Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
. . . DOESN’T HAVE TO STAY AT THE WATERFALL
CARSON
The other night at the waterfall was yet another damn near magical experience with Orie. Everything I do with her feels whimsical, like it’s straight out of a fairytale…and those weren’t even a big obsession of mine throughout my youth.
First kiss with her in the most beautiful crystal-filled cave? Magical.
First intimate moment under the stars and moonlight, in a waterfall? Straight out of a movie.
Everything with her is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. All I want to do is experience this silly thing called life with her. She breathes new energy into everything I see, everything I do.
The world shifts at her feet, and I don’t think she even realizes it.
At least my world does.
My cabin is full of completed canvases, all of which are inspired by her. I’ve painted everything I feel when I’m around her. How the sun looks when she’s next to me, and a lot more dynamic lighting pieces. The shadows hold so much in every piece. I can’t wait to show the world.
There’s a knock at my cabin door, and my heart skips a beat—she’s here.
I invited her over to show her just some of the work I’ve done since she came into my life. I want her to know that she truly is my muse, and I mean it in every sense of the word.
Quickly, I cross the room and throw the door open. Orie stands there, dressed in all black and looking as radiant as ever. She is beautiful inside and out, and the connection and draw to her runs deeper than the hells she came from.
“You are so gorgeous,” I say, just taking her in for a moment before moving to the side.
“Thank you.” She narrows her eyes at me, but her cheeks have a slight redness to them that isn’t usually there. “Is that why you wanted me to come over? To tell me that you think I’m gorgeous?”
I shake my head, closing the door once she’s fully inside. “No, I actually have something I wanted to ask you—or I guess, ask you to do? But you don’t actually have to do anything.”
My nerves are racing through me, taking over my mind. I’m not even sure if what I just said to her made any sense. Gods, I need to get a grip. I know she feels the same thing I do, but that doesn’t keep the nerves at bay.
“What is it?” She cocks a brow, walking slowly around the cabin and examining it and all the things I have strewn about.
All I can do it watch her. She moves so swiftly and smoothly, there can’t be a single clumsy bone in her body. Everything she does is elegant—every flick of her tail, every expression.
Her hair always looks so glossy, and I swear the navy blue has more depth to it every time I see her. Those eyes are so magnetic, when she looks at me, all I can do is get lost in them.
And her skin is so smooth—she is living art. But imagine art on art.
“Can I…paint on you?”
She narrows her eyes, her smile faltering. “Why?”
I close the space between us, taking her hands in mine. “Orie, you are the most divine being to exist in this lifetime and the next. You alone have opened my eyes to the beauty that exists in shades of gray, in the darkness of the night.”
Her eyes search mine, the corner of her lips giving away the smile she fights to hide. “Go on.”
I waste no time in continuing. “I used to be afraid of anything that wasn’t slightly abstract, that didn’t involve bright colors at the forefront.
Now, though, I feel it in my soul that I was always meant to indulge in the realism and depth that comes with darker colors—with grays, blacks, the deepest of blues. ”
She takes her hands gently from mine, and for a brief second, I fear my explanation wasn’t enough. I open my mouth to say more, but her finger gently presses against my mouth.
As she drags her finger down my lips, content with my silence, she says, “What if I told you I want you to paint bright colors onto me, not dark ones?”
My mouth moves without any words coming out, my mind trying to focus on too many things. Her touch, her face, her tail that has slipped beneath the hem of my shirt and grazes my side.
Finally, I regain control of my tongue. “I would do anything you asked.”
Her cheeks return to their natural color, her eyes squinting as she allows a small smile onto her lips. She drags her finger down my chest before taking a step backward. I watch her closely, not quite sure what she’s doing.
She holds my gaze as she pulls her top off, tossing it aside. Her hands move behind her, her bra becoming loose as she undoes the clasp. I could watch her undress over and over again, and it would be captivating every single time.
Her bra slides down her arms, and she slowly walks over to the bed. “Well, aren’t you going to paint me?”
Oh, I am absolutely going to paint her, hopefully in more instances than just this.
