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How was it possible to be so freaking turned on, but also melt from the adorable compliment. I couldn’t help but wish I could get that kiss from him.
Professor Harlo: Anyway, hope that helps. Sometimes the Muses abandon us and it’s a shitshow.
Me: Who or what is your muse, Owen?
Professor Harlo: Same as all artists, I imagine. Love, heartache, loneliness, pain and sex. The fundamental five.
Me: That’s straight from your book. But, I suppose you’re right.
Professor Harlo: I’m a pro, darling. I’m always right.
I laughed at his attempt to lighten up the conversation, but I was too keyed up to let it drop.
Me: What do you do when you need inspiration?
I asked while shutting my computer down and looking around the empty dorm room. We had our own bathroom and a small kitchenette area with a counter and room for a hot plate and toaster. Clea was gone, so I was alone.
So conveniently alone.
Dropping onto my bed, I gripped my dinging phone with a mix of shame and excitement as I slid my hands over the center seam of my shorts.
Oh God…that felt good…
Professor Harlo: Depends on what kind of inspiration I need. If I could use a story idea, I turn on the news or go people-watching. When I need help with a scene, I try to reenact it however I can, putting myself in the MC’s shoes.
It didn’t matter that he was talking technical jargon. His words spiked my pleasure every time I reread them.
Me: And what would you do if you needed help with a scene like I’m working on?
It was a daring question, and I started panting, eyes rolling in the back of my head as my fingers dripped beneath the band of my shorts into my soaked folds.
Professor Harlo: This feels like a trick question.
Me: I just want to know what you would do.
Professor Harlo: The truth?
Me: Yes!
“Yes!” I yelped, feeling the word right down to my bones as my fingers sank into my slit, the heel of my palm still working my clit.
Professor Harlo: The truth… I’d go bar hopping like I used to as a college student, then get bored and go home to find some kind of porn to replicate on the page. People and women don’t interest me like they used to.
Me: No boy OR girl situation for you?
Professor Harlo: I’ve tried it. Not for me. I prefer to be the only one penetrating in the relationship.
My lips opened in a gasp, so close to that elusive peak with those words. I could almost pretend that my fingers were his, and he was with me, on top of me, whispering in my ear ‘come, Mia. Come for me.’
Me: I’ll keep that in mind.
Whimpers escaped me as I got so close, but was unable to fall over the edge of an orgasm.
Heck, I should have probably just gotten a vibrator like Clea kept telling me to.
Professor Harlo: Fuck you, Mia.
Professor Harlo: Now I’m… uncomfortably tight in the pants in front of my fucking kids. Thanks for that.
