Page 67 of Partnering with the Artist

“You seemed very attached to a box of cereal. I bought a couple. In case you want it for breakfast any of the days you stay over here.”

My damp lashes flutter as I try to understand what he’s saying. He…first of all…was at the store, shopping, so he could set this up. Then, when he saw something I seemed to like there, he bought some for me? So I could have it whenever I’m here?

That’s…so sweet. It’s so sweet that it makes me cry harder.

His smile fades. “I’m sorry. Was that overstepping? Should I have said ‘hi’? I didn’t want to intrude on your time with your sister. I recognize that I’ve been hogging you these past few weeks, so I didn’t want her to think I was trying to steal you in the few moments she gets.”

I sniffle, wiping my cheeks as I lower my flute glass against my lap. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just touched. This is probably hormones. Sorry.”

“Nasty things, hormones.” Instead of undermining my emotions, he scoots himself next to me, wraps me in his arms, and kisses the top of my head. “Take your time. I’m right here if you need anything.”

Sagging against his chest, I soak in the stability of his presence, whisper, “Is there anything I can do for you? You’ve been so kind and generous. It feels like I’ve just been existing.”

“Well,” he murmurs, “there is one thing I’d like to do, but we can broach that subject after we eat.” With that he fills his flute glass and raises it. “A toast?”

I lift my own glass, fighting to quell my sniffles.

“To the start,” he says, “of us.”

Us.

I love that.

So I touch my glass to his, and drink.

?

Bare, tattooed arms flexing, Zakery paints penstrokes across my skin, hypnotized and careful. Every so often, he whispers a curse and drops his lips to my flesh. I do my best not to shudderwhile he etches me in ink.

It started with my hand—a butterfly, branches, a skin canvas for the sketches I showed him of our Creator’s Ball attire details. From there, he moved to my shoulder, stretching dragon wings and claws around my bicep. Now, after dragging a finger across my collarbone, meeting my eyes, and sayingplease, he is dotting the thousand stars of a galaxy on my chest in the space between where my dress starts and my throat ends.

Kissing my jaw, he murmurs, “You’re doing so well. Being so still for me.”

My breath shivers.

He runs his nose down my throat, kisses the marks, adds to them, curses. “Oh to be the ink poisoning your bloodstream. One day, if you’re willing, I’d like to be a permanent fixture in your skin. Just something small. Something to say you’re mine. I’ll keep the rest of you as a canvas I can reuse again and again. I would make a habit of coloring you in, watching you tremble for me as you fight to be oh so still.” His eyes hit mine, and I can’t stop the responding quake.

Smiling, he pulls his pen away, sets it down, and follows the swirl of the galaxy he’s made with a fingertip. “Beautiful.”

Swallowing hard, I say, “Is this really all you wanted to request from me?”

He pushes my hair away from my face and follows the curve of my cheek back down my neck until his touch gets lost in the galaxy again. “Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m pacing myself. If I send you home dripping in ink like me, your sister might worry.” He plays with my fingers, kisses the flowering branches he drew on the back of my hand. “You’re worried you aren’t doing enough when you just exist near me, princess, but I’m hooked on it. Keep existing. Just like this. It’s—” He swears. “—cocaine.”

My face heats as I ease myself upright.

He grins, clicks his pen open, and takes my face in his hand before drawing a heart on my cheek. His kiss seers moments before I look at him. As our eyes lock, his smile tames, and his gaze lowers to rest on my lips.

Many silent moments pass before I ask, “What are you thinking?”

His thumb runs over my mouth. “Is desire a feeling worthy of subjugation? Am I experiencing it right now? Would it horrify you to know all the things I have thought as I’ve touched you for the past hour? Have I been thinking any of it of my own volition, or simply because these matters seem correct between lovers? All my life, throughout my childhood, my head has been filled to bursting with concepts of beauty. My worth has been measured by my skill. When I look at you, I seeart. I must guide myself past that if I’m to entertain ideas of things that lovers do, and—still—I hardly understand.” Closing his eyes, he shakes his head. “Sorry. My mind is spinning. Ultimately, I am trying to decide whether I’d like to kiss you, if I merely suspect that Ishould, or if you’d appreciate the action regardless of what prompts it… Kissing you goodnight felt forced, and limited. I did it because it seemed correct. I’ve seen goodnight kisses before, scattered in media. I didn’t want to disappoint you if you were expecting it, and I counted precisely to three like you asked. It was for you, apart from myself.” He sweeps his fingers into his hair. “When you visit me in my dreams, there are no rules, no limits. I act without thought. But you’re not a person there, like you are here. Those actions stem from subconscious places that I don’t have access to when I’m fully awake. I…want you. I do. But I don’t know how to want you correctly. Does that…” His fragile gaze lifts, pleading. “…make sense?”

Reaching for his hand, I plant his palm at my waist, then I slip my touch up his bare arm, to his shoulder. He stiffens whenI kiss a flower bud darkening his flesh. “If I stop you, stop.” I kiss his neck, feel his breath hold as his grip solidifies, pressing into me. “If you want to, stop me.” I graze his lips, pull back, meet his eyes. “That’s how you do this correctly. The rest can be just like your dreams.”

He releases his hair. “Is that…all there is to it?”

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