Page 3 of Cruel Debts (Killers of Port Wylde #4)

TWO

TRINITY

If one more asshole came in here expecting me to paint his dick into a masterpiece, I was going to lose my shit.

I’d painted six women and two dudes tonight, and out of all of them, the guys were the worst. Pushy, demanding, and always leering at my ass, they never missed an opportunity to proposition me as I bent over their dick to paint them whatever they asked for.

It wasn’t like I could quit, though. Body paint night was my biggest money night. And I needed the cash.

Rent was due; I’d blown through the last of my savings after my fucking roommate trashed the place and ditched me. She and her garbage boyfriend stuck me with not only double the rent but also several holes and busted windows that I was either on the hook to replace and repair or face eviction.

The choice was an easy one. So I’d drained my cash savings to hire a guy to come in and patch the holes, replace the glass, and oh, of course, he didn’t leave without snooping through my closet. Hell, he even propositioned me for lunch on his way out.

Dude was old enough to be my dad. I was into older guys, but not that much older.

I had a sort of thing for the older men in uniform that my brother ran with during his military days. Three specific men in uniform that I’d likely never see again.

Not unless I found my brother. And knowing Keehn, there would be a snowball’s chance in hell if he were around that I’d ever get to shoot my shot with his ex-army buddies.

Keehn was overprotective of me, even more so than our father.

“Alright, time’s up, sir,” the room attendant said politely, extending her hand to the freshly painted sea-monster man. “We have another patron waiting for the lovely artist’s time.”

He shot me another look, and I swear he waved his dick at me with a little twitch. “Boo. Well, thanks for the paint, sugartits. If you’re ever looking to paint someone exclusively, let me know.”

“No, thanks, buddy,” I muttered under my breath as he slipped a twenty into my tip jar. The privilege of being painted was free, but tips were encouraged. And of course, the men were always cheapskates.

We all wore uniform black masks across our faces, hiding our identities for the night, so it was no shock to me that the man approaching—no, he was being pushed by two others, who wore mischievous grins—was unfamiliar.

Still, something about his gait and the way he tensed up the second he locked eyes with me felt almost like I’d seen him before.

Maybe he was a regular that I hadn’t noticed until now.

“Come on, man, just loosen up already,” the man to his left insisted, all but shoving him into my arms. “You won the draw, just fucking do it. Don’t be such a pussy.”

It wasn’t hard to see that the man in question was more than reluctant to be painted by a stranger in the nude. I offered him a hand silently, with a soft, disarming smile on my face, one I usually reserved for the ladies, and waited for him to take it.

He eyed it with hesitation, but slowly, almost like a skittish stray cat, he took my hand and smiled back, albeit a bit shyly.

I just quirked a brow and led him up the dias to the center, my mind slipping into work mode.

Undress the client. Most of them like that, so make it sexy.

I slipped my hands over his shoulders, whispering instructions to him as I moved, my tone even, my accent a mockery of the city’s local accent that I’d adopted to blend in better.

“I’m going to take off your clothing. You just tell me if you feel uncomfortable, and we can stop any time.

” My hands trailed over his thick biceps, a warm appreciation for the taut muscles there rolling through me as I peeled his jacket off, then the tight tee beneath it.

I draped them over a nearby chair, careful not to get any paint on them.

“You take care of your physique,” I remarked, stunned by the lack of a single ounce of fat on this man.

He was lean but well-built, with broad shoulders that looked like they might have carried a world of responsibility at one point.

I had to resist the urge to rub the knots beneath his skin as I let my hands slide lower, resting at his waistband for a brief second before I looked up at this tall, broad Adonis come to life.

“Do you know what you’d like me to paint on you?”

Tall, lean, and beefy shook his head no. “I didn’t come here to participate. This was pure coincidence.”

“Well, must be fate, then,” I whispered smoothly, using the lines I rehearsed to disarm the men who ended up on my dias. “Do you have anything you don’t want on your body?”

“Cute shit,” he mumbled, his eyes darting back over to the men he’d been standing with when his number was called. “I’ll never live that down.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed, fingers caressing the tips of new brushes as I waited for him to disrobe. “There’s a towel over there you can put around your waist if you’re a little cold, until I get to that part, of course.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, his shirt half off. “You’re going to paint my dick?”

A definite noob. “Why not? It’s part of your body.” I pulled a thicker brush from the container, relishing the smooth feel of the horsehair against my skin as I tested its softness. “I assure you, it won’t be the first cock I’ve painted.”

“Mmm,” he remarked, watching me with those eagle eyes as he stripped off his shorts next, leaving him in only boxers. “Where should I set my clothes?”

I jerked my thumb at the empty chair on the far end of the dias. “There’s fine. They should be safe from paint that far away from us.”

Those sculpted brows rose again. “Should be?”

My shoulders lifted, the paint on my body stretching a little as it pulled against me. “Accidents happen. Stand still when I say to, and we should be able to avoid them.”

He shut his mouth and folded his pants and shirt neatly, setting them one on top of the other as I watched.

My eyes roved over his muscles, mapping his body like the canvas it was about to become.

A myriad of things would turn out wonderfully on his skin—a landscape, maybe, the ocean at dusk—but for some reason, I wanted to go abstract.

I wanted to put colors where colors didn’t naturally occur.

I wanted to make him into a rainstorm, a sunset, a collage of the best things in this world.

But it didn’t fit the vibes this man gave off. He was all masculinity and rough edges. Something about him screamed discipline and rigidity. Almost like . . .

. . . like he’d been in the military before.

“Where do you want me?”

I shook my head and pasted a smile on my lips, chasing away the curiosity, doubt, and other things racing through my mind. “Here is fine?—”

I turned to face him after grabbing a tube of base white latex, and damn near dropped the fucking thing.

And my jaw. I almost dropped that, too.

He’d shed the boxers in the half a second I was turned away, and now his cock hung between his legs, limp but still very impressive. I wondered if he was a show-er or a grower. Hell, if that thing got any bigger, it might be uncomfortable for his partners.

Not your business, Trinity. Professionalism is key here.

I resisted the urge to lick my lips and pried my eyes away from his junk, popping the lid off the top of the paint. “Okay, time to get started.”

Painting bodies I didn’t know had never been a problem for me before now.

Something about him, though, was different.

He didn’t clamor for the chance to get naked before me, nor did he come here for the paint.

No, whatever he was here for, this was a happy accident; from the looks of it, it was not one he had expected or planned for.

But he still seemed comfortable as fuck here on the dias, with a number of people in the crowd staring at him like an exhibit in an art museum, and the rest of them watching with thinly-veiled lust. Some of them didn’t even bother to hide it.

Should he want to pursue something after he stepped out of my reach, the man wouldn’t hurt for options.

For some reason, that made me a little frustrated.

Not your place, Trinity.

I clenched a second paintbrush between my teeth and got to work.