Painter’s Obsession

16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Ren

M aking my Thorn mad is as easy as stealing candy from a kid. No effort needed—just my presence sets him off. It’s fun to watch him unravel, his self-hatred gnawing at him like a festering wound. He refuses to be honest with himself, but it’s fine. Once I have him cornered, he’ll have no choice but to face his darkest truth. Whether he likes it or not, he’ll acknowledge it. Just as I’ve acknowledged mine.

I’ve stared into the mirror and met the monster within. I don’t flinch. I don’t deny it—I embrace it.

Gabriela’s voice breaks my thoughts. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He didn’t use to be like this, but those murders got him freaked out.”

She’s lying across my lap, her soft brown hair cascading over my hands as I twirl a strand between my fingers. Her warm, trusting eyes lock onto mine. “He’s just being protective. I can understand that.”

She smiles, bright and wide. But not even her light can touch my darkness. I was forged in it, born and raised.

“You’re perfect, Ren,” she breathes, her words catching me off guard. My fingers still mid-twirl. I’m not sure how to respond, so I mimic what I’ve seen in romance movies. “I’m not perfect,” I murmur. “I just understand. I feel protective of you, too.”

Her smile softens, but then her eyes brim with tears. “I know, but it’s not right. The way he’s treating you isn’t fair.”

I shrug, resuming my twirl. “It’s okay. I’m used to men like him. You forget what I do for a living.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “God, no. How could I?”

From the couch, I listen carefully for my Thorn. He’s been quiet since his shower. I wonder what he’s doing—punching holes in the walls again? Or did he fuck his hand while thinking about me? If my count’s right, there are over twenty-two holes in the trailer already. His temper is legendary, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

“Does he just hang out at home? Or does he have a girlfriend?” I ask casually, though my ears perk for her answer.

Her nose scrunches slightly. “Relationships haven’t been his thing since he split with Sandra.”

Ah, Sandra. The waitress from the diner. I overheard enough during my visits there to piece some things together, but now the puzzle is clearer.

“What happened between them?” I ask, letting my fingers trail lightly down her arm.

Gabriela shrugs, her attention shifting to her peach-manicured nails. “I’m not sure. I know it was bad enough for him to beat her cousin nearly to death. Sandra called the cops, and after that... he just wasn’t the same. He started selling drugs, getting into fights. Then he got locked up. Dad got sick, and he died while my brother was still in jail.”

I hum thoughtfully, stroking her hair. “That’s a lot to deal with. Maybe he should see a therapist.”

Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing. “Do you see where we are? Therapy isn’t for men like him. He’d never go.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I say gently, reaching for her face. My fingers brush her cheek, and I lean in closer. “Truly. I just wanted to offer some insight.”

Her frown softens, and when I kiss her, she melts into me. Her tongue grazes my lips, demanding entrance, and I let her in. The warmth of her fills me, a goodness so foreign it almost hurts. But not even her sweetness can save me. I was born of darkness. I am death.

My fingers grip her jaw, pulling her closer. She straddles my lap, breathless. “I think we should go into my room,” she whispers.

I pull back slightly, watching her lips quiver. “Not tonight. I have to get going.”

She sighs but smiles, planting a soft kiss on my lips. “Okay.”

The sharp slam of a door cuts through the air, freezing her in place. Thorn. I can feel his eyes on us, searing with rage. Gabriela scrambles off my lap, running her hands through her thick locs.

“It’s fine,” I reassure her, gripping her knee. She nods, but her gaze drifts toward the hall.

Standing, I adjust my clothes. “I really do have to go.”

She walks me to the door, her hand lingering on the chipped white frame. I turn back, cupping her face and pressing a kiss to her lips—slow and deliberate. She melts into me again, and for a moment, I let myself savor her warmth. But I can’t have her. Not the way I need to.

The big bad wolf is hungry, but this little piggy can’t be devoured. Not yet.

I pull away, offering her a soft smile. “I’ll text you.”

She smiles back, leaning against the door frame. “Okay. Drive safe.”

I nod, casting her one final look before stepping into the night. As I slide into my car and start the engine, I glance back toward the trailer. Gabriela stands in the doorway, a silhouette of sweetness against the darkness.

I wave and drive off, the hunger gnawing at me.

I practically skip through the grass, the anticipation and excitement rushing through my body as soon as I turn the street to my house. I breathe in the night air. I’m sure she’s thirsty and famished, but I don’t care. I’m only here for a specific reason–to break and create. My hands move to the scanner, and I smile when the door unlocks, pushing it open.

I step inside. My little wildflower can move now. She scurries back, her eyes wide as I step into view and clap.

“Hi,” I say, upbeat, but what can I say? I am excited. Predators hunt to survive, and fuck, I am starving.

Instantly, I pull off my black cashmere turtleneck, tossing it to the side. She’s still naked, the puddle of urine trailing down the drain as she sits in her filth. Did she think that would discourage a man like me? As if.

“I’m—“ she croaks, her hand moving to her throat. “Thirsty.”

I smile as I walk toward her, my hands moving to unbuckle my jeans.

“Close your eyes if you want something to drink.”

Her head shakes no at first, but the need wins. So Freudian of her. Closing her eyes, I say, “Open your mouth,” softly, as I untuck my cock. Reluctantly, she opens her mouth. With a smile, I aim and hit.

A stream of warm piss goes into her mouth. She spits it up, moving forward as the rest of the stream lands over her hair.

“Why?” she sobs, her nails digging into the white tile .

I click my tongue as I shake my cock, dripping out the remaining urine.

“Because I wanted to.”

Slipping out of my jeans, I toss them to the side.

“I just do things. Maybe boredom, but I do them.”

The tears stream down her face as her eyes lock on my erect dick, standing like an invitation, waiting to sink inside her and destroy her pussy.

“No,” she begins, her voice breaking like brittle glass. “Please.” She curls into herself, knees drawn up to shield her chest, her trembling hands gripping her small, pale form as if she could somehow disappear into the shadows.

“Pick a number between one and three,” I tell her, my voice smooth but coiled tight with malice. My hand moves, stroking myself with deliberate slowness. She sobs, shaking her head violently, strands of hair sticking to her tear-streaked face.

“I’m a virgin,” she screams, her words a last, desperate shield. Her declaration hits me like a match to dry kindling. The tight leash of control I’ve held snaps, the fire consuming me. No one denies me what’s mine. No one lies to me and survives unscathed.

“Then let me break you in,” I snarl, spitting the words as I decide her fate with cold detachment. “Number one.” My voice cuts through the air, sharp and final, sealing her doom.

“Please,” she whimpers again, her voice cracking like the fragile porcelain of her defiance. I step behind her, my fingers curling cruelly into her soft flesh. She squirms and cries out, a high-pitched, animalistic squeal, but there’s no escape. My fingers press further, finding her warm, unspoiled folds, her body betraying her as instinct overrides reason.

She writhes, her pathetic attempts at escape only pushing her deeper into the inevitable. I hiss, feeling her clench around me, her resistance a tantalizing struggle. Slowly, methodically, I move, savoring her broken sobs, the sound of her body yielding.

“My little flower,” I growl through gritted teeth, my voice thick with dark satisfaction, “just got deflowered.” I pull my hand back, smeared crimson glistening in the low light. My first. A wicked grin twists my lips as I sink back into her trembling form, a predator devouring its prey.

“Please,” she sobs, voice raw, but it only fuels me. Now that I’ve had a taste, there’s no turning back. I don’t stop until there’s nothing left to take, until she’s nothing but a shattered shell of what she was before.