The Muse

The Fourth Session.

Sometimes I fucking hate my friends.

My throat is as dry as a bone, my stomach is in knots, my head is pounding and for the moment, I harbour an unusual hatred for sunshine. I have to drag myself out of bed just to make it to the bathroom for an aspirin, a glass of water and a hot shower. My headache fades quickly enough and the shower washes away my nausea, but the weakness is still there. I need three cups of tea before the caffeine kicks in hard enough to get me to work.

Shit, I still have to go to work.

I'm an absolute wreck on the way to the studio. I've slapped on the closest jeans and jumper that I could grab, I haven't bothered with my hair or makeup and I hide my bruised eyes behind sunglasses. I ignore the stares I get on the streets, but curse myself when I see Alex by the front door of the building. He looks as gorgeous as ever and I look and feel like shit. Great.

Alex looks up from his book and nearly chokes on his cigarette when he sees me. I don't blame him.

"Jesus," he gasps. "You don't look so good."

"What are you talking about? I feel amazing. See?"

I take off my sunglasses and force a smile, but even that feels physically draining.

"Good night, I take it?" he asks.

"My friends are fiends. I'll just leave it at that. They like you, by the way."

The statement appears to startle him almost as much as my appearance does. "I'm sure I'd be happy to hear this if I knew them...at least, I don't think I know them. Should I? Okay, how many of them are life models and do any of them play poker?"

"You play poker?"

"I dabble."

I manage to smile, for real this time, and find my keys in my bag. "Neither of them and no," I answer. "I just showed them some of the sketches I did the other day. They think you've caused an improvement in my work. They think you're a hot muse."

His back straightens. I seem to have stroked his ego a little.

"Well," he says. "That's very nice of them, but I'm not sure if it's their opinion that matters to me."

He looks straight at me and somehow makes my smile even wider. Even when I'm a mess on legs he still manages to make me smile.

Before I can open the door, he snuffs out his cigarette and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Leave the door open for me, okay?"

"What for?"

"I just want to grab something. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

I nod and he is off while I make my way into the studio. Once I'm there I set up my supplies and Alex is back within five minutes. He has two paper bags in hand and offers them both to me.

"What's this?" I ask.

"Breakfast."

"You bought me breakfast?"

"Nothing cures a hangover like a good hearty breakfast, in my experience, and you look like you could use one."

We haven't even slept together (yet) and he's already buying me breakfast. I might not be able to eat much of it, but I'm oddly moved by the thought.

"That's very sweet of you. Thank you."

We sit together and I devour as much of my breakfast as I can stomach. I share some of my meal with Alex, but he mostly spends time watching me eat. He's staring at me again. We should be working, but here we are.

Once I'm full enough, I have to ask: "Alex, what's all this for?"

"What do you mean?"

"This. You buying me breakfast and being this good to me. Is this your way of asking for more?"

Alex furrows his brow. He's still staring at me, only in a completely different way from how he's stared at me before.

"Helena," he says. "I'm not asking for anything. I'm just helping you out when you need it."

"Why?"

"'Cause I like you."

It seems like such a simple answer, but I know it isn't.

"Why?" he asks. "Hasn't anyone bothered to be nice to you?"

I don't speak for a long time. I think about Alex in comparison to everyone else I've been with. I remember Kirk, Josh, Mike and Eric. I only remember their names because of the memories, even the little ones, that I can actually look back on with a smile. Several others I've lost to drunken mistakes. The nicest thing I can remember a guy doing for me is not getting pissed off when I wouldn't sleep with him or driving me home when I was too drunk to go alone.

"Not this nice," is all I can say, but even that feels like too much information.

My gaze is lifted by two gentle fingers on my chin and only the tiniest glimpse of his smile returns. I manage to return the smile and inch my way towards him.

My phone stops me.

I curse under my breath and dig through my bag. When I find my phone, I see Victoria's perfect picture on the cover. I curse under my breath and secretly hope Alex doesn't see her picture. What the hell does she want?

I apologize to Alex and answer Victoria's call.

"Hey," I answer.

"Morning, sunshine," Victoria's voice chimes. "I was just passing by your studio and I still have some time to kill before work. D'you mind if I stop for a little visit?"

Shit. "Um...I dunno."

"I've got some fresh tea. I thought you might need it."

Sure she does. "Oh, that's sweet, but I really don't..."

"It's the least I can do to make up for making you drink so much last night. I owe you."

I'm not going to win this one, am I? "Sure. The door's open."

"Lovely! Now I get to meet this new model of yours."

You bitch.

I hang up and turn back to Alex, who has his brow furrowed now.

"Who was that?" he asks.

"Victoria," I answer. "She's a friend of mine. She's just going to pop by for a quick visit. Is that okay?"

"Of course, it's okay."

Wonderful. I have a gorgeous and amazing model about to meet my equally gorgeous and amazing friend and I have a hangover. I might take advantage of one of the many sharp objects in this studio.

