Page 33 of Forgotten Comeback (Parisi Family #5)

Chapter

Thirty-Two

Gavin

The wheels are spinning in Taylor’s sharp mind. She’s considering my offer, which means she’s still in the game.

Keeping my face neutral, I tell her, “You quit your job at the Diamond to open an art studio; there’s your income source. As for health insurance, find a policy you like, and you’ll receive the cash equivalent,” I promise.

Taylor shakes her head. “That would be outrageously expensive. I have a preexisting condition.” She squares her chin, taking a deep breath. “As Dominic so eloquently put it, I’m ‘certifiable.’”

“The most interesting people are,” I assure her.

“Does that include yourself?” Taylor challenges.

A grin stretches across my face. “Knew you found me interesting.”

She rolls her eyes. “If I agree to this, then I’d need a signing bonus to compensate for the loss of my house.”

“You didn’t own the house,” I point out, wiping the winning grin from my face with the back of my hand.

Taylor crosses her arms. “True, but I lost all my possessions because of you. Not to mention the fucking emotional distress you put me through.”

I slip my hands in my pockets. “I’m sorry, but if I would’ve treated you differently from Kat, she would’ve known something was up between us. Kat would have told her hubby, and you wouldn’t be here chucking objects at my head.”

She chucks another paintbrush at me, and I dodge. “We can negotiate your loss amount; that’s not a problem.”

“How do you have authority to negotiate any of this?” Taylor demands.

I remain silent.

“The masked man at the warehouse, that was Inferno. The man who runs the parties,” she guesses.

Again, I go with silence.

“Let me make sure I’m understanding the offer,” she says with narrowed eyes. “You want me to give up a safe job at the Diamond and come work for you and a masked man at an illegal underground boxing league.”

I lift a shoulder. “You wanted to be the exclusive ring girl, remember?”

Her hands fall to her curvy hips. “It’s not like you’re lacking in options. Go ask a member of your Ace’s fan club.”

All the playfulness vanishes from me. “The Parisis burned down Ace’s.”

“What?” Taylor gasps. “Gavin, why did you start a war with the mob?”

“You need the money,” I continue. “Your medical debt isn’t going to repay itself.”

“That will be the least of my problems when you get me killed!” She glances at the wadded up photographic evidence of her complicity; how it would look to the Parisi family, anyway.

“The Parisis won’t find out about our arrangement,” I say smoothly.

“What if they do?” Taylor press.

“Then mi lady can throw-ith me under-ith the bus. If you’re pressed, tell them I coerced you.”

“Not your lady, and I am being coerced!”

“Is that a yes?” I press her.

Her hand flies to her forehead. “You’re seriously going to get me killed.”

I cross my arms. “My track record proves otherwise.”

“Every dangerous situation I’ve been in is because of you!”

“You’re welcome,” I smirk.

“Oh my God, what should I be thanking you for this time?” Taylor asks wearily.

“Bringing some much needed excitement to your life. Being your artistic muse. Take your pick.”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny it.

“Think about it,” I continue, making my case. “You no longer have to work a job you hate. More time to devote to your art. And last but not least, getting out of financial prison.” Having done my homework, I know Taylor’s drowning in debt. “All that while enjoying my pretty face.”

She snarls at me, which only goads me on.

“What’s it going to be, man-eater? Does Venom need to see this photo?” I scoop the crumbled-up photo and smooth out the edges. “Not that it isn’t flattering. Perfect side profile of my handsome face.”

She flings another paintbrush at said handsome face.

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.

“In your dreams.” Taylor rolls her eyes, but she’s not fooling anyone with those blown out pupils.

“Yes,” I admit, giving my dick another tug, and her breath hitches.

“I’m not too proud to admit I dreamed about you.

I was showering in the locker room at Ace’s, and you walked in.

” That gets me her undivided attention. “You stripped, but then told me we don’t touch each other,” I say with a frustrated growl.

Taylor’s voice is nothing but a throaty whisper. “Glad to hear I have some sense, even in your dream.”

Sense, or pure stubbornness?

A rough groan escapes my lips at the way her eyes fall on my hand; I squeeze my dick harder. “What about your dream, man-eater? Did I make you see stars?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she taunts.

“I would,” I solemnly nod, but she remains silent. “Because when I do get a hold of this pussy, you’re gonna regret being so damn stubborn.”

“My, somebody still thinks an awful lot of his dick.” She tries to play it cool, but her voice drips with pure sex.

“I do,” I agree.

She’s transfixed on my hand, and I pump faster and faster. I’m so damn hard, it only takes a few more tugs before I cry out, shooting my load all over her canvas. My hips thrust two more times until my dick stills, and I hang the dripping panties on the edge of the canvas.

Grabbing my discarded clothes, I strut naked past a satisfyingly silent Taylor. “See you tomorrow night.”