Page 12 of Painter's Obsession: Volume II

I watch in horror as Ren continues to carve; angry, uneven chunks of flesh are missing from her body in various places. Her ribs. Her collarbone. The soft flesh of her stomach peeled away like layers of paint on a canvas. Her body is motionless, but her mouth hangs open. Her brown eyes rimmed with red, soaked in silent tears.

“Come,” Ren demands, extending a bloody hand, the electric knife humming in his grip.

My feet move before I even make the choice.

“Show her who you belong to, and her pain stops.” Ren’s bloody hand brings mine to his lips, his breath warm against my knuckles. I feel the stickiness of blood there, drying against my skin. My stomach lurches, but I don’t pullaway.

“Show me who you belong to,” he murmurs against my skin.

And like a puppet, I fall to my knees, giving him what he wants. Not thinking. Not resisting. Just moving, just obeying. Not bothering to look behind me. I can’t. I don’t want to see the judgment, the disgust in my sister’s eyes.

My mouth falls open as his blood-slick fingers cup my chin, tilting my face up toward him. A single command unspoken between us.

He slips his cock into my waiting mouth.

His grip on my chin is firm as he thrusts, pushing deep, hitting the back of my throat, forcing me to take all of him. My throat contracts, body revolting, but I swallow it down. I gag, coughing around his length, as my hands are clenching into fists against my thighs. But Ren needs control. Ren always needs control.

So, I give it to him.

Because it’s my choice. That’s what I tell myself. That’s the lie I let myself believe. He can’t take shit from someone who’s giving it away.

Slowly, hepulls back, dragging his cock against my tongue, my lips parting further to taste him. The warmth, the salt, the weight of him. My body betrays me, tongue sliding along the underside of his shaft. I surprise myself as my cheeks hollow, as a small whimper escapes me when he pushes back in. Like I’ve done this before. Like I know him in ways I shouldn’t.

Spit drips from the corner of my mouth as he uses me, as I let him. My lips stretch, my throat burns, and yet, I sink deeper. My knees are wet from the pool of blood beneath me. Or maybe it’s piss. Maybe it’s both. Maybe I don’t care.

My hand moves on its own, cupping his balls, feeling them tighten against my palm. He’s close.

And I take him further.

My hand and mouth work together as he starts pulling away. Slower, deliberate strokes, as his moans are low, satisfied.

“Open.”

And I do.

My eyes never leave his—those black voids of nothing, endless and hungry. His warm, salty cum splashes onto my lips, onto my waiting tongue. I drink him in, my mouth remaining open…

Until the warmth shifts.

Until the stench of urine hits me, sharp and rancid. Coughing, choking, I spit the foul taste from my mouth, scrambling back despite my body’s weakness.

“HAHAHA,” Ren chuckles, shaking his cock, small flecks of silver glinting beneath the dim light. He’s pierced now? When the fuck did that happen? Wiping my mouth with my trembling hand, I glare at the devil himself as he pushes his onyx strands from his forehead.

“What?” he grins, unbothered, unashamed. His lips are still red, raw from biting down his own pleasure. “Don’t look at me that way. You looked thirsty, so I helped.”

His gaze drifts downward—to my own softening erection.

Hissmirk widens.

“Would have helped with that too,” he muses, “but you need to eat, which brings me here.”

I swallow past the dryness in my throat, past the lingering taste of him.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“For you not to die,” he answers simply, kneeling in front of me, dressed in nothing but sweats. No shirt. No shoes. Bare, vulnerable, raw. But he’s never vulnerable. Never anything less than in complete control. I catch myself staring too hard at him. At my personal sin. At my sickness. At the one thing in this world that is mine, even if I never wanted it.

At the one thing I want more than I want to breathe.

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