Victoria arrives with tea for three barely a minute after her call. She wears her long, blond hair down so it waves down her ten-inch waist and she bears her even longer legs with a skirt that is barely the length of my hand. In spite of my weakness and obvious inferiority, I greet her with a hug and introduce her to Alex.

"Nice to meet you," he says, shaking her hand.

"Likewise," Victoria beams. "I've heard so much about you."

"Vicky," I try to scold her, but she shrugs me off.

"Helena was telling us just the other night that she'll be painting you as Hades, yes?"

"So I've been told," Alex smiles, "but from the way she hides it she may well be painting me as a clown or something on those lines."

"Oh, I don't blame you at all! She's so secretive with her work. You know, she painted me as Aphrodite once and she had to tie me up just to keep me from looking."

You fucking bitch. "I have never painted you, Vicky, and you know it."

Victoria looks to me and then back to Alex. "Really?" she says. "You should. Don't you think, Alex?"

Alex only shrugs. "I don't see why not. Helena, what do you think? You're the artist."

I would rather chug a full bottle of solvent. "I'll think about it."

Victoria beams brightly at me and I force myself to smile back. I make a mental note to paint her as Medusa.

Victoria stays longer than promised. Alex is back in his pose, talking to her, as I stand by my easel. I should be painting in the details of the cloth that covers so little of Hades' body, but I can't look away from the way my model looks at my friend, nor can I ignore the playful tones in their voices. I don't care to listen to what they're saying, but I can't ignore the way they look at each other, even as Alex flashes a glance at me every now and then.

If we were in a porn movie, Victoria would be sucking Alex's cock right now and I'd be touching myself as I watch them. Soon, he'd have her spreadeagled on the floor, fucking her hard enough to make her scream. I can just picture him looking straight at me while he does it, too, as if to mock me. In my mind, he fucks her just so I can watch and he can tease me some more.

"Helena?" he says I don't know how many times and I snap from my thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I lie. "Yes, I'm fine."

Victoria, knowing better, looks me up and down. "Well," she says. "I suppose I'd best be off to work. It was nice meeting you, Alex."

"You too," says Alex, but his tone is gentler than hers.

"Hope you feel better, Helena."

I hope she trips on her stupid stilettos and breaks her neck on the stairs, but I wave goodbye.

I suggest a break once Victoria is gone, mostly because I'm too tired to keep painting and need to sit down. Once I do, Alex sits right next to me, still naked.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine," I tell him. "It's just the hangover. That's all."

He looks at me differently when he crouches down before me. "I don't think it is. You looked upset when Victoria came over. I thought she was your friend."

"She is. I just...I kind of hate her sometimes."

Alex chuckles, as if he knows how it feels to hate a friend.

"She likes you," I tell him. "She's one my friends from last night who said you were a hot muse."

Alex's smile returns, this time for me. "I like her too, but like I said before, it's not her opinion that matters to me."

"What does matter to you, then?"

Alex doesn't answer. He only lifts his hand to move a strand of hair from my face. His touch, as chaste as it seems, feels strangely intimate and I wonder if that is his doing or my knowledge of what his touch can do.

"Lay down," he tells me.

I do what I'm told. I don't know why. I don't often take demands from a man. Perhaps I'm too hungover to argue, let alone ask why. I lay down on the ground and Alex hovers over me. I feel him removing my jeans and my knickers. He handles me delicately, almost as if he's afraid to break me with even the slightest grip. He's a big bloke, after all, so I must feel as fragile as a baby bird to him.

"What are you doing?" I ask him.

That smile again. "I'm helping you. I just need you to trust me. You trust me, don't you?"

I hesitate, but nod and before long he is trailing kisses up my left thigh and down my right. He teases me with the gentlest kisses from my feet, my calves, my thighs and to my pubic bone. He stays there the longest, inhaling the scent of my wet cunt. I try to guide him to where I want him the most, but no matter how frustrated I get or how hard I pull his hair, he doesn't give me what I want until I beg: "Please! Please, Alex!"

There is that smile again. Alex teases me one last time with a long lick up the labia before growling: "Good girl."

Before I can beg even more his face is buried between my legs and his hot mouth devours my cunt.

"Oh, fuck!"

Alex's tongue is as clever as his fingers. He is quick to learn my anatomy and he appears to take note of every move he makes and the effect it has on me. My clit, for example, is more sensitive against his tongue when his fingers move against my g-spot at just the right pressure and speed. I can tell he likes what it does to me because of the way he looks at me when he continues and I can feel that smile against my cunt.

He makes me writhe. He makes me moan. He makes me come.

Alex continues to lick me until I ride off my orgasm. Once I come down, his lips are glistening with my juices and he peppers my hips and my thighs with wet kisses. I feel lighter and I'm in a state of bliss.

"Alex?"

He lifts his head.

"I like you too," I tell him.

He smiles at me, but it's a different smile than what I'm used to seeing on him. I don't know if it's the way he looks at me or the fact that my juices are still dripping from his lips. I'm going with a combination of the two.

"Good," he says. "How are you feeling?"

"Fucking amazing."