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My student is stalking me. I knew I should’ve gone into book publishing.
OH STARTING OUT STRONG
Now, a student with a hard-on is trailing me like a puppy.
Oh, okay.
I can’t remember the last time anyone asked me about my favorite books.
“Saint de Haas.”
Shit. He can’t be asking me out. I can’t say no to a face that’s practically begging me to sit on it.
Briar Shea wants to fuck me.
No, my biggest fan has a body that deserves to be immortalized in fiction.
Writer’s block at its worst. A block that no amount of refilling the creative well can overcome. I’m a writer without words. A pen without ink.
“So if you don’t believe in love, why do you read all those romance books?” “Because it’s a fantasy. Reading about a fantasy is fun, but you know it’s not reality.”
“A girlfriend who will become my wife. You can’t compete with my biggest fan.”
Then it occurs to me: I can.
My head tips back with a laugh. This girl is something else. Something special.
To keep writing, to finish my book, I need more of her. All of her.
She is mine, to have and to hold, from this day forward. ’Til death do us part. And even in death, I won’t let the universe take her from me.
No other man will touch her. She’s mine. And I will eliminate anyone who comes between us.
Any creep could be out here listening. She’s lucky I’m the only one out here.
“What did you just call me?” Saint grins. “You’re my muse.”
“I couldn’t write again until I met you. You are my inspiration, Briar. You are the ink in my pen, the words on my page, the voice in my head, the name tattooed on my heart.”
“If I could imprint you on my brain, I would.”
All I want is to protect her, keep her, love her, worship her. Someday, she’ll realize that.
“So I was crying into my Starbucks while browsing for romance books—” “As one does.”
“And then he kissed you.” “You’re all caught up.”
He thinks I’m his muse, his inspiration. Without me, he can’t write. He needs me. Which means he won’t let me go without a fight.
“Maybe it’s time to stalk the stalker.”
“So did you buy me a new book then?” Sarcasm drips from her every word. I flash her a wicked grin. “I bought you every book.”
“What have I told you, Briar? You’re my muse. Where you go, I follow. What you need, I give. What you crave, I provide. I am yours to use as you see fit. To fulfill all your desires. And you are my inspiration. You are the pen that writes my words. The body that owns my cock. The laugh that owns my heart. The mind that owns my soul.”
“Give me a kiss, and I’ll write you a chapter. Wrap that pretty mouth around my cock, and I’ll write you a book.” She grimaces and opens her mouth to vehemently object, but I’m not done. I stroke my thumb down her cheek until it comes to rest on her delicately pointed chin. She doesn’t push me away. “Let me come inside that perfect pussy, and I’ll write you enough books to fill a library.”
But maybe he didn’t simply read my favorite book. Maybe he wrote it.
Saint de Haas may or may not be my favorite author, S.T. Nicholson.
“Forbidden love is so romantic.”
In the meantime, I have another problem to handle: Saint de Haas. Or S.T. Nicholson.
Welcome home, muse.
I type Briar de Haas. I’m in. My stomach churns. He already thinks of me as his wife. His.
“I’ve never known hunger until I met you. I have been starved since the day I laid eyes on you, Briar Shea.” His gaze locks with mine in a promise. “Now I’ll feast.”
“Fuck, muse. I couldn’t have written a more perfect woman.”
To my muse, may you come almost as hard from my words as you will from my tongue.
“No one will ever keep me from you, muse. Including you. Even if you broke my legs, I would crawl to you.”
“Great. I’ll email it to—” “Email it. Fax it. Text it. Send it via carrier pigeon. Whatever you need to do.” “Why are you breathing like that?” I hang up.
“Maybe that’ll teach you not to spy on women in their own homes.” “Woman,” he corrects. “There are no women—there is only you.”
Maybe I have found a saint to worship.
“It’s much deeper than that. I’m the yin to your yang. The other half of your soul. We’re both broken, but our pieces fit perfectly together to make each other whole again. You want someone who’s obsessed with you. You want to be the only woman who exists in his world. You’ll only find that with me.”
Briar Shea is well and truly mine. She might as well change her last name to de Haas now. She’s certainly already Briar de Haas in my mind.
She is more than my muse—she’s my goddess, and I’ll worship at her altar every second she desires.
I’ll be damned to hell for all of eternity if I let a serial killer make me come. So I guess I better learn to love the flames.
“Yes. They may call you Saint, but your tongue is pure evil.”
“If my tongue is evil, then let me help you sin.”
“There is no other woman for me, and no other man for you.”
“Fuck me!” I growl. He tsks. “The more demanding you are, the harder you’re getting fucked.”
