Page 18 of Painter's Obsession: Volume II

“Didn’t say I cared, curious. That’s it. Curiosity.”

Turning on the water, my eyes move to the running water, fixating on the white tiles, sharp and blinding under the fluorescent light.

Then, the sound.

A shift in the air. A presence.

The sound of heels moving closer pushes into my brain like a needle threading through my thoughts. I shake my head, my hand fisting under the water. I’m here. This is real. The water is scalding but it’s not enough. Not enough to burn her away.

“Such a good boy.”

The ghostly touch of my mother moves up my back, phantom nails trailing cold over my spine, sinking into me like rot. I stumble back—a rare slip, a crack in the surface.

Meeting with something solid.

Byron.

“The fuck was that about?”

“Nothing.” I push away from him, returning to my task of getting him cleaned up for his lesson. He’s now fed. Clean. And then—obedience.

Complete. Utter. Surrender.

That’s the goal.

I need… No, I want him obedient. Desperate. I want him to be the best boy. So taking a page from her handbook—

“In.”

Byron stumbles forward, his body resisting even as it obeys. His back tenses, muscles locking up as I step in behind him.

“Ren,” he starts, but I silence him.

My hand grabs the clean washcloth I had set aside for him, lathering it with Castile soap before wrapping my fingers around his cock.

“R—“

He stops.

The shame chokes the words in his throat, kills them before they can live. His cock hardens in my grip, and that betrays him more than anything ever could. It’s hard to sell a lie when your body speaks the truth. My own cock hardens, pressing against his back. “How was it, being out there? Pretending you didn’t enjoy thethings I did?” My hand moves slow, cruel in its patience, deliberate in its intent. Soap bubbles slide down his thick, veiny girth, the warm slickness making each stroke more unbearable.

Byron bites back a small moan.

But I see him shudder. Feel it. His body doesn’t lie.

“Words are empty when your actions speak so loudly, Byron,” I whisper into his ear.

His breath stutters, his whole body coiled like a wire pulled too tight.

“You don’t know shit.” He sneers as his hand moves over mine, stopping me mid-stroke. “I want to put you down, Ren.” His honesty doesn’t catch me off guard. It excites me.

A slow smile pulls at my lips, sharp and knowing. I tighten my grip, feeling the betrayal in his pulse, in the way his body fights him harder than he fights me. “Oh, Byron.”

I lean in, close enough that I know he can feel the heat of my breath against his skin.

“I’d loveto see you try.”

And I mean that.

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