Page 55 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

“You want to perform, you perform for me,” he says.

I don’t admit I already have in my fantasy. “Fuck you.”

“No. You’ll fuck yourself.” He grips my pajama bottoms and yanks them down to my knees, leaving me with only my panties to hide behind. Taking my hand, he places it between my legs over my panties. “And I’ll watch.”

My belly flutters as liquid heat dampens the silk under my hand. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you want to taunt me with what I can’t have. And you want them to want you. It’s all the power you’re going to get and you know it.” His heavy hooded gray eyes have turned molten. “Take it, Little Vandal.”

I want to torture him. I want to remind him of what we used to have... what he threw away. I curl a finger into my panties and tug them aside, then slip a finger inside to where I’m aching and wanton. When it’s not enough, I add a second and pump them in and out, coating them in my juices. Running them over my clit between thrusts. Grinding into my palm when my hips leave the wall to take my fingers deeper.

My breathing grows choppy and shallow. It’s incredibly heady to fuck myself in front of him like this... with the way he’s watching me... “How does it feel to know I would rather fuck every one of your bandmates than consider ever fucking you again.”

My taunt hits its mark. His pupils narrow and his jaw is sharp enough to cut glass. He wraps his hand around my throat, his thumb caressing my heightened pulse. He denies me any distance. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“I hate you.” I take sharp, tiny breaths while I continue to work my fingers in and out of my pussy. The inability to pull in a deep breath is like a magical elixir. My head grows fuzzy and the rest of my senses sharpen. I am so close.

But it’s not enough.

“You need me.” His chest against mine, he covers the hand between my legs and guides my fingers in and out of my soaked pussy.

“I don’t fucking need you. I don’t want you.” The pressure of his touch... the proximity of his body... I could combust with it. The need for release is too much.

A moan slips from between my lips. I can’t fight it.

“Fuck.” He buries his face in my neck as our fingers slip and slide against each other inside me.

“Holy shit.” The fullness... the friction. My orgasm is growing. It’s right there.

“Scream for me,” he demands, his hot breath rolling over my skin. “I’ll make sure you stay on this edge until you do.”

“Fuck you.” I mean to sound strong, but it comes out needy and breathless.

“Do it,” he orders. “Let them hear what they’re missing out on. That you’re in here with me. Coming hard because I let you.”

“I hate you,” I sob, unable to keep my cries silent any longer. It’s not because of him. It’s not for him. Knowing the others can hear... that’s what has me teetering on the edge. Not him.

“There it is,” he growls as our entwined hands tumble me into an intense orgasm.

My knees buckle until it’s his hand between my legs and his chest against mine that keeps me upright. His fingers continue to plunge and stretch me until there’s nothing left to wring from my body.

I can’t catch my breath.

He draws his hand from between my thighs. His fingers leave a wet trail on my skin before he lifts them to his mouth. His face is still buried in the side of my neck. He doesn’t look at me while he sucks my taste from his digits.

I don’t look at him while he lowers his hand, brushing his knuckles over my rising and falling chest in a move that has me trembling.

He exhales deeply before he lifts his head. The storm in his eyes when they lock with mine... it steals the breaths I’m fighting to get back under control.

Abruptly he steps back. Spinning around, he walks away. The hand he touched me with forming a tight fist as he exits the bathroom.

I slide down the wall into a heap on the floor, tears running down my face a sob escapes me.

What the hell was that?

20

Riot