Page 45 of Painter's Obsession

“What do you want to know?” I spit the words through gritted teeth, the anger in my voice thin and cracking.

“First, the obvious.” His smirk deepens, his gaze shifting to his hand wrapped around my cock. “Do you want me?”

“No.” The word comes out too fast, too sharp. The lie is obvious even to my own ears.

“Liar,” he breathes, soft and smug, his voice low like a predator’s purr. I don’t bother to look at him. I can’t. Shame, disgust, and something worse—pride—keep me frozen in place. My mind screams at me to fight back, but my body betrays me again.

Suddenly, I’m back in my parents’ room, on all fours on their bed, my father’s brown leather belt cutting through the air before landing with a crack on my bare ass. The sting. The heat. The humiliation. My fists clench reflexively at the memory, and he must notice because his smirk widens.

“Whatever you do to me,” he says, looking up at me with a gentle, almost warm smile, his almond eyes crinkling. So eerily beautiful. “I’ll do to her, ten times worse.”

Gabriela.

My gut twists painfully at the thought, my resolve hardening like steel. She’s the leash, the safety blanket that ensures I behave.

One thing is clear-when I strike, I have to strike to kill. There’s no room for error. For my sister’s sake, I need to end him, even if it kills me. That’s my promise.

His hand trails the washcloth up my hip, over my happy trail, and down to my pelvis until it moves over my erect length, still in his grasp. The cold, soapy water drips onto my skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch.

“Another question,” he murmurs, his voice almost casual. “Have you ever been with a man?”

I don’t answer, my lips pressed into a tight line. His nails dig into my stitches, a sharp pain tearing through me and forcing me to double over.

I laugh, the sound hollow and bitter. Looking up at him, I snap, “Mommy didn’t love you. Is that why you do this?”

The change in him is instant. The darkness in his expression deepens, swallowing any trace of smugness. His grip loosens for a moment, and his body stills, his calm demeanor as ominous as the quiet before a storm.

Ren chuckles, the sound low and dangerous, dropping the rag into the soapy mixture. He stands, brushing his raven hair back from his face with slow, deliberate movements. Without a word, he walks to the hose and then the sound of rushing water fills the room.

The icy spray hits me like needles, the cold shocking my skin and stealing my breath. I gasp, shivering uncontrollably as the water runs over my raw flesh.

“I guess I hit a nerve,” I taunt, forcing the words out between chattering teeth.

The water cuts off abruptly, and I don’t register the blow until I’m doubling over, his knee slamming into my sore stomach.The pain is blinding, white-hot, and I collapse forward, my body trembling as black spots dance in my vision. Hunger and thirst have sapped my strength, and I’m nothing more than a plaything for him now.

Grabbing me by the back of my neck, his voice drops to a venomous growl. “Mother loved me the most. I was her beautiful boy.”

Using my neck and the chain, he forces me into the same position I used to be punished in. My stomach churns as my head presses against the wet tiles of the floor.

“No!” I thrash weakly, already knowing where this is headed.

“I’m going to teach you,” he snaps, slamming my head harder into the tiles. “The way she taught me. And you will learn to obey.”

His free hand moves back to my shaft, his fingers digging into the swollen flesh. Blood seeps from the stitches, slick and warm. Using the crimson fluid, he moves his fingers to his lips. The wet sound of him spitting echoes in my ears.

“You don’t have to do this,” I snarl, my voice raw. My body bucks weakly against him. “You can suck my cock.”

Laughter erupts from him, sharp and cruel. “Who said I wanted to do that?” His finger probes my tight entrance, and my body goes rigid from the intrusion.

“You know what I wanted to do?” he sneers, his voice mockingly sweet. “Paint. Get to know you.”

“Okay,” I breathe, my voice trembling. “What do you want to know?”

He leans down, his breath hot against my skin, the faint scent of iron and something darker filling the space between us. “How your ass feels when I bury myself to the hilt,” he murmurs, his voice low and cruel, dripping with promise.

Then I feel it—his fingers forcing their way inside me. A ring of fire envelops my asshole as he stretches me, the burn sharp and unrelenting, tearing a groan from my throat.

“You’re so tight,” he coos, his tone soft, almost gentle, as if he weren’t ripping me apart. I groan again, the sound breaking halfway between pain and something far more fucked up—pleasure.

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