Page 88 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

“I wish they would make your scent one!” I laugh. His cock twitches in my hand at the sound of my laughter. “Then my apartment could smell like you 24/7.”

Rurik’s hip jolts when I swoop down and wrap my mouth around him. I hum deeply, and I feel his dick hardening more at the vibration my throat made. I love the feeling of his smooth skin in my mouth. It feels like soft velvet caressing my lips and tongue. Also, I love the sounds he makes.

This asshole is loud.

I don’t even think he realizes how fucking loud he is. I’m tempted to slam my hand against his mouth to shut him up, but hearing the growls and groans coming out of this uptight asshole is kind of doing something for my ego.

The fingers on my hair tighten as he lets out another one of his panty-dropping sounds.

“Fuck, Briar.” I look up to find him staring at me. He licks his lips and groans again. “I think I prefer your mouth all over my cock then having it speak to me.”

Fucking asshole.

Also, why the hell are my panties wet?

Hell no, I am so not into the degrading kink. I’m going to bite his dick off for saying that type of shit to me.

“You’re like my own personal slut.” He keeps going.

Shit.

He just called me his.

“Oh, fuck… God, yes, Briar!” His hips thrust more erratically into my mouth. “Fuck!”

I pull away for a bit. “I knew you missed —”

Oh, hello, Rurik’s dick again.

“Briar, baby.” Rurik grunts roughly, “I’m gonna need you to shut the fuck up and take my cock in your mouth like the good fucking girl I know you truly are.”

There’s that random nickname again. Is it possible for a woman to come with just words?

My jaw fucking hurts, but I don’t stop. I use my hand and start stroking him again, matching the strokes as I continue blowing him.

“Oh, shit, oh god… Briar…Wait.” He gasps, his hands fully messing my hair. “I’m going to come soon…Fuck… Slow down… You can jerk me off… if you don’t want me to come in your mouth.”

Fuck that.

I keep going, listening to the wanton sounds he’s making. And then, finally, he shoots inside me, and you fucking bet I swallow it all up. Every last warm, salty drop of him.

He continues pumping his hips into my mouth slowly, untangling his hands from my hair and placing them just below my neck, his thumbs now caressing my skin as he weakly groans.

Once I feel his dick softening, I slowly let go of him and wipe my mouth and chin with the back of my hand, and lick my lips.

“Your cock tastes delectable.”

He stares at me, his cheeks flush red and his eyes bright and hungry. His hand comes up to his chest, hovering above his heart. After a few seconds, he sighs and swallows hard before tucking himself back into his boxers and pants.

He stands up and runs his hands across his head, sighing. He gently pushes me aside and heads to the sink to wash his hands. I follow him and do the same, my eyes never leaving him.

He’s not looking at me.

Why isn't he looking at me?

He’s hyper-focused on his hands, reapplying soap over and over until his hands become red from all the rubbing and scrubbing. His jaw tightens when I inhale a deep breath, and his brows furrow together when I exhale—his lips purse into a tight line when I clear my throat.

I can't tear my eyes away from him.

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