Beauty in the Ashes

by Micalea Smeltzer

  In a tangle of limbs, we moved together, creating art and releasing our demons. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever done in my entire life.

  As the hours passed, he showed me again and again just how beautiful making love could be. I was ruined now. I’d never be able to go back to my old ways. Caelan Gregory had forever changed me—and I was perfectly okay with that.

  Spent, my body curled against his. He kissed me deeply, robbing me of breath.

  He nuzzled my neck and the words he spoke stopped my heart and even my world.

  “I love you is too simplistic of a description for what I feel for you.” His breath tickled my skin. “I live for you.” He kissed my neck, then my chin, and finally my lips. “Yes,” he hummed, “that’s much more accurate.”

  I tilted my head towards him, lifting my hand to cup his cheek as my hair tickled his skin. “I live for you,” I repeated his words back to him.

  He was right. What we had…it couldn’t be defined as love. It was different…infinitely more.

  CHAPTER 17

  Caelan

  We’d fallen asleep on the canvas. Waking up with Sutton in my arms filled me with a joy I’d never felt before.

  As she slept, her face buried in the crook of my neck, I couldn’t help but marvel at how she’d shared her past with me. I was honored that she trusted me enough to tell me the truth. It was a gift I’d cherish for the rest of my life.

  She stirred in her sleep and made the cutest little moan.

  God, I could watch her sleep forever.

  Her nose crinkled and I itched to reach out and touch it.

  Slowly, her eyes blinked open and she looked up at me. She turned her head away and yawned before looking back at me. With a bashful smile, she asked, “What time is it?”

  I raised my body a bit to look out the window. “Well, it’s dark now.”

  She laughed. “That doesn’t answer my question, but okay.” She suddenly frowned and started to pull away. “I should go.”

  I tightened my hold on her. She wasn’t going anywhere, not yet.

  “Stay,” I breathed, rolling on top of her and pinning my hands beside her head.

  “You…you don’t want me to leave?” She questioned, a small crinkle in her brow.

  I let out a small chuckle and rubbed my nose against hers. “No way, sweetheart.”

  “Oh.” She let out a soft sigh and smiled.

  I frowned, realizing that when she had awakened she’d believed things had gone back to the old way between us. She was crazy. That wasn’t happening. The truths and passion we shared had forever altered us. There was no going back.

  I kissed he, pulling her plump bottom lip between mine and releasing it. Her eyes dilated with lust and I loved that I made her come alive.

  “You know,” I grinned, tilting my head, “we should probably shower.”

  She laughed—her face transforming with the emotion—and reached up to run her fingers through my hair, which was caked together with paint. “That’s probably not a bad idea,” she wet her lips. “Are you going to make sure I get very, very clean?” Her arms wound around my neck.

  “Mmm,” I pretended to think. “I’ll make sure there’s not a speck left.”

  “Good,” she giggled, wiggling her hips, “because I’m pretty sure I have paint in places I don’t even want to think about.”

  That was probably true of the both of us.

  I peeled my hands off the canvas and stood. I reached a hand out for her, and when she grasped it I tossed her over my shoulder.

  “Caelan!” She shrieked as I carried her to the bathroom. Her laughs filled the air as I turned on the shower and waited for it to warm. Once the water was heated, I lowered her and pulled her inside under the spray.

  The water caused the paint to blend together on our bodies in a kaleidoscope of color. I took a mental picture, never wanting to forget this.

  I grabbed my soap and lathered it in my hands. “I have to admit,” I inhaled the scent of the soap, “I kind of like the fact that you’re going to smell like me.”

  She laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re such a dude. You all want to mark your territory like a damn dog.”

  “Well,” I reached out, rubbing the soap on her body, the white foam running in rivulets down her abdomen and legs, “when a guy has a beautiful woman like you, he can’t help but want to make sure everyone knows she belongs to him.”

  “Trust me,” she smiled coyly, “you have nothing to worry about.”

  “There’s no one else?” I questioned, cupping her breasts and rolling my thumbs over her nipples. “What about the guy you gave a lap dance?”

  Her body stiffened and she frowned. “He’s no one.”

  Ice drenched my veins. She was lying. I could see it. She had feelings for him, feelings she didn’t want to admit.

  “Don’t lie to me, Sutton,” I growled.

  “He’s just a friend,” she assured me, placing her hand on my chest where my heart beat proudly. “What I feel for him, in no way compares to what I feel for you.”

  I took a deep breath, marveling at her words and how relieved they made me feel.

  I kissed her in a punishing manner. I wanted her to know that she belonged to me. Her body melded against mine and then her legs wrapped around my waist. Under the spray of the shower, I held her in my arms with her back against the tiled wall, and sank myself deep inside her. I wanted to stay buried there forever, so I didn’t have to face reality. And the reality was if I ever wanted to have a healthy, lasting relationship, I had to clean up my act.

  As she climaxed around me, and I reached my own peak, I said the same words to her that I had spoken after we made love. “I live for you.”

  It was true.

  I lived and breathed for Sutton Hale.

  And that was a dangerous fact.

