Page 150 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“Oh ssshhhit. Fffuuuck.” I release a heavy breath, throwing my head back as she continues to slurp and lick me.

Goddamn.

Her mouth feels fucking fantastic. The moans and groans she’s making are making my head explode from the vibration riding up my dick. Shit, she wasn’t kidding when she said she doesn’t have a gag reflex.

I can’t hold it much longer… I can’t… Fuck…

“Baby,” I say roughly as she jerks and sucks harder. “I’m going to… I’m….”

“Come inside my mouth, angel,” Briar says. “I want to taste you again. Let me feel you come down my throat.”

My dick twitches as I thrust into her mouth once, twice, and then I spill. My hips jerk continuously as she swallows my come greedily with a satisfied hum.

After my breathing returns to normal and my heart starts to calm down, Briar slowly pulls away and winks.

“Thank you for the appetizer,” She says, wiping her lips.

I stare at her in disbelief before shaking my head. I lift her to her feet, wiping the spit on her chin. She grins up at me, tucking my dick back into my pants before zipping me up for me.

“Thanks,” I mutter, my nose wrinkling when she pecks me on the mouth. There’s that weird feeling again… I clear my throat. “It’s late. I should really go.”

Her face drops, and I want to kick myself.

“Please stay?” She pleads as she watches me put on my jacket. “I thought you were hungry? I can cook you something?”

“Briar,” I sigh, “I didn’t realize how late it is. I’m not hungry—” My traitorous stomach decides to growl.

She immediately heads to the kitchen, gesturing toward the kitchen table. “Sit. I'll make the gourmet-est of the gourmet meal you've ever had.”

“Gourmet-est?” I repeat with a scoff. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is because my dish is even better than gourmet.”

I scoff again but can’t help the grin on my face when she teasingly winks at me. She continues cooking, refusing my offers to help, insisting that it's her kitchen and no one is allowed to touch it except her.

“Almost done, angel!” She says over her shoulder as she pours some cheese into the pot.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

She looks at me, frowning. “What? Angel?”

“Yeah. You’ve been calling me that since we first met. Why?”

Briar continues stirring and adding ingredients, not saying a word.

Is she going to answer my question, or is she going to pretend she didn’t hear me? I couldn’t stop the growl eliciting from me. I thought Briar was an open book, but the more time I spend with her, the more I realize she tends to hide things.

A part of me suspects that her wild, unpredictable persona is just a facade. Deep down, she might be a girl harboring something else.

“I had a friend when I was a little girl,” Briar starts. She turns to me, and I straighten up, letting her know I’m listening intently. “One time on our daily walks to the playground in the park, we took an alternate route and walked past this church.”

She turns off the stove. “There was this huge angel statue in front of the church, and I just remember being so enchanted by it.” She takes two bowls from the cabinet and scoops the food into them. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She turns around and gently puts a bowl in front of me.

I look down at it. “Did you just make me mac and cheese?”

“The most gourmet-est mac and cheese ever,” Briar scoffs, giving me a fork.

I raise a brow, stabbing a macaroni with a fork and slowly putting it in my mouth. Briar stares at me, her eyes unblinking. She leans forward as if waiting for some reaction.

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