finally left, I can't shake that awful feeling that I may have fucked up big time.

*-*-*-*

It only takes me half a day before the sticky feeling of regret consumes me. For the first time, I'm the one texting her first.

ME:

- Hey. I just thought I should apologize for what I said this morning. I didn’t mean any of it, and I apologize if I offended you.

An hour later, she leaves me on 'Read'. I wait, hoping she will reply, but even those three loading dots never appear. I text her again.

ME:

-You’re not disgusting, Briar. I’m sorry I said that.

-I wasn’t in the right mental space this morning, and seeing you just drove me over the edge.

When I wake up the next day, I immediately reach for my phone to check for notifications. A heavy feeling settles on my chest as I notice she hasn't replied. I should do what I keep asking her to do and leave her alone.

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