Painter’s Obsession

10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Byron

B lood rushes to my ears, cheeks burning hot, as I finally take a breath while crossing the threshold of my front door. My grip on the trailer’s rusted wooden rails tightens as I lean forward, inhaling the cool night air and trying to scrub the scent of that intoxicating cologne from my lungs. Prince Charming reeks of money, and I hate it. I hate him.

Something about him sets off alarms in my gut. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it, and I sure as hell don’t want him near my sister.

“Pendejo,” I mutter under my breath, my knuckles pale from gripping the rotted wood.

Despite my criminal history, I’m not just some loose cannon that will go off with no notice. I know when something’s wrong, and that asshole’s discomfort with stepping inside our trailer told me everything I needed to know. The way he sized us up, judging, like we weren’t worth the dirt under his shoes—it was all there, plain as day. His mask slipped, and I saw it. Whatever darkness is in his eyes, I felt it.

But how do I tell Gabby? She’s got stars in her eyes and Prince Charming’s name on her lips. She’s blind to the game he’s playing. I need proof, something solid. No matter how badly I want to drag him outside and beat that perfect smile off his face, I can’t. Not yet.

Leaning back, I pull a cigarette from my pack and light it, watching its smoke curl lazily in the wind. Through the window, Gabby’s all but draped over the table, chin resting on her palm, giving him her full attention. His dimple deepens as he smiles, and it pisses me off even more.

Why the fuck am I noticing that?

Frustration burns hotter than the cigarette between my fingers. I turn away from my thoughts, letting my gaze shift to the cougar next door. Linda’s sprawled out in a lawn chair, her red dress clinging to her thighs like a second skin. A cigarette dangles lazily from her fingers, her demeanor screaming trouble in all the ways that tempt a man to follow.

I descend the trailer steps slowly, each thud of my boots against the wood deliberate, grounding. The gravel crunches underfoot as I cross onto the patch of land separating our yards, smoke curling from my lips. Linda’s head tilts at the sound, a smirk teasing her lips as one perfectly plucked brow arches my way.

“Back so soon? Dinner didn’t go as you had planned?” Her voice is as smooth as the whiskey I should’ve poured instead of pacing.

“Nah,” I mutter, dragging deep on the cigarette and flicking the ashes onto the ground. “I don’t like him.”

Her lips curve higher, the faintest chuckle escaping as she exhales a puff of smoke. “Well, lucky for you, I’m better company.”

The invitation in her tone is unmistakable, but as I step closer, something twists in my gut. I want to drown my frustration, but the more I try, the more I feel like I’m choking on something else entirely.

She turns to face me fully, leaning forward just enough to make her intentions clear. Her tits strain against the red fabric, practically daring me to say no.

“Oh, too bougie for you, or what?”

I shrug, searching for words to describe whatever the hell it is I see—whatever the hell it is I hate. But nothing comes, so I grunt and take a seat beside her, my body heavy with unspoken truths.

“I don’t know. Just don’t like him.”

Our knees touch as she leans in, the heat of her presence almost distracting. Almost.

“He’s probably going to fuck her and leave her,” she says bluntly, her red lips wrapping around the words like a weapon.

Disgust twists my features because I know she’s right, but it’s not my place to interfere in Gabby’s life. Or maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.

“You think I don’t know that? The asshole’s already got her eating out of the palm of his hand,” I bite out, exhaling smoke as I watch the tendrils twist and curl with hers, tangling in the breeze like secrets shared between us.

“She’s really into him,” I add, my voice softer now.

Linda clicks her tongue, leaning back in her chair, her cigarette finding the ashtray on the armrest. “Poor girl,” she says, shaking her head. “She’s beautiful, but men like that don’t marry women from around here.”

“That’s her business,” I reply, shifting in my seat. “I’m here for something else.”

Her brows lift at that, a devilish gleam lighting her hazel eyes. She bites her lower lip, the movement slow, calculated.

“And what’s that, papi?” she purrs, her voice dripping honeyed sin as her hand bunches her dress higher, baring the slick, naked heat of her pussy. No panties. Just how I like it—nice and easy.

I lean forward, my hand brushing her knee, but the touch feels hollow. The heat of her skin against mine doesn’t ignite the fire I’m chasing. Her gaze locks with mine, daring me to take more, to lose myself in her. But as her lips curve in that knowing smirk, all I see is him.

The sharp angles of his face. The intensity in his eyes. The weight of something I can’t name, something I can’t escape.

Linda presses closer, her voice a whisper against my ear. “What are you waiting for?”

What am I waiting for?

The answer gnaws at me, heavy and suffocating, as I let my hand trail higher. Her skin is warm, inviting, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Not when my mind is elsewhere, consumed by shadows I can’t shake and truths I’m too afraid to face.

I lean back, a smirk tugging at my lips as I pull a condom from my pocket. Linda rises from her chair, closing the distance between us with the confidence of a woman who knows exactly what she wants. Her manicured nails make quick work of my zipper, red-tipped fingers pulling my cock free as the cool night air teases my skin. The sudden warmth of her mouth follows, hot and wet, dragging a hiss from my throat as the foil packet slips from my hand.

I watch her move, hazel eyes locked on mine, deliberate and unblinking. Her lips glide over my length, her tongue teasing, her pace steady—like she’s got all the time in the world. Linda knows why we’re here. Her husband’s too busy chasing men behind her back to give her any attention, and she stays for the kids. I’m her escape from a loveless marriage, and she’s mine from the confusion clawing at me since I walked out of prison.

And that damned memory.

It creeps in, unbidden. Heat pools in my core as I remember him—his body pressing against mine, the way it felt when he pushed inside me. But it’s not my cellmate I’m imagining. It’s him. Prince Charming.

“Fuck,” I groan, the sound guttural, ripped from somewhere deep within me as I clench my jaw, trying to shove the thought away. But it lingers. Dark eyes. Prince Charming. On his knees for me.

“Jesus,” I choke out, the name tumbling from my lips like a confession. My fists tighten, tension coiling in my body as Linda’s head stills, her tongue pausing mid-stroke.

“You okay?” she asks, concern flickering across her face.

I meet her gaze, but I’m not seeing Linda anymore. I’m seeing him . And I don’t know what the hell to do with it.

The condom brushes my lips as I rip it open with my teeth, tossing the wrapper aside. “Ride me,” I murmur, handing it to Linda. She doesn’t waste time, pulling off my cock just long enough to roll the latex down my shaft with practiced ease. The second she sinks onto me, we both groan. My fingers dig into her hips, grounding myself in the movement as her body rocks against mine.

My gaze flickers, unbidden, to my sister’s window. The light is off, but the shadows moving behind her curtains catch my attention. My stomach tightens as I watch the silhouette of his broad back, tall and imposing. Even in darkness, he covers her completely.

“Ay, papi. Qué rico,” Linda moans, her tone exaggerated to the point of parody. If she weren’t grinding on me, I might’ve laughed. Instead, her voice grates against my ears. My erection softens as my focus locks on that window.

“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 had enough. “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.

I walk outside, the cool air hitting my face, but it doesn’t help. My mind loops back to that room—his hands gripping Gabriela, the shift of his tattoo as he moved, the way he looked at me in the mirror. Like he knew something I didn’t. Like he was waiting for me to break.

Maybe I already have.