Olive sat up, eyes screwed shut and nostrils flared. The new position allowed Kate better freedom of movement with her hand, and she took advantage by working her thumb and index finger along the rigid shaft of Olive’s clit. Olive’s thighs tensed, then quivered, as she matched the rhythm of Kate’s caress with her lower body. Before long, her eyes flew open and she grabbed Kate’s shoulder, jerking her hips erratically as her steady chant built from a whisper to a loud, throaty exclamation. “Yes, yes, yes…yes…yes!”
Kate realized they were still holding hands when Olive nearly broke her fingers as her orgasm hit. Wincing in pain, she didn’t allow her other hand to falter in its rhythm even momentarily. Her plan was to overwhelm Olive with pleasure or die trying, despite the iron grip on her fingers and her shoulder. “That’s right, baby, give it to me.”
Hips moving almost violently, Olive rode her to a breathless climax that seemed to completely drain her of energy. She collapsed onto Kate’s chest, hanging on to both shoulders as she fought to regain her breath. Kate slipped her hand out from between them and rubbed Olive’s back while she recovered from her climax.
Erato broke the silence first. “That looked like a big one.”
Kate felt Olive smile against her shoulder. “It was.”
“Do you have anything left?” Erato’s arm moved and, seconds later, Olive inhaled swiftly. “Or has Kate ruined you?”
Olive lifted her head. “It’s very possible she’s ruined me.”
Kate tried not to read too much into Olive’s words despite the very sincere, very tender gaze being directed at her. She mustered the cockiest grin in her arsenal. “You’re welcome.”
“How are you feeling, Kate?” Erato scraped a fingernail along her thigh. “Sated?”
“And sore.” Despite the aches and pains associated with a day of marathon sex, she wished she had the strength to keep going. She wasn’t ready for this to be over—or for Olive to leave. “Regrettably.”
With a murmured apology, Olive pulled herself up with a subtle wince. Aching at the realization that they were no longer joined—and might never be again—Kate caught Olive’s hand before she could roll off the bed. “Stay the night.”
She wasn’t sure Olive would agree. Then Erato said, “Yes, stay. It’s too late to go home now, anyway.”
Olive glanced at Erato, then Kate. She seemed hesitant, though Kate wasn’t sure why. They’d been so comfortable together all evening. The last thing she would’ve expected was for Olive to attempt a hasty escape as soon as the act was done. To her relief, Olive’s face softened and she nodded, then settled onto the mattress at Kate’s side. “All right.”
A wave of fatigue rolled over Kate along with the relief. “Good.” Boneless, she gave Erato a grateful smile when her muse sat up to unbuckle the leather harness around her hips. “Thank you.”
Erato returned her smile. “Wake up inspired and ready to write. That’s all the thanks I’ll need.”
Kate nodded. She wanted nothing more than to be able to do exactly that. “I’ll try.” Aware she was still clasping Olive’s hand, she turned her head and gazed into soft brown eyes. “Hi.”
Flashing white teeth, Olive murmured, “Hi.”
“So it was okay?”
“It was more than okay.” Olive turned onto her side without letting go. Instead, she laced their fingers together and brought their joined hands to rest next to her stomach. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Kate lifted her hips to allow Erato to take the harness and dildo away, then sighed in appreciation when her muse pulled the comforter up from the foot of the bed to cover them. Extending her free arm, she gestured at Erato. “Come on, lie down with us.”
Erato turned off the lamp and curled up at her other side. She patted Kate’s stomach fondly, then kissed her on the cheek. “Naughty dreams, Kate.”
Olive vibrated with silent giggles. “Yes, mind firmly in the gutter, please.”
Kate snickered sleepily but craned to return Erato’s kiss. “Thank you. Really,” she whispered.
“Just wake up ready to work.”
Mumbling her agreement, Kate attempted to force her fuzzy thoughts to all she’d just experienced. She had so much to draw inspiration from. Her muse. Hours of nonstop sex. Her first one-night stand. A threesome. Olive.
