Becoming His Muse, Part Two by KC Martin

aroused, too. I can feel his hard length as I press against his thigh.
    His fingers flicker playfully in my jeans making me crazy. I reach for his button and zipper. I need to touch him, smell him, taste him.
    “What if someone comes?” he says. And as if on cue, the door to Mick’s opens and out pours three guys. They don’t even look our way, not that they’d see us in the dark shadows, but their presence sobers me slightly. But only slightly.
    I pull Logan behind the planter. Our movement twists his hand from the back of my jeans and I feel the loss of his touch. But I want even more now. We’re deeper in the shadows, with the waist high planter between us and the open courtyard in front of Mick’s.
    “If you won’t take me somewhere else, take me here, now.”
    He turns me around in front of him so that my back is pressed against his chest. He kisses the side of my neck, whispering,
    “You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? I like it.” He bites my neck. I sigh, leaning back into his shoulder, as he pulls my ass tight against his hips. The feel of him is driving me wild, and I want to feel more .
    We still have too much clothing between us. Before I can reach around to do anything about that, one of his hand slips down the front of my jeans and two of his fingers slide over my swollen clit. And then further. They dip into my slick, dark center, curl up and begin swirling. Then they slide out, taking wetness with them, and find the nub of my clit again, where they press and pinch, flicker and dab. My legs have gone weak and I lean heavily against Logan. He licks and kisses my neck and ear while driving me primal with his fingers.
    He pushes one of his knees between my legs, so I have something to grind against. But I want him to grind against. I wanted him inside me.
    “Do it now,” I pant.
    My hands reach behind my back, my fingers searching for the button of his pants slip accidentally under his waistband. I graze the smooth, hot tip of his cock and whimper with anticipation. His fingers are still dancing inside and over me and I’m so close, so ready to explode, that I know we don’t have much time. We have to hurry. I can’t hold back for long.
    I feel Logan’s head shake against my neck. “Nuh, uh. Not that. This is for you, Baby.”
    I whine with dissent. His tongue slides along my neck to the edge of my clavicle. I try to go for his pants again. He nudges my hands aside and ups the rhythm of his fingers. Then he slides his hand under my sweater, forces the bottom edge of my bra up until he’s freed my breast and he goes for the nipple, hard. I squeal, as quietly as I can, as the first sharp edge of pain fades and then adds to the pleasure between my legs.
    Logan has me pinned against him. He holds my neck with his lips and teeth, my chest with his grip on my nipple, and my hips with his fingers snug in me like a key in a lock. I moan with frustration and feigned defiance. I’m too far gone in the pleasure realm to really fight with him, but I feel a seed of anger at his taking full control. I want to make him feel good, too.
    My thoughts shred suddenly as he pushes three fingers deep inside me and grinds the heel of his palm against my throbbing clit. With his knee, he pushes my legs apart wider. With his hand on my breast he pulls me back tight and hard and I can do nothing but lie back against him, facing the dark trees, closed buildings, and the clouded November sky above us. I keep my eyes open, feeling myself splayed and ravaged by his hands working madly under my clothes and his mouth burning a hole against my neck and jaw. I give up. I melt. I sigh out a deep, surrendering moan as his fingers swirl out their crescendo. My thighs tense, wanting to close together as my orgasm grows. He keeps his knee wedged between my legs, holds me as open as possible with his fingers, as I begin to shudder and convulse against his chest.
    “That’s it baby, come for me,” he whispers softly. “Let it