Entwined

Black dot

**Trigger Warning:** Contains non-consensual sexual activity, emotional manipulation, and themes of infidelity. Reader discretion advised.

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The door was ajar, as it always was. Gregorie's apartment held an eerie stillness, the kind that had settled in ever since his mother's death. It felt as though the life in this place had evaporated along with her. I couldn't help but wonder if Lorelei had ever truly been happy. Joy has a way of softening a person, making them seem more approachable, but in Lorelei's case, she was both strikingly beautiful and utterly unreachable. All I knew for certain was that she appeared more than content with her life. She seemed to have everything: a thriving career, countless lovers, breathtaking beauty, a stunning home, and, of course, a son who could steal anyone's breath away.

I'm sitting on this wooden chair again, keeping my posture straight this time. I never realized how authoritarian Gregorie could be until it came to his art. He'd scold me harshly whenever I dared to shift, even slightly, from the perfect upright position he demanded-head level, eyes forward. But for a daydreamer like me, it's nearly impossible to maintain focus, especially when my thoughts drift back to the incredible night I spent with Silas. After that charlatan's episode, Silas was everything I needed, and I'm certain no man will ever ruin me the way he did. No one else can satisfy me the way his cock, tongue, or fingers can. And let's not forget how much better my pink dildo feels when he's the one in control.

All in all, I came more times than I could count, fainted, and woke up to him going down on me. Life is great.

But now, I'm soaked, and it's a problem. I clench my thighs together, trying to relieve the pressure, but Gregorie's eyes snap to me in an instant. His piercing gaze freezes me, and I brace myself for the inevitable scolding. I gulp loudly, waiting, but he says nothing. He's still, his eyes locked on my pressed thighs, lingering in the silence.

Silence.

His glare is intense, unwavering.

God, I'm so embarrassed. Silas is definitely to blame for my lack of stamina.

After what feels like an eternity, Gregorie finally pushes off his chair, letting his brush slip from his fingers, landing with a soft tap on the color palette. He reaches for a wet wipe from the table beside his canvas, and I watch as he wipes each finger meticulously, taking his time. It's almost erotic-like watching a potter work his clay-all of it done in complete silence.

When he's finished, he steps in front of me, towering over my embarrassed self, looking down like a lord to his peasant. Gregorie in artist mode is erotically terrifying.

I can't help but smirk at the thought.

"You know," he finally said, his voice quiet but sharp. "I would tolerate everything in life," he continued, lowering himself until his face was inches from mine, his right hand gripping the chair near my upper thigh. "But disrespect," he added, his tone dropping, cold and unforgiving.

The word caught me off guard. Disrespect? I hadn't done anything. I'd been sitting like a statue on this goddamn chair for what felt like hours-my butt numb and probably flat by now.

"Disrespect?" I echoed, genuinely confused.

"Yes, love. You disrespected me in my own home, with no regard for MY PASSION," he said, his voice cold and intimidating.

"I..." I started to protest, but he cut me off. "You broke MY FOCUS and ruined MY ART. I lost time working on a vision marred by an unwanted aura."

"I didn't do anything," I snapped back. His accusations made no sense. I had merely sat like a statue for hours, my body aching from the immobility.