Mr. Muse
A Totally Bound Publication
Mr. Muse
ISBN #
978-1-78430-411-9
©Copyright Kelly Ethan 2015
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright January 2015
Edited by Jennifer Douglas and Faith Bicknell-Brown
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing,
Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Totally Sizzling
and a
Sexometer
of
2.
Vegas Mythbehaving
MR. MUSE
Kelly Ethan
Book two in the Vegas Mythbehaving
series
Crazy Greek Gods, a romance writer in need of sexy inspiration and someone out for blood… Trouble is coming.
What do you get when you cross crazy Greek Gods, a romance writer in need of inspiration, and someone out for blood?
Trouble.
The only problem that writer Missy Duncan has—other than her divorce—is trying to write hot love scenes. Now she’s been blown up, has a naked, hunky Muse Eric Elonikas protecting her body, and someone is trying to kill her. Oh yeah, she may have fallen in love too.
Can this day get any more complicated?
Dedication
To my Muse. Thanks for being patient. I’m finally on a roll.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Mack truck: Mack Trucks
Taurus: Ford Motor Company
Doctor Frankenstein: Mary Shelley
Jason Bourne: Robert Ludlum
Indiana Jones: George Lucas
Laurel and Hardy: Laurel and Hardy
Tweedledum: Lewis Carroll
Viagra: Pfizer, Inc.
Chapter One
“She caressed his strong, iron shaft with her delicate virgin fingers, all the while trembling in pleasurable terror.”
Missy snorted in disgust at her purple prose. Damn it, this sex stuff wasn’t easy—especially when you’d split with your cheating husband. Besides, what was the big deal? A stuck his appendage in B and most of the time, B faked it.
Resting her head in her hands, Missy tried to picture something romantic.
Anything!
Hot sold books. Sales meant money in the bank and security. She thumped her head on the desk. “Heat, sizzle. Vavoom. Think, Missy.”
Walks by the beach, chocolates, flowers…
Argh.
None of it made
her
want to rip her clothing off.
Her agent had demanded hot sex scenes. Sizzle sold and her normal, close-the-bedroom-door scenes weren’t selling in the current market. One reviewer went as far as to call her an old prude.
Old.
So she’d gone ahead and tried to put the sizzle into her writing. Now the damn book wouldn’t flow right.
Anyway, after her divorce, what did she know? The only orgasms that raced her way were the ones her vibrator, Mr. Happy, gave her.
“Okay, girl, suck it up and get on with it.” Missy started again, but her purple prose sat there blinking, mocking her. Staring up at the beige roof above her, she sent a mental prayer to the heavens.
Please, please, send a Muse here. Because unless I can write scorching sex scenes, I’m out of a job.
Breathing deeply, she rested her hands on the keys, closed her eyes and let the words flow out of her mouth.
“The blunt head of his hard, twitching erection drew her. Mouth moistening, she imagined slaking her thirst with the single bead of cum that glistened on the head of his cock. His hand sought her, parting the folds of her center—delving deep inside. First one finger, then another. She arched her back and drove his fingers deep. His wet thumb stroked her round and round.
“Her entire passage, soaked in desire, released the musky scent of heaven into the air. She clenched in mini paroxysms of pleasure. An interlude to the main concert. He flipped her over until she lay flat on her stomach, submissive to his dominant. His teeth stroked her backside and his finger disappeared to be replaced by his heated mouth and lips. She throbbed like a drum when his mouth parted her and his rough tongue thrust savagely inside. A high-pitched scream ripped out of her. He suckled hard and she came apart in his arms, crying his name.”
Missy breathed heavily and stared at what she’d written.
“Oh. My. God.”
She scanned the passage again. Where had that come from? She’d never experienced that sort of release in her life, let alone written about it. How on earth…?
She noticed something else. Her panties were completely soaked. It’d been six straight months without sex and almost two years without good sex. She had to be repressed if only a couple of paragraphs could have her like this. Without her brain consciously giving the order, she ran her hand across her breasts, lingering on her nipples. The plain cotton of the sports bra rubbed against her skin and caused her breath to shorten. She eased her other hand down her body and under her panty line.
