The Obsession
Pov: Dorian
The studio smelled of turpentine, stale sweat, and the copper tang of dried blood, or maybe that was just the crimson oil paint I’d been abusing for three days straight.
I stood before the largest canvas, my hand cramping around the brush, with my knuckles white. I wasn’t painting a portrait but was dissecting her.
Isabelle… my stepdaughter.
The image was raw with her head thrown back in a rictus of ecstasy that bordered on agony and her mouth open as if screaming my name or begging for mercy.
I’d captured the specific shade of pink her n*****s which aroused when I bit them too hard and the way her collarbone sharpened when she arched her back, desperate for my c**k that night.
I stepped back, my breath hitching in my chest and the room was suddenly no lon
