Ms Tallup came closer, her perfume sickly and far too sweet. “Meet me at the rear entrance of Motel Gardenia on Sunday at six p.m. I’ll let you in so no one sees you. There, I’m going to take your virginity and make you a man.” Her voice turned husky. “And you’re going to fuck me until I say stop. You are mine to do with as I please. If I want you to fuck me all night, you will. If I want you on your knees begging, you will. You are not allowed to wear a condom—”
“What? No way am I—”
“Don’t interrupt. I’m on birth control and clean. You’re a sweet little virgin, and I want you bare. I want you to always remember the woman who stole your youth. I’ll be your first. I’ll always be a part of your life.” She sighed as if her proposition was romantic and heartfelt and not the most diabolically disgusting thing I’d ever heard. “After a night together, you’re free. I’ll let you graduate if you stay true to your word never to speak to Olin or any other girl in this school again. Your cock is mine and will stay mine until you walk from these grounds. Just one night, little Gilbert. One night of fucking for a lifetime of freedom.” She ran her fingertip along my bottom lip. “Not such a bad deal...is it?”
I fought the insane urge to bite her finger into pieces.
Ripping my face out of her reach, I snarled, “And how do I know you’ll leave me alone? How do I know you won’t go straight to the police after and—”
“Because I could go straight to the police right now.” Her eyes glittered with madness. “If you don’t turn up on Sunday night, I’ll say you assaulted me. I’ll say you held me down and forced me. That you’re a minor with the aggressive nature of a murderer, and I escaped just in time. I’ll make sure you never see the sun outside of a prison again. You’re already screwed, Mr. Clark. I have all the ammunition I need to bury you, so you might as well accept my deal.”
She laughed quietly. “After all, it’s better to be with an older woman who knows how to please a man, rather than with a little girl who doesn’t. You won’t hate what I do to you.” She blew me a kiss. “You’ll love it. You’ll be begging for another night.”
“I will never beg for anything from you.”
“You already did.” She smirked. “You begged for Olin’s future. And I’m giving it to you. If you give yourself to me.”
I couldn’t stay there anymore.
I couldn’t listen to another twisted, poisoned word.
Lurching from the storeroom, Ms Tallup’s voice chased me as she purred, “Six p.m. on Sunday, Gilbert. Don’t be late.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
______________________________
Olin
-The Present-
I WAS BORROWING tomorrow’s happiness.
I knew that.
I knew this wasn’t real and wouldn’t last.
I knew Gil would kick me from his life the moment he’d dealt with whatever issues he struggled with.
But it didn’t change a thing.
Is it naïve to accept the upcoming abandonment? Is it even called abandonment when you know it’s inevitable?
My thoughts rushed and raced as Gil drove us in his white hatchback that I suspected was a cheap alternative to another vehicle he might’ve sold to pay whatever debt he owed.
He didn’t seem comfortable driving it. Then again, he didn’t seem at ease with anything.
We didn’t speak as we arrived outside a large department store in downtown Birmingham. I helped him carry boxes of paint, glitter, and rhinestones from the car. He carried the heavier stuff like air guns, gas bottles, and an entire wooden box of brushes and sponges.
Pedestrians watched us with mild curiosity. The city wasn’t too busy thanks to most of the workers already ensconced in their places of business, toiling through a long day.
I squinted against the sun as Gil dumped his armful against the wall of the huge store. Motioning for me to do the same, he marched back to the car and pulled out a foldable trestle table along with a few other artwork requirements.
I waited until he’d set up the table and placed what he needed into logical positions before asking, “What exactly is the commission?” My eyes scanned the milling people, hoping I didn’t recognise anyone from Status Enterprises. Calling in sick after only being employed a few days had chipped away at Shannon’s supportive welcome. Her tone had turned cooler, and she’d asked for a doctor’s certificate if my symptoms went on longer than forty-eight hours—company policy.
I’d screwed up.
I’d willingly put my income on the line to help Gil.
Am I stupid or sweet?
At this point, I was going to go with stupid.
“The department store.” Gil cocked his chin at the hulking retail shop where we’d placed his gear.
“Kohls?” I peered at the name of the store. It was hard not to miss with its large lime letters glowing against the dark grey façade.
K.O.H.L.S.
Each giant letter shouted at would-be shoppers to enter and spend. I had no idea how Gil would incorporate them into a painting—they loomed huge from the pavement like ships sailing through concrete.
“Yeah.” Gil continued doctoring his supplies. “They want an image they can use in their upcoming catalogues and billboards. Something recognisable to their brand but unique.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t like commercial stuff. Never have. I’d much rather do natural.”
“Natural?”
“You know...woodlands and beaches. A waterfall or two with humans all hidden with paint.”
I stiffened. “So...you like doing camouflage pieces?”
He hooked up the air gun hose to the gas bottle. “Yes. I find natural shadows and textures much more satisfying than manmade.”
Moving closer to him, so I didn’t have to speak too loudly, I murmured, “The girls who were murdered...the ones painted and left to starve while the police couldn’t see them.... Do you know who would—”
“Paint corpses?” Gil interrupted with an icy stare. “No, I can’t say I hang out with such creatures.”