Olive. Her smile. The way they’d hit it off so quickly and easily. Tasting her. Being inside her. Without conscious thought, she squeezed Olive’s hand—and felt a veritable surge of inspiration when the slim fingers tangled in hers tightened in response, seconds before she dropped off to sleep.
Chapter Eight
The next day Kate woke up feeling like she’d been hit by a truck and left to die on the side of a desert highway. Her dry throat ached for a cool drink of water, but her muscles hurt too much to contemplate a trip to the kitchen without a serious gathering of willpower. The urgency of her need for sustenance led to a second, startling realization: despite having fallen asleep sandwiched between two naked, beautiful women, she was now all alone in the center of her very empty bed.
Groaning at the herculean effort required, she raised her head and forced her blurry vision into focus to read her digital alarm clock. 12:36 p.m. She collapsed back onto her pillow and closed her eyes, unsettled by the late hour. She’d always been a heavy sleeper—and never an early riser—so it wasn’t terribly surprising that she’d slumbered past noon. What unnerved her was that she hadn’t been roused by either of her bedmates disentangling themselves and leaving.
A terrible thought tickled at the back of her mind before exploding, full force, into panic. Kate’s eyes flew open and she sat up quickly, cursing the agony of her protesting muscles. Her gaze darted around the room in a frantic search for evidence that she hadn’t imagined the whole damn thing. A muse? Really? Despite the very real workout she’d had, perhaps she’d finally succumbed to the isolation and mental illness almost inherent in a writer’s life. Could she honestly have hallucinated the entire day? Did Erato even exist? Her chest ached. Or Olive?
As though summoned by her rising distress, Erato walked into the bedroom wearing only one of Kate’s T-shirts. She carried a tray upon which she’d balanced a bottle of water, a glass of apple juice, and a bagel, toasted and cut in half. A small container of cream cheese and a banana rounded out the selection. Dizzy with relief at the sight of breakfast and her not-so-imaginary friend, Kate sagged against the headboard and grinned. “Hey. I was just—”
“Starting to worry that your imagination had finally run away with you?”
Strangely reassured by Erato’s uncanny ability to read her, Kate shrugged. “You have to admit, the past twenty-four hours have been slightly unbelievable.”
Smiling, Erato climbed into bed beside her and set the tray on her lap. “Not from my perspective. But I do appreciate how you might feel that way.” She tucked a lock of sleep-mussed hair behind Kate’s ear, then gave her a gentle kiss that immediately woke up every part of her body. “Good morning, my sweet storyteller.”
Kate returned the kiss, no longer concerned about her obvious physical limits. Instinctively, she put her hand on Erato’s knee and slid toward the juncture of her bare thighs. She had no idea what it was about this woman that elicited such an unthinking, passionate response, but she liked it—and she was damn glad this hadn’t been a product of her imagination.
“Eh-eh,” Erato murmured, removing Kate’s hand with a giggle. “Breakfast first. You need to replenish.”
She wasn’t wrong. Resigned to focusing on her other needs, Kate backed off with a nod. That’s when she realized that her most immediate need was a trip to the restroom. “Actually—”
Erato gestured toward the bathroom while picking up the tray. “Go ahead, I’ll wait.”
“Thank you.” As she scrambled out of bed, a pang of disappointment caused her to falter. The bathroom door was open, which had to mean—“Olive isn’t in there?”
“No, she left a few hours ago.” Erato tilt
ed her head, clearly bemused. “She woke up around nine and left almost immediately. Said she had an appointment, and to tell you that she had an amazing time.”
“Oh.” The pang became an ache. What else had she expected? Olive’s bucket-list wish had been a one-night stand, and that was that. Leaving without saying good-bye was the very definition of a one-night stand. “So she seemed okay this morning?”
“She was fine,” Erato said, still smiling. “A little tired, maybe, but very satisfied.” She paused. “Why?”
