Page 28 of Lessons in Desire

“Idiots.” He tilts his head. “Why do flowers feature so heavily in your work?”

I pull out another petal, the delicate purple warped to weep over the woman.

“Everything I paint exists inside me,” I say, the paint dripping. “And it’s all … scary. Or at least, it always has been. But I do think that no matter how dark things get, the flowers will always grow.” I shake my head. “I think without them, I’d give up on the world.”

“They’re your hope.”

I nod. “Yes. They’re warped, and sometimes decaying, but still the hope is there.”

He sits up, presses a kiss to my shoulder, the light brush like a zap of lighting. It's been a few days since thanksgiving and Asher and I have fallen into a routine, one that consists of dancing around the reality of our situation and falling deeper into one another.

But today is Sunday, and we can’t pretend forever.

“I want to show them in my gallery.” He breathes the words into my skin, flooding me with warmth. I love that he loves what I do, what fills me with life. Not many people will look past the horror of the work. Not many people truly see the flowers.

“Yea?” I breath, leaning my head on his.

“Yes. If you don’t want to do a full collection, just let me put up one.”

I grin, shaking my head. “Asher, no one Is going to want to buy these. I love them and I love that you love them too but I just …” I trail off, not really knowing what to say.

“You’re wrong.” He says firmly. “Just let me trial one. Let me prove you wrong.” He’s baiting me, he wants my stubborn streak to rear its head, desperate to prove him wrong.

He knows me so well.

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Just this one.” I say, waving the paintbrush at the canvas. “It’s finished now.” Placing my brush down, I turn and with paint covered fingers I brush a strand of his dark hair out of his eyes and behind his ears.

“Evelyn.” He murmurs, voice low, almost pained.

“Hmm?”

“We have to talk about this.”

“I know.”

“I think I’ve made it clear what I want.” He brushes his thumb down my face, softly stroking the fuzz on my cheeks. “But I don’t think you’ve ever told me what you want.”

“What do you mean?” My brows furrow.

“You’ve told me many times what you need to do, what grades you need, why you can’t major in Art History, but you’ve never said a word about what you want. Do you want this? Us?”

I swallow, unsure how to answer. “It isn’t that simple.”

“Make it that simple. If you could have any life, any dream, what would it be?”

I look away, focusing on the soft green hills, the meadows, and the sky. “If I could, I would spend my whole life painting. I would live in a beautiful house where the doors would stay open all day, and when I took a step outside, I would see a forest and a lake, flowers, and deer. I would have an easel in every room and hidden all over the woods so whenever inspiration struck, I could fall into it. I would have a sundress and a sun hat and a degree in Art History. I would have three children who would run around my feet, sticking their little fingers in my paint. I would … I would be happy.” I look at him, his eyes the colour of fresh grown grass, and I place my hand on his jaw. “And I would do it all with you.”

He kisses me then. But unlike the rough, desperate kisses we’ve shared before now, this one is soft, gentle. Like a coming home.

I fall back, and he follows, his hand threading through my golden curls. We don’t speak, we just move. He pulls off the cotton shirt I’m wearing, bearing my breasts to the empty meadows. His mouth trails down, his lips pecking at the tender skin of my neck, before swooping down to capture my nipple in his mouth.

I arch my back, moaning as he sucks.

His fingers trail down my sides, the featherlight touch leaving goosebumps rising in his wake. He pulls down my pants, and I lift my hips to help him, to get him inside me quicker. His touch ghosts over my sternum, teasing, the cool breeze against the slickness of my pussy stirring my most carnal desires. He spreads my legs, a satisfied smirk lifting his lips as he drags a finger down the evidence of my desire, my scream loud and mewling. When he slides a finger in, I almost lose myself. I thrust my hips up, needing more, needing to be filled with him.

His fingers come away, and I open my eyes. He’s sucking on his fingers, groaning at the taste and a gush of need rushes through me. He peels off his clothes, throwing them to the side, and then he’s sliding home in one smooth thrust of his cock. We groan in unison at the feeling. When he fills me, I feel complete, like the last piece of a puzzle finally sliding into place.

He stills inside of me, his hands once again, cupping my jaw. He leans down, his lips ghosting over mine. “If there’s one thing I do in this lifetime, it will be to make you happy.” He moves his hips, hitting the spot that makes my eyes roll back, but I can’t look away as he whispers the next words. “I love you.”

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