Moving her fingers in a rapid rhythm, she arched her hips. All thoughts of her cheating husband, her manuscript and Mr. Happy, her vibrator, evaporated. She throbbed in time to the movement of her fingers and came in hard bursts of pleasure.
The feelings were so intense, for a moment she imagined a tall, dark, long-haired man standing to the side of her with his hands clasped around his large erection.
Wow
, she was more in need of a good fuck than she’d thought if make-believe men were appearing.
Her chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon—an orgasmic one—Missy slumped forward onto the desk, knocking her keyboard and wiping the work on the page. “Shit, I forgot to save. I guess I’ll have to write it again.”
Giggling, she twitched her clothes back into place and settled herself to write the scene again. Who needs a man when you can have a good old-fashioned hand job? Now if she could keep it up for the rest of the book…
* * * *
Keeping it up wasn’t a problem. Telling it to stay was.
Eric Elikonas stared at his offending body part standing to attention like a proud soldier. Inspire her to erotic heights and get her to write her novel. That’s all, they said…easy. But he was the one as horny as a shade in the underworld.
Filling in for his sister, Erato, while she was on maternity leave was supposed to be his vacation from teaching. Being a high-school English teacher in Vegas was fun, but every so often, he needed a holiday. He’d thought his sister’s Muse gig an easy one. Inspire one to pen an erotic poem or story, fun.
Not
. This was a family job anyway. Their mother had been the first Muse of erotic writing and his sister had happily taken over the job when it had come time. Both women swore only their family could do this job. The other Muses had their gifts, but their family was all about sex. He didn’t want to inspire others just to write sexy stories—he wanted to inspire love of the written word in everyone. Although he loved the written word, he’d only ever wanted to teach others. No Muse gig for him, but he was happy to help out if Era was on leave. She’d transferred her erotic Muse powers over to him for the course of her maternity leave and he would hand them back as soon as she’d had her baby.
Instead, he’d inspired the writer to masturbate. Disgust at his failure tore at him. Damn it. He’d never failed at anything in his centuries of life. It was his sister’s job to inspire. He was only a teacher and sadly, his inspiration skills were rusty when it came to erotic romance writers.
He turned to glare at his client. Missy Duncan, a bodice-ripping romance writer without the bodice-ripping. Her other two novels had sold poorly and she’d been told to spice it up, but had been struggling when she’d called for a Muse. Enter Eric, Mr. Sex-Scenes-Are-Us, staring at the most desirable woman he’d ever seen—and that said a lot when you saw Greek Goddesses every day.
Her short blonde hair spiked upward in jagged clumps and her cupid bow lips glistened. Blue eyes twinkled out at him, encouraging him to play, and her curves called to his body. He’d grown up in a time when the women were real and packed a punch. Every time he saw a skinny woman, he wanted to shove a burger at her. He loved small women with meat on them. Missy only came up to mid chest, so she must only be a squirt above five feet, but height didn’t matter when they were horizontal.
“Damn it.” Cursing, Eric clothed himself with a thought just in case the client saw him. When his delectable client’s head shot up, he backed away. In this form he couldn’t be seen, but could be heard. His sister had giggled when she’d told him the job had to be done
au natural
. Naked! Who the heck went to work in the buff? He glanced over at Missy and smirked.
Okay, maybe I didn’t do too badly.
Frantically typing away with a maniacal grin, she chuckled every now and then. He smirked. He had certainly inspired her…
A sense of foreboding slammed into him with the power of a Mack truck. Eric shuddered and straightened.
Something’s wrong.
Clenching his teeth, he focused on the only piece of furniture in the room. Missy’s computer. He opened his senses.
Missy formed large in his sight, her desk looming behind, dominating, and overpowering her. The outline of the computer wavered, gray and indistinct…
Until Missy used it, then it radiated black hate. The computer had been booby-trapped. Someone wanted to hurt Missy…