Pov: Dorian
The studio smelled of turpentine, stale sweat, the copper tang of dried blood and that might have just been the crimson oil paint I'd been abusing for three days straight.
I was facing the largest canvas and holding the paintbrush, I was in pain with a cramp in my hand and my knuckles were white from the grip. I was not painting a portrait but rather, dissecting her.
Isabelle, my stepdaughter.
The picture was unfiltered featuring her head thrown back in a rictus of pleasure so intense that it seemed to be pain and her mouth open as if she was crying out my name or begging for mercy.
I got the exact color of those pink n*****s that came out when I was biting them so hard without intent and even the way her collarbone made a point as she arched her back to me, a night when s
