When Muses Attack!

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My face twitches with suppressed hysterical laughter as I try to form a coherent thought. Nothing is coming to me. I stand up and trot to the kitchen for another beer. Damn! I start giggling. I can’t help it.

Mr. Wicked’s menacing growl cuts thru my giggles. “Get back in here,” he demands.

I reluctantly oblige him but am unable to look him in the eye for fear I will again burst into fits of laughter. He is taking this quite personally.

“Sorry,” I say out of habit. “Where were we?”

He tries to give me the stare down which would be quite intimidating if I had not grown up with the inventor of the stare down, my mother. His attempt is not so threatening and I only smile in return.

“Ah, yes,” I say, sitting on the arm of the sofa, my feet towards him. “You were telling me how I can’t live without you or some such nonsense.”

No answer. I can feel him getting more and more angry but I just can’t help pressing my temporary advantage. It’s so rare that I have one!

“Tell me, Mr. Wonderful, where DO you come up with these ideas?” I ask sarcastically.

I expect him to vanish and leave me in peace but he’s really pissed. And really fast. Damn him! I keep forgetting how quick he can be when he wants to. In one swift motion, he grabs my ankles and jerks me flat onto the couch, covering me with his hard body and never spilling a drop of beer. That’s quite impressive.

One of my arms is pinned next to the back of the sofa and the other clutches my beer desperately. I’ve half a mind to clobber him with the bottle (instinct from so many bar fights I guess) but I don’t. He takes it from my hand and casually sets it on the coffee table.

“Now, where were we?” He purrs menacingly.

“Get off me,” I hiss, punching him in the shoulder. He weighs a ton to be disembodied.

For an answer, he pushes himself against me, mashing me even further into the cushions as his hand grasps my wrist. I grunt. My first instinct, of course, is to beat his ass. Like I would my brothers when they start getting out of hand. Mr. Wicked is well out of hand and in serious need of a good beating, IMO.

I squirm, I wiggle and kick and struggle against him as best I can. I nearly manage to free my other arm until my strength begins to wane. In one last attempt to dislodge him, I use my legs to thrust my pelvis upward hoping to throw him off onto the floor. I do not succeed. Even more annoying is that I have become very aware of his lean thighs pressing against mine and I don’t like it.

He grunts. “As I was saying, Mel,” he leans down to whisper in my ear. “I do believe that the reason you’ve been ignoring me is because you don’t want to share me with anyone else. Especially MY readers who seem to appreciate me more than you ever will.”

I sigh. What have I done to deserve this? Crushed under his weight and his ego all at once! A fate worse than death, to be sure!

“It’s not that I don’t ‘appreciate’ you,” I gasp. “It’s just that I’ve not got ‘the hots’ for you like they do.”

“Oh, I think you do,” he purrs, slowly grinding his pelvis against me so I can feel just what I’ve been missing.

“Stop that!” I grunt, struggling again.

“No,” he answers and continues rubbing himself against me. “I’m not going to stop until you admit it.”

“OK,” I say, willing to confess to all sorts of blasphemous crimes just to get him to stop. “I want you. Happy now?”

He stops and eyes me suspiciously.

“I said I wanted you. Now will you get off me?” I demand.

“I do not like your tone, Mel,” he murmurs against my hair. “No, I do not like your tone at all.” He gently pushes himself against me and moans seductively in my ear. I can feel ‘that’ feeling in my nether regions and know I’m going to need to change my panties after this little go-round. I hate him sometimes.

I close my eyes and try to think of my readers. How they would enjoy this position so much more than I would. I marvel each time one of them says how ‘hawt’ he is and how desirable. Oh, yes, indeed he is, but he is also a hateful horny bastard of the first degree who never tires of jerking my chain just because he knows he can.

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