Page 70 of On the Mountain

“Thank you for wanting me.” Because no one ever had, but I thought that was because I’d always belonged to Crow, even before I knew him. I reached toward the painting, almost brushed my finger against his mom’s image. “She was beautiful.”

“Yes, she was.”

We were quiet for a moment, looking down at Crow’s past, at the pain and joy and so many conflicting emotions.

“You should paint her…only her. We can hang her up in the house.”

“I’ve never allowed myself to paint her again, not after this. Maybe I can now.”

My heart leaped with joy. I wanted that for him, so very much.

He took the painting out of my hand and set it down, his pupils growing. “Today, I want to paint you.”

My skin crackled with need. “Yes.” I wanted to do that, wanted to pose for Crow. Wanted to be his inspiration, always.

He nodded, then began to pick up supplies—a canvas, a case, an easel. I frowned as I watched him, but then he turned to me and simply said, “Come.”

I went.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Crow

I wanted to paint Cyrus from life rather than memory, and I wanted to paint him in my bed, in our bed.

He helped me carry the supplies into the house. We set them down, took off the coats, gloves, and other winter wear, then headed to our room.

It had been hard to share my art with him, to give him that piece of me.

I wanted Cyrus, my sun, my little lamb, to see all of me.

“Take off your clothes. Show yourself to me. Let me see what’s mine.”

“Jesus.” Cyrus visibly trembled, his voice shaking on that one word.

You brought me food.

You took care of me.

You risked your life for me.

You give yourself to me.

You love me.

And he deserved to know all of me.

Cyrus did as I said, his beautiful, flawless skin on display for me. He’d gained a little weight since moving to the mountain, his bones not quite as prominent, a little more softness to him that I loved exploring with my eyes, my hands, my tongue.

“Where do you want me?” Cyrus asked.

“Our bed,” I replied, voice rough and feeling strangely unused even though I’d been talking to him. An ear-to-ear smile spread on his face, and it felt like it crossed the distance between us and landed in my chest.

I cocked my head, and Cyrus answered my silent question, “I like it when you call it ours.”

“I like it too.”

He lay down while I arranged the easel and laid everything out. Once I was finished, I went to my Cyrus, brushed my fingers down his shoulder and arm. Goose bumps followed in their wake. “I’m going to paint these too. I love seeing how much I affect you.”

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