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Her Muse leaned back. As she heard the unmistakable sound of a condom being opened, she shifted restlessly with anticipation. He plunged roughly inside her, driving all the way to her deepest, tightest core. Chelsea gasped, unable to keep silent. Every memory she’d replayed of their sex in the alley paled compared to this. Tonight his cock felt bigger, tighter and harder in her tender walls. Her Muse began to rock inside her, thrusting just slowly enough to tease her with excruciating friction as she writhed helplessly beneath him.
He drew all the way out, leaving an ache of deprivation inside her. Then he pushed back in, filling her again with his silky heat. Expertly, he began to fuck her with almost primitive power, ho
lding her hips captive as his cock swiftly drove in and out of her wetness.
Chelsea twisted helplessly against her cuffs, a frenzy of lust spreading through her body.
“Talk to me,” she begged finally. She knew it was wrong and against the rules but she couldn’t bear their silence a moment longer. “Tell me your name. I need you. I need you. I need you…”
Her Muse leaned over her and placed one fingertip on her lips. “Ssh,” he whispered.
In that one syllable, she heard the voice she felt she had been waiting for all her life. Deep, masculine and unquestionably sexy, his voice mysteriously contained all of the components she had wanted in any man—power, love, tenderness and lust. She groaned with almost devastated need as she realized she would have to wait longer still to know him as she longed to.
His mouth covered hers again, hot, demanding and emotional. She kissed him back avidly as every possible inch of him pressed into her, thighs, cock, stomach and mouth. His hot, muscled weight felt like heaven on top of her and, as he drove into her with inexorable passion, her pussy broke around him in fierce, wracking throbs. She thrashed against her bonds, wild with lust as he rode his own orgasm into a shuddering flood inside her.
He rolled off to her side and gathered her flushed and sweaty body into his arms. She didn’t realize she was crying until his tongue licked away the tears leaking from her blindfold. The satin was wet and sticking to her eyelashes. Embarrassed and confused by her rush of emotion, she burrowed into his skin. Her Muse kissed her mouth once more and she tasted the salt of her tears on his lips. Together they fell asleep.
* * *
Chelsea slept a more contented, deeper sleep than she’d experienced in years. When she awoke, the brightness of daylight hurt her eyes. She was in a strange white bedroom. Quickly, she sat up, still naked, last night’s events washing over her mind in a hot flood of recall. Her blindfold was gone and so was her outfit. The handcuffs had been removed.
Only a faint redness around her wrists proved that last night was not a dream.
She quickly pulled on her clothes and crept out of the empty house. A dark blue dawn was just beginning to lighten the suburban street and the air was bitterly cold. The limousine was idling at the curb. She knew it was silly, but as she collapsed into the back seat, her throat ached with a renewal of her tears the night before. Despite never seeing his face, the thought of another week without her Muse was unbearable. She knew it would sound insane to any reasonable person, yet she was really beginning to believe that within the kinky games of the Society, she was falling in love.
Chapter Five
“I’d like to see you after class, Chelsea.”
Professor Deveaux’s tone sounded almost reprimanding. Was she upset? Chelsea studied her as the rest of the students filed out of the classroom. Her professor’s beautiful face looked aloof and disapproving as she approached. Chelsea couldn’t understand why. She already knew she had passed her second test. She had submitted her story from last weekend and received back an email telling her to prepare for her third test. So why was her professor frowning ever so slightly?
Yet the frown vanished as she approached. Instead, Professor Deveaux smiled at her almost maternally. “Ma chère. I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your story. Much better than your first.”
Chelsea broke into a sheepish grin. “Thanks, Professor.”
Her professor played with a pearl earring. “And yet… I did want to check in with you and remind you, yes, he is just a Muse. A plaything, ma chère, no one of any consequence. Your story sounded almost as if you were…getting emotionally involved. And that would be silly, yes?”
A wave of foolishness and guilt swept through Chelsea. Professor Deveaux was right, of course. She was already deeply and hopelessly attached to her mystery man. They might not have exchanged words or names, but they had exchanged a physical and emotional euphoria that went beyond words. So what? Who said she couldn’t lose her heart to such a sensitive, sexually gifted man?
“No, I’m not emotionally involved,” she said in her best reassuring voice. “I just was being…passionate in my story. It was a very erotic night for me.”
“I see.” Professor Deveaux smiled deeply, tiny crinkles emphasizing the beauty of her dark eyes. “I was just making sure.”
Chelsea’s stomach fluttered each night that week as she checked her email. Valentine’s Day was fast approaching, with the Ball where she was to be initiated. But no further instructions from the Society were forthcoming. To alleviate her restless longings, she tried to channel her energy into a story about a mysterious chestnut-haired stranger. Writing her fantasies was as close as she could get to him, but of course it wasn’t close enough. Strangely, reading her Jonathan Danvers novels didn’t alleviate her frustration either. They were just books now, a pastiche of paper and ink that were a cold substitute for the hot body that had made her come so intensely and beautifully.
She wanted the real man.
That Friday night she found the familiar anonymous email waiting for her.
Dear Chelsea,
Congratulations. Your third test awaits you Sunday night. Your driver will pick you up at eight o’clock.
And remember, the true test of erotic love is recognition.
Recognition? What did that mean? She swallowed nervously. Was she supposed to provide a clue that she knew he was Jonathan Danvers? Perhaps if she didn’t, she would fail.
Just the thought of being rejected from Erotics Anonymous formed a lump in her throat. Membership no longer mattered a tenth as much as seeing him again. She knew that her feelings for her Muse were breaking the Society rules. She was supposed to be embracing a lifestyle of erotic exploration, not falling in love. But that was exactly what was happening for the first time in her life and there was no way she was going to relinquish such a passionate experience on principle. As far as she was concerned, she would have her Muse and the Society too—if only for the networking opportunities.
