That was the biggest load of shit I’d ever heard. Milan did nothing but make me uncomfortable. He was the walking embodiment of uncomfortable.Wasn’t that his entire job? Could he even feel pleasure?
I buried my head in my hands with a long groan. My nails tugged at the roots of my hair that now felt more like straw after the air-drying speed Adriano’s car had given it.In Milan’s jacket, in this state, I looked like I was doing the walk of shame which wasfittingconsidering where we were.
Milan stood from the couch, his over six-foot-tall frame like a giant in this room. “Sicily?—”
“Okay, fine!” I blurted. “Yes, I liketheirsex, not everyone’s. Elena and Matteo are my muses; I’ve never painted anyone else. Happy?”
A growl rumbled from his chest, and I rolled my eyes. He was so controlling over someone he didn’t even like, but he was a man, and I was his wife, hisproperty.Men who worshipped their women rarely existed, and it was no secret that Milan was not one of them. I didn’t need him to be.
“No,” he snarled. “Knowing that Bonafede is yourmusedoes not make me happy. I cannot experience happiness, but if I could, that would be the very last thing that would bring me joy.”
There was something so incredibly sad about that.
“He’s my only male model and even that happened by chance.” I looked away, toward the paintings that I’d poured my soul into. “He doesn’t even matter; it’sher. He’s the one servingher, and that’s what my paintings are about.”
All of my anger lived in that paint, and everything women couldn’t have shone from Elena’s face. Whatever a painter painted couldn’t die, and that included the pain of every woman in theFamiglia. Nobody would take it from us if it was here, painted as evidence of our rebellion.
Milan faced the couch again, surveying it for a few silent seconds, before he looked over his shoulder and said, “That is unacceptable.”
The unmistakable sound of a zipper pinged through the air, and it froze me to the spot. Milan shrugged out of his pants and black boxer shorts, revealing an ass that was sculpted and masculine, but it was when he lounged on the chaise, his neck resting over the back of the seat, his hand fisting his cock, that I truly couldn’t look away.
He washugewith thick pulsing veins, and though he was as big as I’d expected, he was much bigger than Matteo. Milan stroked himself casually from base to tip in one smooth flick of his wrist until it stood achingly tall and hard.
My mouth went dry.
“What do you require me to do with my shirt?” he asked casually, unbuttoning the white fabric until he paused at the top button.
I snapped back into the moment, blinking my focus from his cock to his eyes. “Uh—For what?”
“I am your model.” He frowned. “You will paint me.”
Obviously,because he wasn’t about to fuck me in my studio, and I definitely didn’t want that.
Instantly, I sprang into motion, gathering paints and a blank canvas, a pencil, and my stool. I set it down before the chaise,eyeing my new model in the impossible task of trying to map out his body without thinking of it anywhere near my own.
This was crazy, the worst idea of my life, but I’d never had another model other than Matteo, and that sent a thrill through me that I’d not felt for a long time. My passion for painting had always dipped and peaked, but right now, it was peaking.
“These can go,” I said, stepping forward to lift the sunglasses from his nose and setting them atop my own head. My fingers moved to the top button of his shirt, unlocking it to reveal his toned body. “Can you stay like that?”
HisFamigliatattoo sat proudly on his chest, glaring at me like a reminder of exactly who he was. There was no denying that this man was built to cause destruction, but he was also just sitting there, letting me rearrange him like a doll.
He answered with a nod, staring up at me for a moment before settling into his seat with his hand firmly wrapped around his dick.
Milan remained silent as I returned to my stool, and only when I pressed the pencil to the canvas did he ask, “Why were you at the Gioffres tonight?”
“My sister was there, and I didn’t want her to be. I called Matteo to come help, that’s all.” I sighed, not looking up.
“And you did not think it wise to inform me or Adriano?”
My hand paused against the canvas. “No, I didn’t. I was handling it myself.”
“But you contacted Matteo.”
“Because I didn’t want you to punish her!” I snapped, almost breaking the pencil in half. “You’re her Capo.”
I contemplated drawing his dick the size of my pinky finger, but I’d never had another model and the opportunity to detail a new body, new shapes and lines, was one I wasn’t going to let go just because my new model infuriated the hell out of me.
Milan stayed quiet for too long, and when I peered over the canvas, his eyes were narrowed as if I’d just spoken gibberish. “I am alsoyourCapo dei Capi, and you ran from my house, stole my Consigliere’s car, and retained damaging information about Elena and Matteo. Surely, I should punishyou,not your sister?”