  ⌘⌘⌘

  When we finally had all the paint scrubbed from our bodies, I grabbed towels from under the sink. I wrapped one around my waist and tossed the other one at her.

  Fluffing her wet hair, she smiled. “I think you got all the paint. Thanks for being so thorough,” she winked.

  I swiped at her towel, trying to pull it away from her body. Laughing, I said, “Maybe I should check and make sure it’s actually gone. I wouldn’t want to any to have slipped through the cracks.”

  “No, no, no,” she backed away, wagging a finger. “You’ve had your way with me too many times. My body needs a break.”

  I frowned. “Can you at least be naked then?”

  She let out a bellowing laugh, and the sound of it filled me with joy.

  “I don’t think so, but nice try.” She redressed in the clothes she’d had on earlier.

  Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I grabbed her and pinned her against the dresser. I lifted her up, so she sat atop. Her hands framed my face and she shook her head. “What are you doing, Caelan?”

  “I don’t want you to leave,” I admitted. “Stay with me.”

  She frowned. “I should really go home, Brutus—”

  “Bring Brutus over here,” I replied, before she could continue. With a smile I added, “I’ve grown quite fond of your pussy.”

  She smacked my shoulder and scoffed. “You’re disgusting.”

  “Pussycat. Better?”

  “No.”

  I laughed, and lowered her to the ground once more. “Please, come back,” I rested my forehead against hers, my fingers tangling in the belt loops of her jeans. I hated to sound like I was begging, but after everything we’d just shared, the last thing I wanted to do was watch her walk out the door.

  “Okay,” she relented. “I’ll get Brutus and be right back.”

  My relief was audible and embarrassing.

  Her hand found mine and she gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  She left the apartment, and in the moments I was alone, I assessed the canvas spread on the floor. It was kind of crazy to think we’d made this beautiful piece of art by making love. T
he colors swirled together in a hypnotic blend. If you studied it closely, you could make out the occasional hand and foot print and was that—? Yeah, that was the imprint of my ass. Or maybe it was hers. I tilted my head, trying to figure out. Realizing she would be back any second with the cat I picked the canvas up off the floor in a gentle manner, laying it delicately across the drying board. It was still damp in spots and the last thing I wanted was for Brutus to walk on it and ruin it. Although, I guess we could always make another one and wouldn’t that be fun.

  I heard the door close and turned to look behind me. Even though she’d only been gone no more than five minutes, I couldn’t help feeling relieved that she was back.

  Clearly, there was something wrong with me or maybe I was returning to normal. I’d spent so long in a drug induced haze that I’d forgotten what it was like to yearn for a human being—for the comfort only a relationship could provide, not just a one-night stand.

  “Oooh, I want to see!” She clapped her hands together, dancing over to where I stood.

  Even Sutton was different since this afternoon. She was lighter and happier. She smiled and laughed more. There wasn’t a cloud of doom hanging over her head anymore. I hated that I hadn’t seen at first how much she hurt. I was a selfish bastard like that, but hopefully I could make up for it now.

  “Wow,” she gasped when her eyes lit upon the canvas. “We did that?”

  “We did,” I chuckled. “What do you think?”

  “I think it was so worth getting paint in my hair.”

  I grasped a dark wet lock of hair between my fingers. “Yes, definitely worth it.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” She asked.

  I was lost for a moment, staring at her and remembering the things we’d done hours earlier.

  With a shake of my head I jolted back to the present. “I’ll wrap it around a frame,” I pointed to some of the wooden boards I had lying in the corner, “and probably hang it up.”

  Eyeing the boards, a smirk lifted her lips. “Now I know why you had a drill.”

  I raised a brow in question.

  “That first day when you hung my curtains. I wondered why you of all people had a drill. You seemed so…” She paused. “Unhandy,” she finally supplied with a small shrug of her slender shoulders.

  “Me? Unhandy? What are you talking about? I’m quite handy. I give Bob the Builder a run for his money.”

  She snorted at that. “The fact that you know who Bob the Builder is, is highly amusing.”

  I shrugged. “When I was little I used to want to build houses like…”

  “Like?” She questioned.

  I bowed my head, air whizzing past my lips. “Like my dad.”

  “Oh, Caelan,” she placed a gentle hand on my arm.

  “It’s okay,” I shrugged. “Our dreams and hopes for our future are always changing. This may not have been the life I imagined for myself, but it’s not all bad,” I took her hand in mine, squeezing gently.

  She looked over at the canvas and back at me. “Why do you paint?”

  I should’ve known that question was coming. “Artistic abilities run in the family. My mom was a very talented artist. She did paintings and pottery from the house—made a decent living off of it too. And Cayla, my sister, she was always insanely talented too. I was too invested in myself and football and hopes for a scholarship that I never bothered to see if I had any talent of my own.” Shrugging, I continued, “Once they died, it seemed like a good way to connect and honor them. Turns out, I’m not that bad.”

  “You’re very talented,” she smiled. “Have you ever thought about opening a studio and showcasing it?”

  I couldn’t contain my laughter at that, it slipped past my lips and filled the air, echoing against the walls. “That’s funny. An addict owning an art gallery—that sounds like a bad comedy in the making.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself.” Her lips turned down in a frown.

