Page 18 of Ruthless God

I look at another picture, a sketch of me chasing her in the woods. There are so many graphic sketches of me fucking her in different ways. I thought I would have to force her to crave me, to kneel before me, to force her to like what I like, but it seems I don’t have to. She wants me to fuck her against her will, she wants me to have complete control over her, and it makes me want her even more. Making her my toy is going to be so much fun and easy. I can’t wait to fuck her until she’s crying, begging me for more.

I tear out the picture of my hands around her throat and my dick in her mouth, then I snatch tape from the drawer, stroll into the steamy bathroom, and write a message in her black lipstick.

Once I’m home, I hop in the shower, jack off with her soap and to the pictures she’s drawn of us, and I come so hard my dick aches. I watch my cum drip down the tiles.

I’ve got to have her.

I need to fuck Blue.

After I dry myself off with a towel, I put on a pair of pajama pants and sit at my desk, getting ready to write my term paper for my business class.

My phone dings with a notification, so I swipe up, a message from Lyrical appearing on the screen.

Blue: Where is my goddamn sketchbook?

Lyrical

Iturn off the faucet as I step out of the shower, snatching the cotton towel from the rack to wipe my body down. Grabbing my phone, I hit the Pause button on Spotify, silencing the music. When I stroll to the mirror, my heart drops and my sketch is taped to the rectangular mirror. My eyes glaze over Snow’s handwriting.

My favorite artwork by you. I can’t wait until I have you down on your knees.

As adrenaline spikes my blood, I head straight to my nightstand. I don’t see my sketchbook, nor my clit stimulator. I don’t care about that since I can buy another one.

My heart hammers in my chest as anxiousness travels down my spine.

No one has ever seen my sketchbook, not even Bailey. It’s one of the secrets I want to take to my grave, and the fact Snow got his slimy hands on it irks me. I tried to suppress that kink. I even spoke to an online sex therapist, but he told me it was perfectly normal to have those fantasies as long as it was consensual.That’s when I knew I was fucked up in the head, because I don’t want it to be consensual. I want Snow to take advantage of me. I hope he doesn’t use this as another tool against me.

I snatch my phone from my dresser and send him a message.

Me: Where is my goddamn sketchbook?

Snow: I didn’t know you wanted to be owned by me. You want me to fuck your sweet pussy, Lyrics. Is that it? You want me to come on your tits.

I ignore the sweet ache between my legs.

Me: Give me back my sketchbook, Snow. Please.

Snow: You should have told me sooner and I would have taken your virginity a long time ago. How long have you had these fantasies of us?

I’ve been having these fantasies since I was sixteen years old, but I’m not going to admit that to him.

Me: I need my sketchbook.

Snow: Come get it, Blue.

He sends me devil emojis.

My anger boils. He makes me want to punch him in the face.

Me: I don’t have time for your bullshit.

I click on the IG icon and type in his name, trying to figure out his location. He posts everything on his social media. From food to parties to hanging out with his friends. I spot a post from three days ago, a photo of me studying at the library. My face is covered by my hair.

This little shit.

I read the caption.

My new toy. So beautiful, so mine.

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