Page 29 of Painter's Obsession: Volume II

Storming towards me, he cups my jaw, his nails digging into my skin just deep enough to make me wince, not bleed, but still painful enough to remind me he could. Then his lips press into mine and the familiar marijuana smoke invades my mouth, followed by his tongue. My body stiffens. It’s not a kiss—it’s branding. A possession. A fucking violation. I push him back, spitting at him.

Ren lets out a barky laugh before he backhands me. Pain explodes across my face. My ears ring. I stagger.

“Break or not. I’ll still find a way to make you submit. I don’t need your fear, Thorn, just your obedience. And when I want, your body.” His voice is cold, final, not a threat but a law. And somehow, that’s worse.

“RUN,” he says angrily, as he begins to remove his shirt. “If you want your freedom, earn it. Because if you let me catch you, Byron,” he looks at me. “I won’t just fuck you, I’ll destroy you.”

Cold shivers run down my spine at his words. I don’t even know if I want to run or just let him get this over with. Whatever sick game he’s playing, I know there’s no escape for me. So I walk slowly backwards until my back hits the table, and I grab my beer, taking a long sip, my eyes never leaving Ren as he rolls his neck. His lean muscles stretching with each movement, the crack of his joints sounds louder than it should.

“I’m giving you a choice, which I said I wouldn’t do, but fuck, you always make thestupidest one.”

He wasn’t wrong. It’s like all my survival instinct goes out the door for him, and all I want to do is submit. To be in that studio with a chain around my neck and his cock buried in my ass. Because for the first time, I was me—the true me. My body trembles, my knees go weak, and my hands begin to feel clammy. I can’t breathe. The room feels smaller, my vision unfocused, and I’m no longer standing in Ren’s cabin, but in the club, fucking Armando’s mother as my father fucked her mouth, I close my eyes.

I feel delicate hands on my face, and when I come back into it, Ren’s dark void stares back at me, and I feel the burn in my eyes. Fuck, I don’t want to cry. Not here... not in front of him. So I do what I’ve always known—my head moves back and then forward, connecting with him.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” he growls, but before he recovers, I’m already running. My hand touches the door handle, and when it opens, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and I run into the dark night.

Chapter Sixteen

Ren

Ihold my nose as I watch the fucker slip out the door and into the darkness. Then my hands move to my pants, removing them and then my shoes. Walking naked into the kitchen, I grab a steak knife from the drawer. Tonight I’m carving... creating under the moonlight as he comes undone for me. I was hoping it would turn out this way, that he would willingly give me the chase... play into my hand. , And, oh how beautifully did he react. Always so willing, even though he hides behind resistance. On my way towards the door, I grab the beer on the table and finish it, letting him run as far as he can since he will only circle back to me.

And that makes this game so much better... so much more fun... because there’s no escape, and I win. I smile as I twirl the steak knife in my hand, picturing his face as I fuck him and carve him up, his pain and ecstasy blending into one beautiful color. My dick hardens between my legs, and fuck, I’ve never been this aroused by someone. So moved by someone... I don’t know if I want to keep him or break him. But I guess we will have to see if he survives me first.

Walking towards the door, I close my eyes, breathing in the cold air, welcoming the cool breeze that regulates my burning body, and listening to the woods that surround us, when a thought comes to my mind... one of those moments that sticks with you.

I run after the new maid—my new play toy—and her giggles fill the woods. Mom is away for business and won’t be back... but my blood freezes when I catch up to the woman. A knife protrudes from her chest when she turns around. Blood pours from her mouth.

“Ren,” she whispers, her hands trembling as they reach toward the knife. “Hel—“ she triesto speak, but I pull out the knife and bring it to her neck, my eyes never leaving the pair watching us.

The approval in them as I slash her throat open from ear to ear. Melanie or Marie—not sure if I remember her name correctly—collapses on the ground, gurgling on the blood. Choking. Her teary eyes remain on me, and I watch as the light fades from them. My eyes lock on the river of crimson flowing from her neck stilling, as her perfume overpowers the smell of dirt and blood.

“Good boy,” she says as she tussles my hair before me, pulling me towards her.

Instantly my dick reacts, and I hate how easy it’s become. It’s instant... it’s conditioned... I’m branded...

I come out of the trance as I fall on the ground, tripping on a dead branch. I notice I’m deep in the woods, and then I hear a branch snap from behind me. And just as I turn around, my face connects with a branch and I stagger back, falling on my ass as the steak knife cuts me as I fall.

And I laugh as my Thorn steps into view, “That was unexpected,” I say calmly.

But before I can rise, his foot is on my chest. And it’s invigorating... my dick reacts to his command, and I hate it.

“I hate you,” he sneers, and for me, being a man of control... I’m about to play my most risky hand. Burying the steak knife in the small pile of dead leaves and debris, I pray he doesn’t realize that I’m playing him. I want this. I wonder what he would do. “I hate you,” he repeats.

I smile as I taste the blood that’s streaming into my mouth from my nose. “You say that, but what will you do about it? Wanna know what I did with my sickness? Killed it. Killed it while it bore our abomination. I killed them both.”

Byron’s face shows pure, utter horror. He shakes his head. “What happened to you?” he asks, his voice firm, trying to hide his concern for me. But I should be the last person he should pity. I didn’t need it. Didn’t want it.

“Nothing. I was just born this way... or created. Still debating on that one.”

Byron presses his foot on my throat, thinking he’s won, and I’ll let him taste his victory. Let him get to the high of his glory. “I’ll ask you again. What do you plan on doing?” Come on, Thorn. Learn a little bit.

Take. Take. Take.

And he contemplates fighting his moral compass... his desires, and I wonder which one will win—his head or his dick. I bet it’s the latter. There’s no denying the bulge between his legs. I see it, and I’m sure he feels it.

“Ahh,” he screams at the sky as his foot presses deeper. “How does it feel to not have any control?” he asks.

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