“No reason.” Not entirely sure what she’d hoped to hear, Kate fidgeted, then pointed at the bathroom. “Anyway…”
Erato laughed. “Go.”
Once alone, Kate tried not to notice how disappointed she felt about Olive’s absence. What else had she wanted to happen? She wasn’t old-fashioned enough to believe that having sex with someone equaled a relationship. Yet when she’d fallen asleep holding Olive’s hand, she’d somehow expected to at least wake up next to her. To say good morning. Maybe even steal another kiss.
Kate sighed. A girlfriend was the last thing she needed right now. She had a deadline. She was supposed to be writing. That Olive had spared her the distraction of infatuation was a blessing, truly.
Besides, she had no idea if Erato was the jealous type—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Erato greeted her with a luminous smile. “So, are you excited about writing today?”
Kate suppressed the groan and the snarky retort that instinctively arose, not wanting to sink her mood even further. But it was too late…the fact that she would even react that way to a question about what had once been her favorite activity was depressing as hell. What was wrong with her? The thought of sitting down to work on whatever story she was telling didn’t use to fill her with dread. Now she’d become so accustomed to linking writing with frustration that the response was Pavlovian—and that was a shame, when telling stories had formerly brought her unending joy.
Dropping down onto the bed with a tired groan, Kate said, “I don’t know.”
Erato offered her half of the bagel, upon which she’d smeared an ultra-thin layer of cream cheese—exactly how Kate would have prepared it. “Eat this. It’ll help.”
She took a tentative bite, unsure if she was even hungry. As soon as she swallowed, she realized she was ravenous. “Oh,” she said, taking another bite, and then a quick drink of water. “Thank you so much for bringing this to me.”
“You’re welcome. Whatever you need, Kate.” Erato touched her leg, drawing distracting patterns with her thumb. “Remember that. I’m here to make sure you can spend all your energy and focus on writing. I’m happy to attend to all your needs.”
“You’ve already satisfied so many.” She tore the rest of the bagel in half and offered a piece to Erato, who took it only when Kate gave her a pleading look. “Listen, I’m not going to treat you like my slave or anything. I appreciate the help, believe me, but—”
“My duties are to cook for you, clean for you, do the shopping, assist you with research whenever possible, talk through any story problems you want to discuss, reward you when you achieve milestones, incentivize your word-count goals to enable you to more quickly reach them, and keep you both highly aroused and sexually satisfied in ways that will take your creativity to places you’ve never even imagined.”
It occurred to Kate that Erato was basically an author’s ultimate erotic fantasy, apparently in human form. Once again, she wondered how she’d been chosen to be the recipient of such devoted servitude. “I know you said that my words are the only compensation you need, and that you think my stories are lovely, but come on…” She gave Erato a cautious smile. “Why me? What are you really getting out of this?”
Erato swallowed the bite she’d taken and set down the rest of her bagel with a dramatic sigh. “Would you rather I leave?”
“No!” Kate set aside the tray, her appetite gone at the thought of losing her muse before they’d even begun. “Of course not. I’m sorry.” She hesitated, then searched Erato’s eyes, afraid she’d hurt her. “I’m just…still confused.”
“But that’s all right to be confused sometimes.” Erato took hold of her hand and laced their fingers together. “Isn’t it?”
Kate wasn’t sure she agreed. She hated not having a solid understanding of a situation. She supposed that was part of what vexed her about her current work-in-progress. So far, not only had the story been difficult to pin down, but even the characters and their motivations seemed nebulous. That wasn’t normally the case, and it was driving her crazy. “I’m not comfortable with uncertainty.”
“You seemed reasonably comfortable last night despite the uncertainty of how your first threesome would unfold.” Erato raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should give yourself a little more credit when it comes to thinking on your feet?”
