Page 52 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

I gravitate toward the edge of the bed. Her purse is on my nightstand. It gives me an idea. I open it and take out the marker. Place it on the bed.

Her hair is splayed out over my pillow and her shoulders are bare, except for dark bra straps. Fuck. My breath falters. I used to love watching her sleep.

I tug the covers down a couple of inches, exposing her bra cups and otherwise bare skin.

She doesn’t stir.

She really should. I take out my phone and open the camera app. Leaning over her I press my thumb to the center of her pillowy lips and watch them part. I press the digit inside.

My cock stirs. The heat of her wet mouth going straight to my groin.

It’s clear that I’m not done with Kelsey Peterson. No matter how much I want to be. I won’t be done with her until I’ve used her up as a muse so thoroughly that I can’t wring another drop of inspiration from her.

I won’t be finished with her until I’ve gutted and poisoned her the way she did me. Leaving her unable to eat, or sleep, or be around anyone for months because no one could stand the pain I was in. That I am apparently still in.

I take a photo of her lips around my thumb. Then take more of her in her bra before tugging the covers all the way down past her panties. I snap a few more of her like that. Then flip the cups of her bra down and get those shots too.

The last time I took photos of her it was to tell L.A. Riot’s fans that I’d got the girl. This time the photos I take are a reassurance.

She groans and her eyes open. Then open wider. She scrambles up the bed. “What are you doing in here?”

I grip her ankle and tug her back down the bed. “Hush, Little Vandal. Unless you want the others to witness your punishment.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” She kicks and punches, lashing out but it doesn’t have the desperation of true fear. When her arousal starts to scent the air, I’m certain she’s not as scared as she is turned on. “Let go of me.”

Pinning her arms above her head with one hand, I straddle her thighs. “You’re a brat, Little Vandal. I told you I was coming for payback. What should your punishment be, hmm?”

“You already spanked me,” she snipes, trying to buck me off. “You’ve made it so the others don’t want to be around me. You won’t give me back my things. You’re writing hate songs about me. Isn’t that enough?”

“You broke my fucking heart,” I growl.

She stops wriggling. Her breath catches. The air between us grows charged. It’s almost unbearable.

“I... You broke my heart.” Her watery eyes grow wide as I cover her mouth with my free hand, stopping her words.

“I’m not interested in your pretty lies.” That’s all it ever is with her.

Everything she says is a lie or an excuse.

I flip her bra cups back over her tits then pick up the marker and uncap it with my mouth.

She fights harder, desperately trying to get me off her. She bucks and twists, but I don’t budge. I clamp her hips with my thighs and tighten my grip on her wrists, rendering her immobile. I press the felt tip to the space below her tits, scrawling traitor in thick black across her heaving ribs.

Her eyes narrow on me. “What did you write on me?”

I choose to ignore her question. She’ll find out soon enough.

The flesh above her left hip is the perfect space for ‘bitch’, on the right I add the word ‘thief’.

I admire my handiwork. “This will make a great album cover. Of course we’ll need a better model.”

I take a photo then lean in closer, pressing the weight of my body into her more as I show it to her.

“You dick.” She struggles beneath me. “Delete it right now.”

“Tsk. Stay still or I’ll flip you over and spank that ass again.” I put my phone aside. I liked the way she reacted when I did it earlier. Did I leave a mark on her sensitive skin? I’m dying to see.

“Asshole.” Her hips buck under me, causing her belly to brush against my cock. It twitches with the contact.