Page 38 of Paint Me Love
Did he? I vaguely remember him mentioning it.
“It slipped my mind,” I try, giving him a fake smile as I run my hand through my hair.
He crosses his arms, visibly pissed off. “They’ve been sat at the restaurant for twenty minutes, waiting for us, and you are here doing what exactly? Staring at dumb art?”
Adam, like me, has this canny ability to be right about most things. Art is dumb, I’ve believed that since I was old enough to know that my time was better spent learning how to run a business than playing with a brush. Like most kids, I did, at one point, have aspirations to create the worlds I could imagine in my head, to put my ideas into a shape that others could appreciate just as much as my mind did. I gave up on that altogether though, years ago, and like Adam, I see no magic in it anymore, just a way to make money off rich brats who think they are the next Picasso.
Until Daniel’s paintings reignited something long lost inside of me.
“We can go if you are done complaining,” I tell him. “No need to make your parents and the media wait longer than they’ve already waited.”
He rolls his eyes, annoyed that I called him out, but starts walking anyway. “I’ve never seen you like this. You are seriously obsessed with this artist,” he accuses, tossing a glare my way over one shoulder. “I thought you’d get over him after you fucked, but it’s only gotten worse. And why are his painting taking up so much valuable space when we could display something that will actually sell?”
Okay, maybe it’s time I confessed. Not to Adam, I don’t think that’s a good idea, but to myself and to whatever nonexistent deity might be listening. That thought I had a while back about not wanting Daniel’s paintings to sell so I can snatch them at the end? That’s gotten, perhaps, a little out of hand. You see, we tend to do online auctions for most of our pieces, where interested parties can bid. We designate a starting price, say $40000, and then we leave it to them to bump it up as high as possible. It’s done in a transparent way at a set time every week, so we, the gallery, can’t rig the bidding. Simple, right? But do you know what’s even simpler? Setting the price of an unknown artist’s works high enough so most connoisseurs of art will be discouraged. After all, who wants to flounder a painting from an artist that no one knows about yet? It nets nothing. It is not a foolproof solution, of course, which is where my contingency plan comes in, namely Jared’s third cousin, Magdalena, who has a fantastic eye for quality art by unknown artists.
Yes, that’s how much I want those paintings hanging in my penthouse. I’m not sure how Adam would take to that, but quite honestly, I don’t give a damn either way. We’re going our separate ways soon enough, but I think there is no point in stirring the pot unnecessary.
“It’s gotten some traction,” I say vaguely, not wanting to get into an argument right before a public appearance. We have to make it believable, and tension of this kind has its way of making itself known no matter how careful we are.
“Derek.” Adam comes to a stop, spinning around to face me with his hands planted on his hips. Tonight, he’s wearing a pastel pink dress shirt with a pair of yellow pants and a white fur coat. “Is he blackmailing you with something?” he grinds out, then snorts. “That would be the day, wouldn’t it?”
My jaw drops. Fuck, imagine that. Little, cute, innocent, submissive Daniel blackmailing me? My dick rears its head. Shit, there is something seriously wrong with me.
“He’s not… I don’t think.” Unless you count the way I can’t stop thinking about him and the fact that I won’t be able to sleep with anyone else after tasting him. But he’s not doing it intentionally. It’s not part of some grand plan that he has.
Right?
“You are clearly more than just infatuated. Yet you haven’t insisted we make our breakup official.” He hums, tapping his fingers against his elbow. “Don’t tell me you are using us as some sick way to make him desperate for you.”
Adam is way too smart sometimes. “It’s none of your business.”
He flails his arms. “You are right. People like us have to play dirty or the good things in life will forever stay out of our reach. But let me give you a piece of advice”—he pauses, holding the car’s door open—“if you truly care about that man, don’t build your relationship on the basis of lies and deception. It will bite you in the ass.”
I hate unsolicited advice, and Adam knows that. “You are awfully chatty today.”
“It’s not every day you get to witness the fall of a titan, is it?”
I blow air out of my nose. “Nobody is falling, Adam. I’m the one in control. Always.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. Starting next week, you aren’t my problem anymore. Good luck.”
The dinner with Adam’s parents goes well. There are cameras, some reporters too, the usual. I manage to eat some food despite the nerves and anticipation in my stomach, and once we’ve paraded ourselves enough for the night, I rush to Daniel’s place.
The moment I step through the door, it’s like I’m home, his presence both calming and titillating. As instructed, he’s wearing nothing but a ribbon around his already leaking cock as he awaits with spread legs for me on the couch.
I dive right in, desperate for his taste, needing it like my lungs need air.
18
Daniel
Derektakeshissweettime sucking my dick. I’m a mess by the time he lets off, on the verge of coming, but not able to because of the ribbon.
“Should I let you ride me today, hmm? Would you like that?”
Yes,fuck. “Please…”
He stands, stretching his muscular arms, then pulls me up, too. We kiss. His tongue leaves no corner of my mouth unexplored, marking, claiming. His hands touch any part of me they can get to with greed and urgency, like he can’t get enough.
