His Muse Novels & Stories

"I have a better alternative. Be my next muse." Confused, I repeated, "Your next muse?" He looked straight into my eyes, appearing somewhat sober. "I paint human portraits in nude form. Let me paint you and I'll keep your little secret."

Damien called through the phone and she jerked back to reality. She had to call Zaire but for now, she had to handle Damien’s questions. “Y…yes Damien, I am Muse.” She uttered in a trembling voice, “But the things is…” Her voice faltered, unsure of the lie she was going to cook up. She had just said that she was Muse, and that was something she did not know if she can maintain. Muse was a damn good designer, her designs making waves across borders and in international bodies. Of course, she would be able to catch the eye of someone like the Queen of Oakcrest.

On the wall, a second monitor flickered with audio waves and garbled code. She was actively tearing apart Moses's music channels just to stream her own playlist. Baroque violin tangled with glitchcore synth, layered over Moses’s underground bass loop. Moses was curled on the couch, knee bouncing, one hand twisting the knob of a rogue console that blinked erratically under his arm. The other held a stolen espresso cup like a trophy. He didn’t look up, just sipped and rewired, eyes narrowed in concentration. Joy was on the chaise lounge, curled like a cat on vacation. Her bare feet were tucked under her, phone tilted toward her face, lips pursed into something cruel and amused.

**Lust's Asylum: Twisted Confessions** **Host’s Introduction** Welcome back to the flames... Obsession is the most dangerous muse. Tonight’s confession is about a brilliant but deeply disturbed artist who found his perfect living canvas online. What started as distant admiration became kidnapping, captivity, and the most intimate, twisted form of artistic possession. This one is dark, psychological, and intensely erotic. Here is the confession of “Stalker’s Muse.” --- **Story 13: Stalker’s Muse**

"I'm curious, what do you mean it's special to you?" My eyes drifted back to the artwork. "This piece is actually my muse," I said, my gaze locked on the beautiful eyes I'd captured. "I was able to perfect them here, but not the others. That's why I won't part with this piece. Just looking at them brings back memories of her."

They say in unison and scribble on notepads. “Musu, why don’t we start with your research to give everyone a primer?” I nod as she opens her laptop. “Arrow, if there are any details that Musu may have missed or has gotten wrong, please let us know. She’s only able to go by the resources available to us.” When I try to sit, Saint pulls me onto his lap instead. “I’ll behave.” He whispers. “I just want you close.” Musu summarizes everything she has learned about the Goddess of Love, earning nods of approval from Arrow and Sy. He occasionally stops and corrects minor details or adds additional information, but mostly listens carefully with a satisfied expression.

I changed into something else, ready to knock the bed, but as I lay on the bed, my mind was so active with lots of thoughts. I thought about my imagination when I sat on that chair to draw, I thought about the ethereal painting—that's the most perfect image I had ever painted and now I believe, Alpha Marcus is my muse. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I recalled how he had caught me filming him, and how he had threatened me. His naked chest that enticed me to lick him, his wet lips that called for me to suck them, his biceps that shook as he walked, his huge thighs that made me want to kneel to worship them, his wet hair that made me almost give in, his eyes that always stared into

He tilted his head, a dark smile playing on his lips. I exhaled a harsh breath, placing both hands on my hips like a frustrated mother, who has been deprived of sleep. “I don’t want to have this filthy conversation with you, Killian.” “Oh…you do. And we will have it here.” He was imposing his words on me like he knew me better than I know myself. Like he could read me like a transparent glass. I hated it! “You see, Little muse. I have studied you for a year now,” he inched closer to me, stealing what was left of my next breath. “You love filthy things. You love watching me fuck other bitches in the study.”

he muses “You have no idea, wait until you taste it!” We chat comfortably the rest of the way. When we finally arrive we walk in through the main doors of the museum, it’s not tremendously busy just a couple of group tours. Johnny needs to get the amulet from his office, but I realise I need to use the toilet, remembering he has one in his office. “Hey I’ll go get it I need to use the toilet anyway.” “I’ll come with you”

Too bad, I’m desperate. “So I need a muse.” I spoke letting all of that friendly tone disperse and revealing the tired emotions that I’ve been bottling up. He seemed pretty shocked for a second before masking it up. “I want to enter into WYP so badly. It’s my dream and now the latest project demands me to have a muse or a mini gallery of my own muse.” “I don’t care about all that. What’s in it for me?” Josiah said after hearing me out. I smirked at his response. He listened and didn’t even interrupt me. It may be stupid to think that but I rather go with it.