Page 5 of Beautifully Deranged

It takes me seconds to spot them. Small. Nearly invisible to the untrained eye. But I don’t miss things like this. A glint near the bookshelf. Another nestled in the corner by the bed. One by the kitchen. She’s meticulous. Careful. Almost impressive. My gaze sweeps over the space, my mind replaying every look she’s ever given me. The way her tongue darts over her lips when she watches me. How her eyes always, always drop lower. Her voice from earlier plays in my head, smooth and taunting.

“Bet you carry all that tension right here.”

Fuck it. I unbuckle my belt and let it fall to the floor. I drag my zipper down. My briefs are already tented, straining. I shove them down just enough to free myself, fingers wrapping around my cock, thick and aching.

She wants to watch? Then let her. I stand right in front of the camera. I drag my palm over the sensitive head before fisting the base and pumping. I imagine her watching. Her lips parting. Her cunt dripping. Her breath catching.

I know you’re looking, little stalker. Are you touching yourself too?

The thought has my grip tightening, strokes turning rougher. My hips jerk forward, chasing the pressure. My free hand fists in my shirt, yanking it higher, exposing more skin to the camera.

I groan, quiet but guttural. My wrist flicks just right, smearing pre-cum down my length. My balls tighten, stomachclenching as I feel it coming. The rush crawls up my spine. My strokes turn frantic. Desperate. I spill, hot and thick over my hand, over my stomach, dripping down my fingers.

Taking a shuddering breath, I smear the mess across my skin as I finally let go. My cock twitches in the aftermath. Glancing at the camera, I smirk as I tuck myself away.

Enjoy the show, sweetheart.

?Chapter Four?

Lola

I sit before the canvas, fingers streaked with red, black, and deep, feverish gold. The brush glides, twisting and curving, a frenzy of strokes that I barely control. The painting consumes me.

Just like him.

Last night left my body aching. Incinerated. I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. I’ve been reliving it over and over. Obsessing over the way he drove himself over the edge, the way he moaned.

Does he know about the cameras? Maybe he wanted me to see, to suffer, to burn with it. If he knew, would he have given me such a show? Would he have let his seed spill out like that?

No, he doesn’t know. I got lucky. I smear another messy stroke onto the canvas. I need to get a grip. If I had been just a little slower, just a little less clever…

It would have been a disaster. I barely managed to convince him I wasn’t snooping around in his apartment. Still, I can’t shake the way he looked at me. As if he was trying to unravel me, to pick apart every little thing I said.

Abandoning my painting, I scrub my hands clean, the water running red as I rinse the remnants of my obsession down the drain. The painting can wait… he can’t. I move fast, peeling off my stained shirt and tossing it aside. Yanking open my dresser, I reach for my favorite pair of leggings. They cling to my curves, painting my ass like a second skin. The sports bra is so small it barely holds me, my tits spilling over the top.

Makeup isn’t ideal. He runs hard and fast. Sweat will ruin it. But I swipe on mascara anyway, a hint of lip tint, just enough to make me look effortless.

Standing by the door, my breath stills. I press my eye to the peephole.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

His door opens and he walks out.

I wait a little longer.

Then, I slip out.

The park is quiet this early. His pace is relentless. And he sure as hell doesn’t look back. I follow at a distance, matching my steps to his. He runs like a machine. It’s hypnotizing, really. Ten minutes in, my lungs are on fire. Jesus Christ, does this man ever stop? I push harder, forcing my legs to move until I’m finally close to him.

"Hey, neighbor," I pant, flashing him my most dazzling smile. "Didn’t expect to see you here."

He ignores me and keeps running, as if I’m an annoying fly buzzing around his ear.

I huff dramatically, keeping pace.

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