Page 83 of Forgotten Comeback

Grinning, I duck.

“Do I have a choice?” Taylor sighs heavily.

“No.”

“Then we have a coerced deal.”

I lift my tee over my head and toss it to the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” Taylor’s eyes land on my spider tattoo before meeting my eyes.

My fingers move to my jeans, unfastening the top button. “Jogging your memory. Your sketches lacked some key detail.”

Taylor’s cheeks flame the color of the red paint spattered about the room. “Don’t read anything into it; Artistically speaking, you have an interesting?—”

“Dick?” I grab her sketch book, flipping through page after page of my naked body, holding them up for dramatic effect.

“Form. An interesting form,” Taylor says dryly, color creeping up her neck.

“Uh-huh,” I drawl. “Where do you want your nude model?” I place her sketchbook down.

“Over there,” Taylor says, pointing to the middle of the room.

With a triumphant smile, I strut to where Taylor pointed, removing my shoes and socks before unzipping my jeans and stepping out of them. Taylor’s heavy eyes lock with mine as I pull down my boxers, my dick standing tall.

She jukes going for the sketch pad, but instead, lunges for the paint bucket, flinging it at me.

Crimson drips from my body, but her winning smile turns into a look of complete shock when I swipe my hand from stomach to chest, gathering a handful of paint. I work that hand around my dick, getting it nice and “lubed” up before smacking it onto a blank canvas.

A partial red dick imprint remains.

“Is this what you’d call performance art? Because I’m game,” I tell her, giving the canvas another smack with my dick. “Come here and let me paint your pussy.”

Taylor turns up her nose, but those snitch nipples of hers tell a different story. “You are disgusting.”

“And yet your panties are wet,” I taunt her.

“We are not playing that game, Gavin,” she says haughtily.

“Because you’re scared you’d lose. Buck-buck-buck.” I flap my arms.

Ah, there’s the fire I crave. Taylor aggressively yanks down her leggings and steps out of them; my dick bounces nearly as aggressively in response.

I’m unable to see her pussy because of the long painter’s smock she’s wearing, which is a fucking crime. She jerks her panties down, stepping out of them. Balling them up in her fist, she drops them in another bucket of red paint. Using a paint stirrer, she lifts the dripping material. “Oops. Will you look at that? Panties are wet.”

She flings them at me with the flick of the paint stirrer. They land at my feet, red spattering my toes.

Laughing, I pick up the lacy material and give the canvas a good smack. I wrap her panties around my dick and begin to stroke it, paint dripping onto my balls and down my thighs.

Taylor’s watching with a mixture of shock and desire.

Oh man-eater, you haven’t seen nothing yet.

“Is this what you call collaborative art?”

“Gavin—”

“Next time you throw something at me, it’s going to be your pussy on my dick,” I promise her.