Page 18 of Painter's Obsession

“Fuck, are you okay?” Linda’s voice cuts through, her hand slipping between us, trying to pull me back into the moment.

“I’m good,” I lie, my voice hoarse. Nothing about this is good. I’m spiraling, and there’s no bottom in sight.

Linda keeps moving, determined, her body trying to coax something I can’t give. Then, as if the universe is punishing me, the light turns on in Gabriela’s room, illuminating everything I wish I hadn’t seen.

There he is, shirtless. The dragon tattoo winds across his back, its intricate lines seeming alive as it coils over his shoulder. My chest clenches, my body feels half here, half gone as Linda’s moans fade into static. All I can see is him.

“Fuck,” I groan, closing my eyes, forcing myself to focus on Linda. I thrust up, my hips moving on autopilot, chasing release while my mind conjures a different scene. Him. The heat. The fullness.Prince Charming.

My body reacts to the memory more than Linda. My orgasm rips through me, sharp and hollow, as I spill into the condom. Linda slumps forward, brushing her lips against my neck in a soft kiss.

“That was good,” she whispers, her breath warm against my skin.

But I’m not there. I’m still locked in my head, watching shadows that don’t belong to me.

“Why are you so quiet tonight?” she asks, leaning into me, her fingers brushing over my chest, seeking connection.

“I don’t know,” I admit, barely audible. The light cuts off, and something inside me snaps.

“Get off real quick,” I say, smacking her ass lightly, forcing my tone to stay playful. She slides off me without hesitation, her curiosity piqued as she follows my gaze.

“Oh, they’re getting it on,” she teases, sliding back into her chair with a laugh.

I peel the condom off and fling it into the fire. The acrid smell of burning latex fills the air, mixing with the smoke. I’ve hadenough. “I’ll be back later,” I mutter, knowing it’s a lie. I have nothing left to give Linda. Right now, I need to burn off the storm brewing in my chest.

My steps quicken as I cut across our shared yards, gravel crunching under my boots. My hand hesitates over the doorknob, caught between the urge to turn back and the twisted need pulling me forward. I give in, twisting the knob and stepping inside.

The sound hits me before the sight does. Skin slapping. Muffled moans. Gabriela’s moans.

My stomach plummets as I move down the hall towards Gabby’s room, each step heavier than the last. And then I see him.

His body moves with brutal precision, his tattoo shifting with every thrust. His ass flexes, the dragon’s tail curling over his hip, disappearing into the front. Gabriela’s muffled cries spill from her lips as he drives her into the mattress without mercy.

I freeze, caught between disgust, rage, and something darker. My gaze catches his in the full-length mirror. As his dark eyes meet mine, the bastard smirks.

“Fuck,” I growl, the word slicing through the air as I storm the rest of the way down the hall. My footsteps are heavy, deliberate, each one louder than the last as my fists clench at my sides.

He pulls out quickly, feigning surprise, the sheet rustling as Gabriela scrambles to cover herself. Her hands clutch at the fabric, her movements frantic, and then the door slams shut in my face.

“I’m so sorry, Gab,” I hear him stammer, his voice too smooth, too practiced, too fucking calm. “I thought I closed it. Wasn’t he at the neighbor’s? I’m so sorry.”

Her sniffles break through the wooden barrier, soft but sharp enough to cut through me. “It’s okay,” she whispers, her voice shaky, like she’s trying to convince herself more than him.

“Gab, you okay?” I ask, my hand hovering over the door, unsure if I should stay or leave. The words feel hollow, useless.

“Go away, Byron,” she sobs. “Not tonight.”

I swallow hard, my jaw locking as I force myself to step back. But the heat is still there, rising in my chest, pooling in my gut, choking me.

It’s not just about Gabriela. It’s him. His smirk, the way he looked at me like he owned the fucking world—or me. My fists tighten as I turn, storming back down the hall, the image of his dark eyes burned into my brain.

The hallway feels too tight, the air too thick. The scent of sweat and sex clings to everything, turning my stomach. My breathing is uneven, loud in my ears, and the light overhead flickers once, twice, like it’s mocking me.

I stop at the front door, my hand on the knob, but I don’t leave. Instead, I lean against the wall, staring into the dim living room, trying to piece together the storm inside me. My chest heaves, and I press my fists to my temples, squeezing my eyes shut.

It’s not just disgust or rage. It’s the way his smirk twists something inside me, something I don’t want to name. “Fuck,” I hiss, the sound barely audible.

I know I shouldn’t care this much. It shouldn’t matter who he is, what he does, or what Gabriela does with him. But it does. The image of him smirking at me won’t leave. It lingers, wrapping itself around me like a noose.

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