“I’m just asking if you think whoever painted those girls is talented.”
“Talented?” He laughed morbidly. “Talented at killing, you mean?”
“No, talented at shading and disguising.”
His eyes narrowed with annoyance. “Sorry to disappoint you, Olin, but I didn’t exactly inspect them up close and personal.”
“True. Sorry.” I pulled back. “Stupid question.”
“Very stupid.” Turning his attention back to his paints, his hands trembled a little as he worked out the colour palette and placed bottles of his chosen pigment in a row.
Did he shake from hunger? We hadn’t had time for breakfast.
Did he shake from cold? The sun was out and warm.
Did he shake from nerves? Surely, he didn’t get performance anxiety. Not with skills like his.
Touching his forearm gently, I studied him. “You okay?”
He froze, his gaze locking on my fingertips resting on his bare arm. His T-shirt choice today already held streaks and spots of paint from other work. His jeans were just as paint-decorated, and his boots would be welcome on a building site if it weren’t for the orange and highlighter green mixing with dirt and grime.
Slowly, he moved away, dislodging my hold. “I’m fine.” Pulling a familiar packet of skin-toned lingerie from his pocket, he artfully switched the conversation from him to me. “Are you okay?”
I swallowed nervously as he passed me the packeted G-string. “God, do I have to stand on a busy street at ten in the morning in just a flesh-coloured G?”
“Not just a G-string. I’ll let you wear pasties today.” His lips twitched a little. “Least your nipples won’t be on display.”
“Oh, gee. That’s so generous of you.”
“I thought so.”
Pushing past me, he stalked to his car again and returned with a white robe. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“
To get my canvas prepped.”
I trailed behind him as we entered the large department store. Men’s, women’s, and children’s merchandise were all on offer. Silver escalators led to more floors full of stuff. Toys, home-wares, and clothing. A treasure trove for the shopaholic, and a place I hadn’t had much reason to enter in a while with no disposable income.
A pretty caramel and cream skirt caught my attention as Gil stormed down the centre aisle, guiding me toward the women’s changing rooms.
“You seem to know your way around here.”
His eyes trailed over the racks and shoppers. “I’ve been in a couple of times.”
“You don’t seem the kind to frequent retail stores.”
“Yeah, well.” He massaged the back of his neck, wincing as a kid sprinted past, screaming with joy as he headed toward the toy section. Reluctance layered his voice as if he didn’t want to admit he’d had a love life before I’d inconveniently waltzed back into it. “Eh, I didn’t come in here for me.”
Ouch.
If that didn’t cure me of my stupid insanity, nothing would.
My heart relocated into my throat as another question poised on my tongue.
Don’t ask.
Do. Not. Ask.
“I, um, should probably have checked before this, but...eh, do you have a girlfriend, Gil?”
Every part of him locked into place. His face darkened; his eyes turned chilly. “Do you think I’d sleep with you if I did?” He leaned toward me. “I’m not a cheater, Olin.”
I fought the urge to stumble back. “Okay, just thought I’d check.” I waited for him to ask me the same question. Normally, that was how these things went. The desire to know if you’re both free to pursue whatever magic brewed.
However, Gil already admitted he didn’t want what was between us, and he most likely already knew how unlikely it would be for me to be romantically involved with another while he’d always owned my heart.
Justin danced on the edges of my thoughts.
Gil had watched me date him in high-school. He’d seen me overplay the act of happy, contented girlfriend all while my shattered heart remained in pieces. Back then, I’d hoped he’d confront me about it and demand for me to break up with Justin because I was always meant to be his.
But he never had.
He’d vanished instead.
And now, he’d insinuated at previous entanglements where he went shopping with lovers and spent time with them as a generous boyfriend, not this grumpy body painter who bruised me in the dark and couldn’t stand me in the light.
Sighing, I brushed past him and continued into the changing rooms alone.
Reaching a stall, I slipped inside and closed the door in Gil’s face.
He grunted something under his breath before tossing the robe over the top of the door. A packet of pasties flew to land by my feet. “Let me know if you need help with those.”
I didn’t reply.
Trying to push away the sudden ache in my chest, I stripped and ripped the skin-tone G from its packet before stepping into it. The mirror revealed my naked breasts and tiny scrap of lingerie between my legs.
It wasn’t exactly sexy attire, but shadows of Gil’s fingers still marked my hips and ass from last night’s dining table action. My body didn’t feel the same pain as my heart, and melted at the memories of being taken so roughly and thoroughly.
Jealousy burned like wildfire.
He’d been with others. Had he been that rough and thorough with them? Did he prefer them to me?
Stop it.
Stop torturing yourself.
Picking up the pasties from the floor, I opened the packet and prepared to stick something alien to my boobs. The double-sided tape wouldn’t unpeel. The circle was too hard to handle. My fingers weren’t dexterous enough to apply.
My patience was nil. Tiredness made me short-tempered, the strain of fighting with Gil pushed me to breaking point. He hadn’t given me space to patch up my holes, which meant I was precariously close to snapping at the slightest thing.
I glowered at myself in the mirror.
