Page 68 of Partnering with the Artist

“As far as I understand.” My face warms. “At base level, clothes stay on until we’re married.”

He casts a glance at the jacket he neglected when he first began drawing on me.

I smile. “That doesn’t count.”

Nodding, he swallows, so I kiss his Adam’s apple.

He utters a curse.

“Stop?” I ask.

“No,” he croaks. “No, no. Please. Please continue.”

Gently, I suck. Kiss. Nip.

He drags my body to him, planting me on his lap, gripping my thighs around his waist as my skirt plumes. “How…do you stop after…after you start?”

I glance down.

If he were Harry, saying that kind of thing with accusation and dark promise, I’d be scared right about now.

But he isn’t, so instead I kiss his mouth, tug on his bottom lip, and test his responding motion as I swallow another curse.

“How, Maelin?” he whispers, hoarse. “Please. I don’t trust myself.”

“You’re beautiful, Zakery.” I rest my forehead against his. Frame his cheeks in my hands. “I trust you.”

“You’ve misplaced your trust before. I don’t want to hurt you if you misplace it again.”

My chest clenches, and he’s not wrong. He isn’t. But if I get past the pain, there’s something so safe in his awareness. It’s this intentional denial while every cell in him craves the closenessI’m offering that makes me trust him. He would rather ache and be careful than risk hurting me.

He responds in full lengths of poetry when I ask for his thoughts.

He…shows me love—whether he knows what he’s feeling or not.

Loveis a word he has defined and chosen to act in accordance with.

To Harry, it was a word. To Zakery, it is an action.

“Should we wait?” he asks, agonizing. “Until nothing is too far?”

“Would you like to?” I ask.

His eyes shatter when they meet mine. “No. Adamantly no. But. I am not thinking clearly. You smell…so good, princess. So good. And you’re so…” He struggles for air. “Soft. I want you. It’s becoming violent. I’m afraid to lose the feeling. I’m afraid I won’t experience this again.”

“You will. Don’t worry about that.”

“But…I run things dry. Shows, movies, stories. All the things I have ever thought I’ve loved I have rewatched or reread until there’s nothing left in them for me. Just a faint sensation of longing, nostalgia,anxiety.”

“I’m not going to be the same any time you rewatch me, Zakery. You can’t even rewind me once, because I’ll never play like a rerun.” I kiss the divot below his lip. “Breathe.”

His lungs fill, pressing against my chest. Air fizzles out of him. “That…was not entirely helpful.”

I giggle.

He laughs, running his hands up my sides, glancing at the galaxy on my clavicle. “I…I want you.”

“I want you, too.”

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