Silently, Kate mused that Olive’s sweet and passionate nature—and not her own previously hidden talents for improvisation and going with the flow—had allowed her to be so comfortable during the previous evening’s adventure. That, and her overwhelming desire to give Olive pleasure like she’d never experienced before. Her chest ached briefly as she tried to imagine what Olive had been thinking when she left the apartment. Had she been relieved to avoid an awkward morning-after? Maybe the tangible connection Kate thought she’d felt had been entirely one-sided, and Olive’s hasty exit had simply saved her the embarrassment of believing that their one-night-stand threesome could become more. “Perhaps.”
“Your new story is an erotic romance, yes?” Erato’s earnest question pulled her away from her introspective thoughts. “Who are your characters?”
“Rose and Molly,” Kate replied without thinking. She paused, uncertain she wanted to withstand the frustration of trying to discuss her unformulated ideas with a third party. Usually she wouldn’t dare vocalize anything about a story at this stage of the writing process. She didn’t crave outside interference in her creativity until editing had begun, but in this case—considering Erato’s supposed credentials—she figured it was worth at least a brief conversation. “At the beginning of the story, Rose rescues Molly from an awkward blind date after noticing how miserable she looks. Rose is just about to leave the restaurant after a dinner with her ex, who used the occasion to break the news that he’s going to remarry and move with his new wife to Alaska, along with the dog he and Rose had adopted as a puppy. So anyway, Rose is pissed off and upset and lonely, and that’s when she notices Molly.”
“I like this so far.” Propping her chin on her hand, Erato seemed genuinely enraptured by her mediocre synopsis. “Go on.”
Sitting up straighter, Kate said, “Well, Molly is out with a woman she met through a dating website, and it’s a disaster. The woman has showed up to dinner tipsy and just keeps ordering more wine. As Rose passes her table on the way out, she notices Molly trying rather unsuccessfully to extricate herself from the situation, and their eyes meet. Seeing Molly’s desperation, Rose takes her by the hand, tosses a few bills on the table, and informs the drunken date that Molly is needed elsewhere. Then she walks her out of the restaurant hand in hand. Once they’re out on the street, Molly recovers from her surprise and thanks Rose for the save. She alludes to her poor track record when it comes to meeting women, and Rose sympathizes by alluding to her own unsuccessful history with relationships. They agree that dating sucks and that if they weren’t driven by the need for companionship and physical release, they wouldn’t even bother.”
“I think I see where this is going.”
Kate hoped Erato meant that—because she wasn’t sure she did. “Well, naturally they end up making out after Rose walks Molly to her car. Then they end up in Molly’s car, which leads to about eight thousand words of fucking that takes them from that evening through the weekend. Now I’m at a crucial moment in the story—the what next?—and I haven’t even figured out what legitimate story problems I can use to keep t
hese two having sex without succumbing to love until the end of the story.”
“Well, they’re both gun-shy after being unlucky with past partners.” Erato stroked a thumb across her knuckle, the rhythmic caress helping Kate stay calm despite the familiar frustration of not being able to see how the rest of Rose and Molly’s story should unfold. “That’s one problem.”
“But that’s way too flimsy to be the only problem. If they’re made for each other—and romance readers demand that they are—fear can only keep them apart for so long. I need something else. And I don’t know what.”
“Personality conflict?”
Kate wrinkled her nose. “No. I want something they can reasonably overcome and still live happily ever after. A timing issue, maybe, or a question of propriety…Some circumstance that might realistically keep them apart but that they can choose to have the courage to confront.”
Erato settled into the kind of thousand-yard stare that Kate knew she often wore when she was outlining a story in her head. “You mentioned that Rose has an ex-husband. Maybe she’s not sure whether she could have a meaningful romantic relationship with another woman? Or Molly could be nervous about Rose’s bisexuality. Perhaps she’s not convinced that Rose truly wants to get serious with a woman.”
“Ugh,” Kate said, then shrugged in apology. “Sorry, I’m just not interested in writing about someone coming to terms with her sexuality again right now—or making Molly into a character who is judgmental about bisexuality. I guess I’m hoping for more of a real-world, through-no-fault-of-their-own obstacle.”
The Muse Page 8