It’s not important who he’s been with.
My heart did not believe that.
Knowing Gil had been shopping with other women was the most important, painful thing I could endure.
He might have slept with me.
He might say things that made my soul sing with second chances, but today, I was nothing. He didn’t want to date me, love me, keep me.
I was just his employee.
I’m no one—
Gil’s knuckles rapped the door. “You done? I’ve got to get started.”
“Give me a sec.” My voice wobbled with tears and temper.
He heard.
“Olin.” The lock rattled as he tried to open the door. “Let me in.”
“I’m fine.”
“I said...let me in.”
“No. I can do—”
“O, unlock the goddamn door.” His angry tone slipped into sympathetic soothe. “Please...let me help.”
I didn’t want his compassion, but I couldn’t stop whirling around and wrenching open the door. I stood with breasts out and body pebbled with goosebumps. A woman perusing the same skirts I’d eyed up gasped at my nakedness.
Gil shot her a glower before shoving me deeper into the changing room and joining me.
The door slamming behind him made guilt throb and wishes that things were different suffocate.
His eyes locked onto my breasts.
My nipples instantly hardened.
He groaned under his breath. “If I had time, I’d bend you over right here, right now.”
“Your willpower not to touch me again is abysmal.”
His lips twisted. “I know.”
“Touching me is a mistake, remember?” I deliberately poked at my wounds.
“The biggest mistake.” He nodded. “But it’s also the only thing that’s keeping me from giving up.”
All thoughts of the commission and his past love life vanished under a wave of love and lust. I licked my lips, my breath turning papery. “You can use me to keep going...to keep fighting whatever it is you’re battling.”
His fingers latched around my throat, pushing me against the full-length mirror. “Stop being so goddamn good.”
I shivered as my naked flesh met the cold surface.
“Fuck, O.” His head dipped down; his eyes turned hazy. “I have no control around you.”
I waited for a kiss.
A kiss that would probably end with him inside me and us banned from the shop for life. But as his lips grazed mine, he groaned and pulled away.
His struggle to ignore the blazing chemistry and desire between us laced his voice, turning it rich and rough. “Give me the pasties.” He held out his hand. The same hand that’d been on my body. His fingers twitched—the same fingers that had been inside my body.
I sucked in a needy breath as I dropped the hated pasties into his palm.
“After I’ve painted you, I’m going to peel these bastards off and fuck you.”
I trembled. “How long will the painting take?”
He sighed heavily. “A while.”
“And you’ve made me wet for what purpose?”
His eyes flashed. “You’re wet?”
“I’m trapped in a tiny cupboard with you. You’re talking about fucking me. You were seconds away from kissing me. What do you think?”
His voice lowered to a thick whisper. “I think I’m fucking hard for you and wish I could put us both out of our misery.” Ripping off the double-sided tape from the pasty that I’d struggled to use, he crowded me against the mirror. “But...time is our enemy.”
“As always.”
His gaze dropped to my breasts. “At least your nipples are hard. Makes putting these things on a bit easier.”
My lust instantly switched into resentment. “You have a lot of experience applying these?” My jealousy flared again, turning my voice sharp and s
ullen.
He studied me coldly. “A little.”
“For your canvases?”
He nodded. “If you’re not used to them, it’s hard to apply with minimal wrinkling. I don’t want my painting ruined, so I...offer to help.”
“Did you enjoy touching them?” Prickly self-pity raced down my spine.
His temper billowed, etching his face. “You know, you’ve chosen a strange time to get possessive.”
“It’s a by-product of sleeping with one’s boyfriend.”
“Ex. Ex-boyfriend.” His nostrils flared. “I’m not yours, O.”
My stomach twisted painfully.
You don’t have to remind me.
I know.
Believe me...I know.
I didn’t speak. Tilting my chin, I stuck out my chest. “You’re running out of time. Let’s get this over with.”
His teeth ground together. For a second, it looked like he’d either attack me or make love to me. But then barriers shuttered his gaze, and he dropped his attention to my left breast.
I sucked in a gasp as his cool fingers pinched my nipple. His head bent, and he placed a dry kiss right on the tip before covering the highly sensitive, tingly sensation with the pasty.
I wasn’t expecting sweetness mixed in with the sour.
My enviousness of other women swept back into blistering obsession. “I hate you right now. I hate that I’m tired and tetchy. I hate that I keep letting you confuse me when I should have the balls to tell you to either commit or leave me the hell alone. I hate—”
“Finally.” He sucked in a harsh breath, squeezing my breast painfully. “Finally, you’re doing something sensible. Hate me. Fuck, out of anyone, you’re the most entitled.” His eyes glittered. “Hate me, Olin. Hate me...but don’t leave me. Not yet.”
My limbs turned to water as he pressed my nipple, smoothing out the pasty around my areola.
“It’s you who’ll leave,” I murmured. “Just like before.”
He flinched.
The mirror never warmed behind my inked back, reminding me that out of all his canvases, I wasn’t the most ideal.
Unresolved anger made me mutter, “My scars and tattoos...will they be an issue with this commission?”
The Body Painter (Master of Trickery Book 1) Page 32
