When Muses Attack!

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A/N: He’s talking. I’m writing. Yay! (big sigh of relief from me!)

Sandra – oh, you know he’d take a great offense to that (if you got a pin, too) and pout for days. LOL! Girl, are you KIDDING?? No way would I tell a dude that! No way! They all want to start telling you WHAT to write. Ugh. His Wickedness on my butt is MORE than enough, thankyouverymuch! Hehehehe! (I call him “dude” a lot. It’s a bad habit).

Naira – oh, he is naughty! Shame on him! But really, he has a point. As much as I hate to admit it. Dammit!

Gingersnap – Oh, I don’t think he’s jealous so much as pissed that he was left at home and couldn’t join in the fun! He’s like a big kid sometimes.

Kathy – well, I have to grudgingly admit that he has been very good to me as far as telling me the story goes. But, boy, have I paid for it in other ways! LOL! Now don’t go giving him any ideas! Advice column! He’d just say, “go get some action.” LOL!

~~~

“Another thing to keep your attention from me,” he frowns in disgust as I eagerly open the large box I have picked up after work today.

“Shush!” I say and wave him away impatiently.

My violin has arrived. I have always wanted one and I found one on the infernal ebay so I will attempt to play it. Why not?

I remove it from the case and look at it. It is elegant and delicate. He is intrigued by it and I hand it to him. He turns it over in his hands appreciatively before handing it back to me.

“It is beautiful,” he admits grudgingly.

For the next few days I practice it, much to his annoyance. I’m not quite sure if it is the screeching noise that bothers him or the mere fact that I have something other than HIM to occupy my attention again.

But he has at returned to plague me and I have a feeling he wants to talk. I mean, why would he be hanging around again, right? Of course, I ASKED him to come back but that’s beside the point. He’s back and he wants to talk.

It doesn’t take long for him to make his move. I’m sitting in bed one evening reading a magazine when he tosses a book at me. It’s a collection of paintings by Bouguereau. I shrug and start looking idly thru the book. It’s a postcard collection of his paintings I picked up somewhere. I like this book. There are some very nice paintings – the colors are soft and delicate and it reminds me of childhood for some reason.

“Yes, mmmm,” I murmur as I flip thru the pages, my eyes lingering on several of the pictures. They are quite lovely.

And then I see it. What he wants me to see - what he’s been hovering around and hinting at – the painting and how his story ends.

My jaw drops and I fall back against the pillows clutching the book to my chest as the realization dawns on me. I laugh wildly. I should have known! Oh my God, he hasn’t changed a bit! More hawt sex is what he’s after. How could I have been so stupid? Of all the scenarios I had envisioned this never even crossed my mind. Why would it? I was trying to be logical! Not hormonal! I should have known better!

“Yes!” I shout triumphantly as I kick my feet in the air, laughing with glee. “Yes!”

He scowls at my display and I leap up to hug him. He chuckles wickedly at me but I don’t care! I understand now and I can see the whole thing again! It’s perfectly clear now!

I throw myself on the bed, lying belly up and gloating silently at the ceiling, the precious book held tightly to my bosom. I should have known he would want more sex! Lots more sex. It was so easy once I stopped trying to THINK it thru logically and just let him talk.

I look at him – he’s still standing there watching me curiously with that smirk on his face. I grin shamelessly. I’m so happy he’s finally spilled the beans to me. If I had a tail it would be wagging non-stop.

“I’ve been trying to tell you for a while,” he sniffs haughtily. “You were too busy to listen.”

“Zip it!” I scold, waving a hand at him and laying the book aside. I wasn’t too busy. He was just mad and wanted to pout.

“Now come down here and spill your guts,” I demand, crawling under the covers and patting the bed next to me. I want all of his thoughts, determined to drag this last bit out of him once and for all.

He grins nefariously and slips in to bed next to me. I press myself close to him, staring into those gray eyes, trying to read his thoughts. Silently I will him to speak! I want to crawl into that mind of his and drag every last detail out. Right this minute! But he is playing coy now. He has me where he wants me – needing him – and he’s going to torture me at his leisure.

But I don’t care really. I know where he’s going now. I can see the end. And he cannot stop me from writing it. I’m nearly quivering with excitement and relief. He needs to start talking this very instant before I burst from anticipation!

“Your eyes are green,” he murmurs seductively.

“They are not,” I frown. He’s trying to change the subject and I won’t have it. “Now talk.”

“Yes, they are,” he says softly. His eyes are half-closed; his dark lashes nearly touching.

Suddenly I become very aware of him, his heat, the way his firm body presses against mine, the smell of him and I shiver. He’s trying to seduce me again. How could I have been so stupid? Ah! Mentally I curse my own eagerness to get the story from him. Now I’m stuck.

“Stop it!” I growl.

He chuckles wickedly. “You asked me to come back,” he reminds me. “And you asked me to get into bed with you.”

I scowl at him. “Yes, but I didn’t ask you to try and seduce me.”

“I am not trying to ‘seduce’ you,” he purrs innocently. “It is merely your body becoming aroused by my proximity. As it always does.”

“Whatever,” I snap. “Stop it. And start talking.”

“As you wish,” he agrees and proceeds to describe to me, in minute and graphic detail how the naiads keep him from hearing the call. He knows he’s torturing me and he’s enjoying it thoroughly.

My heart is pounding and although I am trying to control my breathing it’s not working. To add to my torture, I can feel his graceful hands sliding ever so slowly over my side and down my thigh as his throaty voice continues to describe his pleasure to me.

I close my eyes. “That’s enough,” I whisper grabbing his hand. He needs to stop now. My body is tight with lust at his story and I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

“But I have not yet finished,” he murmurs gently. Although my eyes are closed I know his lips are dangerously close to mine. I can feel them there, a mere breath away full and pink and inviting. They are probably half parted, too, just waiting for me to make one false move. I tremble slightly at the thought. I want him and I hate him for it.

“Well, I have,” I say calmly, willing my heart to stop pounding.

He chuckles nefariously. “Open your eyes, Mel,” he commands softly.

I peek at him thru my lashes. I don’t want to see him this close to me. I don’t want him to be this close to me and yet I like it. I missed him, the bastard! I frown at my own weakness.

“Our lips are almost touching,” he purrs.

Indeed they are, just as I had suspected. I swallow hard. The temptation to have him is almost irresistible. But instead I take the opportunity to study him, his dark thick lashes, the steely gray eyes, his flawless skin, his mass of gleaming platinum hair lying over my pillows. He is painfully beautiful and he knows this. If only he were sweet and gentle like Legolas instead of piss and vinegar!

Wordlessly I turn my back to him but he does not protest. He knows that soon I will give in to him. He can feel it and I can as well. But I will deny him and my own lust for as long as humanly possible. Once he has me what is to keep him here and talking to me? I cannot risk my – er – HIS story for my own hormones. It’s just not right.

~~~