Page 42 of A Taste like Sin
“So fine, you got me. I want to writhe naked in front of a bunch of strangers.” How I said that without
laughing, I will never understand. “Butyoudon’t. You strike me as a private man, Mr. Villa. One who
doesn’t enjoy sharing his experiences.”
“There are ways to satisfy both of our requirements,” he says softly. “If that is what you desire.”
“How so?” I ask instead. “You throw me to the wolves, letting your male ‘entertainers’ screw me
while you sit back and watch?”
What I intended as a joke lands more like a grenade.
“No.” He sits straighter, and were his eyes whole, I’d imagine them flashing. “I apologize if I was not
clear before. No one will ever touch you but me.” His voice is so thick that I feel it in my fucking
bones. Crackling tension robs every ounce of air from my lungs—but a second later, his posture
relaxes and I can breathe again. “At least until our arrangement is over.Sí, that is one boundary of
mine I will never bend.”
“So how—”
“I need to know if this is truly what you want. You need to be sure, no doubts or second-guessing.
Once I finalize the arrangements, there is no going back.”
Even considering what he’s offering should be ludicrous. One might argue it could easily be written
off as driven by extreme emotional distress, at the very least. Deep down, I know it’s not. I have no
excuse of mental frailty to fall back on. The same impulse driving me now is the same one that drew
me to his art in the first place, I suppose.
Curiosity. Discontentment. Enthrallment. Jealousy.
“Dulce niña, how about I tell you?” he murmurs before I can reply. “You may correct me if I am
wrong, ¿sí? But as much as you may try to deny it, you want to be like them. You want to know what
it’s like to be on fucking display—but on your own terms for once. You want—no, need—to let the
world see you as you are, in a way they can’t mock or deride or scrutinize. It’s why you wanted me to
paint you in the first place, is it not? This desire you feel… It is more than lying naked on a pedestal
on a rebellious whim—because you’ve already stripped yourself bare, robbing them of any
ammunition to use against you.”
His words reflect an assessment that goes far beyond this moment. He’s amassing everything he
learned during his unknown months of surveilling me.
“There is a hesitation in you,” he adds as if to prove as much. “A fear I doubt you are even aware of.