  “No, I’m not,” I shook my head. “Just realistic.”

  She rolled her eyes and I knew she thought I was crazy.

  I didn’t want to talk about it anymore so I asked, “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving,” she replied, sucking her plump bottom lip between her teeth and releasing it.

  Fuck. Now I wanted to eat her. She was a temptress.

  I strode away from her before I took action—like kissing her senseless and taking her to my bed. We really did need to eat if we were to keep up our strength for later, because I wasn’t done with her.

  I looked through the refrigerator and cabinets. Uh…

  “I don’t have any food.”

  She rolled her vibrant blue eyes and tapped her fingers on the tile countertop. “You boys are all the same. You never have any food except cereal and chips. How do you not fall over dead from starvation?” With a shake of her head, she started towards the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  Brutus rubbed against my legs and I picked up the cat, cradling him in my arms. You know, he was kind of cute…in a weird way. I’d never seen a cat with as many colors as he had. It was like he didn’t know if he wanted to be brown, black, orange, or white.

  I scratched him under his chin and he immediately began to purr.

  Sutton returned with a bag filled with items from her fridge. “Get,” she waved me out of the small kitchen area, “you’re in my way.”

  I chuckled, still clutching Brutus in my arms. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re extremely bossy?”

  An elegant brow arched and she cocked a hip to the side, placing her hand on it. “Yes, I’m well aware that I’m a bossy, nosy bitch. Happy?”

  “Very,” I smiled, rubbing the top of the cat’s head. He curled his body into me, his purrs becoming louder. “Need any help?”

  She whipped around to face me. Her still damp black hair slapped against her skin with the movement. “I’m guessing since you have no real food to speak of in this place, that you don’t know how to cook. So why on Earth would I need your help?”

  I suppressed my chuckle. “Point taken.”

  “Go paint a picture or something,” she muttered, turning a knob on the stove so it would heat.

  “Bossy, bossy, bossy,” I muttered under my breath, letting Brutus down on the floor.

  “I heard that!”

  “I meant for you to,” I smirked, backing towards my easel. “I think I better go paint that picture now, before you toss me off the roof.”

  Her lips lifted in a smile at the memory. “This won’t take long.”

  While she cooked, I worked. I should’ve been working on a commission painting, but right now I needed to get this image out of my head.

  My hand glided over the canvas, the pencil leaving behind a light gray outline. I didn’t sketch much, preferring to do everything in paint, but when an image was this clear in my head I knew sketching it would provide a much needed depth.

  Brutus tried to jump in my lap and I brushed him away, so that he didn’t mess me up.

  The image quickly came to life. To anyone else looking, they would’ve seen a bunch of gray lines that made no sense. But I saw the end result.

  I blended a deep blue-violet for her hair and worked on that first. It filled most of the canvas with its long and flowing waves. Smearing it with my fingers and adding water, I let it drip. I always loved the more drippy watercolor paintings. I guess in some part of my brain, it made them seem more meaningful. Like each image was melting and would only last a little bit longer—making me want to memorize it before it disappeared forever. My paintings were always a chaotic mess of colors, spinning and merging together to form the image I desired. For me, it symbolized the chaos of life and the ever-changing colors that made up our environment and personalities. I didn’t know what someone else saw when they looked, and I didn’t care. Art was subjective. It meant anything to any number of people. The point of art was to find your own interpretation. No one was wrong and no one was right. The artist was the
only one that held the true knowledge of what lay behind the eyes of the painting—but what it meant to us, wasn’t important. It was what it made people feel that mattered.

  I dipped a clean brush into the brightest blue I found and blended a bit of black and white into it until I had the exact right shade of her cerulean eyes. When I was confident that it was perfect, I pressed the brush lightly against the canvas.

  Once her eyes were painted I focused on creating a magenta for her lips. I wanted them to pop and compete with the beauty of her eye color.

  Next, I moved on to her eyelashes. Instead of going with the traditional black, I made them a rainbow, then the let the colors drip down the canvas.

  I didn’t pause when Sutton sat down on the floor beside me, watching me work. I wasn’t used to people being around while I painted, but I didn’t care. With her, I was comfortable.

  Soon, the image I’d seen in my head stared at me from the canvas.

  I set the brushes aside and appraised it.

  “Is that…me?” She asked, her voice soft and hesitant.

  “Yeah,” I nodded, “it’s you.”

  “Wow, it’s…just…wow. I have no words. It’s beautiful, Caelan. Completely different from the other I saw, and that one was amazing, but I love this one more.”

  I knew which one she was talking about, the one I’d demanded she give back. That one had been a more realistic portrayal of her. While this one with it’s rainbow of colors, could have easily been someone else.

  “It’s my favorite too,” I concurred.

  She didn’t know that I had even more paintings of her lying around.

  She’d invaded my every thought, and become the only thing I wanted to paint.

  We sat looking at the canvas for a little while longer until her stomach rumbled.

  She smiled bashfully and stood. “The food is getting cold.”

  I turned around to see that a meal was spread out on the tile bar top. I had the urge to spread her on top, but I knew we needed to eat. The other would come in time.