Read Becoming His Muse, Part Three for Free Online Page A

partially painted white sheets. The sheets are splattered with graffiti markings and calligraphy squiggles. Maybe they’re part of the art project too? I shake my head, having no idea what these two are up to, but grateful, at least, to have a private space to work for one day.
    Shelves line almost every wall. Each shelf is crammed with books, papers, electronic equipment, art supplies, and all manner of quirky paraphernalia. Plus a large terrarium. To say the place feels cluttered is an understatement. I’d be tempted to call DnC hoarders, except that most of the stuff stashed could be used for their unusual art installations.
    I clear off part of the kitchen table and put away the food I brought.
    At least the bed looks clean, though I’m glad I brought my own set of sheets and pillow cases.
    I set up my paints and canvas. Before I get to work, I have a closer look at the variety of puppets. They have large heads, hands, and feet. A few have those sparkly bike tassels, like the one on the key ring, for hair. None of the puppets has eyes, which, oddly, makes me feel a little more comfortable.
    ***
    I’m making good progress on my painting when my phone buzzes. Logan is downstairs. I quickly strip off my clothes down to my bra and panties and slip into the black silk robe I packed for just this occasion. Then I change my mind and take off the bra and panties as well. Tying the robe’s sash around my waist, I step outside.
    I let Logan through the gate and into the stairwell. He’s holding a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers. How sweet. He growls his approval when he sees my silky black robe.
    “What’s under there?” he says.
    “ Nothing …” I dash back up the stairs before he can catch me. As I push through the metal door, I warn him. “The place is a little strange. Ignore the puppets.”
    “Puppets?”
    “And the turtles.”
    He steps cautiously into the the loft.
    “Goddamn…”
    “I know, weird, right?”
    He’s transfixed. “Where are their eyes?”
    I shrug. “It’s better if you don’t look up.”
    He puts the wine on the table and looks around the rest of the place. I search around for a vase for the flowers.
    “Nice work, Ava,” he says heading toward my half-finished canvas.
    “I got a lot done today. Enough so that now I can play .”
    He looks over his shoulder at me and arches an eyebrow. “Any special game you had in mind?”
    I slink over to him.
    “Yes. Strip poke-her. I strip and you poke me.”
    I knock his hat off his head and he catches it. He glances at the low bed, which I’ve draped with my sheets.
    “What are the stakes?”
    “You have to risk it all .” I untie my robe and show him I’m stripped already. His breath catches as he looks me up and down.
    I take a step toward him and whisper, “So far, I’m winning.”
    He reaches for my breasts, cups them gently. I push his jacket off and then grab him by the belt buckle and pull him toward the bed.
    “I’ve been waiting all day for this,” I say.
    “I’ve been waiting all week.” He kicks off his shoes. “Lie down,” he says. “Against those pillows. I want to look at you.”
    I oblige, positioning myself gracefully and seductively across several pillows. My robe is open and sliding off my shoulders but not off completely.
    “Touch yourself,” he says as he removes his shirt and unbuckles his belt.
    I lick my fingers first and then trail them along my chest and down to my belly button. Then lower.
    “Here?” I say, sliding my fingers across my mons.
    “Yes, there.” He slips out of his pants, touches himself through his boxers.
    “Show me,”I say. “I want to see it.” He pulls the edge of his boxers down so I can only see the tip. My mouth starts watering immediately.
    I slide my fingers along my slick labia, opening wider for him to see.
    “Do you want to watch me again?”
    He nods.
    “Do you want to spank me again?”
    He gives me a devilish smile and nods a second time.
    “Everything