She lies on the bed, chest first, exposing her back to me. Her arms are crossed beneath her head, which is turned to the side as she watches me. Her tail sways in a near-lazy manner off the edge of my bed, as if gesturing me closer.
I scramble to get my paints. Carefully, I take the lid off of each tub, placing them close to her sides to balance them. Once I have all the colors I want, I grab a handful of brushes.
Careful not to knock over any jars, I straddle her, my legs bracketing her hips. At this angle, her ass looks even more round and voluptuous, the low-rise shorts riding up because of her position.
Her tail snakes around my torse gently, and I have to take a breath and remember what I’m doing—what she’s letting me do. She is my living canvas in this moment, and I will create a piece that does her justice.
As I dip the brush in the first color and bring it to her skin, she arches her back slightly away from it. With a light laugh that makes the muscles in her back truly show, she says, “It’s colder than I expected.”
Leaning over, I plant a kiss on the back of her neck, then her left shoulder, followed by her right. “I wish I could warm it up for you.”
Slowly, I sit back, bringing the paintbrush down her back in a more defined stroke. With each swipe of the brush, she relaxes more and more beneath me. I’d imagine it would be a calming sensation, the soft brushstrokes against the skin.
If she ever wanted to, I’d let her paint on me.
“So, what are you painting?” she murmurs, eyes closed. Her tail still wrapped around my torso, the tip occasionally grazing my side in a way that tickles and dares me to make a mistake.
I won’t make any, though. On her, only perfection can be created.
“You’ll see.” I keep the painting a secret for now, my mind honing in as I begin to add the finer details.
I’ve never felt so connected to someone as I do in this moment. It’s as if my art, my heart, and my soul are all merging to become one instrument. All the cogs in my brain are turning together, the source of their synchronization lying right below me.
Orie.
My muse, my love. Now and forever.
As I paint the final detail in, I stare at her back for a moment, marveling in the beauty. This piece might surpass anything I’ve created before, if only by emotion alone. With her as my canvas, featuring my version of our waterfall…I wish I could capture this forever.
Wait, I can.
“Stay still, my muse,” I instruct gently as I search my pockets for my phone.
Once I find it, I open it to the camera, raising my arms up high to get as straight-on a view as I can. I press the capture button—at least, I hope I am—multiple times before lowering my phone and opening the camera roll.
The images are perfect. The warm lighting of the room contrasts so well with the gray of Orie’s shoulders and exposed sides. All the blues and greens in the painting pop with the combination of the lighting and Orie’s beautiful complexion.
She tilts her head up slightly from where she lies, her eyes fluttering open. I move the phone toward her face, turning it so she can see the picture.
Her eyes widen quickly, and she inhales sharply. “Carson…that’s beautiful.”
“You make it what it is,” I say, putting my phone aside and beginning to put the lids on all the paint tubs. “I am merely the messenger of said art.”
She shakes her head, her tail tightening around me as the tip slides underneath my shirt. “You are the creator of the art, give yourself some credit.”
As her tail lifts my shirt higher, she shifts beneath me, her ass rubbing against my dick. I firm up almost instantly, my heart rate increasing.
“Move the paints,” she says, her voice soft but the words firm.
Without hesitation or asking the reason, I do as instructed, leaning over the side of the bed to set the paints on the ground. Once I’m done shifting around, her tail takes its place around my waist again, edging my shirt upward.
“Take off your unnecessary layers,” she practically purrs, the demand sending a rush of blood directly from my heart, all the way to my cock. “Take mine off while you’re at it.”
In as smooth a way as possible, I remove everything I have on, my dick springing free the moment I pull my boxers away. Orie shifts her knees, bringing her pelvis up and wiggling her hips.
My hands slide over her, slowly making their way toward the zipper of her shorts. I undo them, hooking my fingers through the waistband and sliding them down her legs. She works with me to get them off, given the fact that she’s lying on her stomach still.
As my gaze takes in every incredible inch of her, I feel everything from the waterfall all over again—somehow, even more intensely. I think I grow more connected to her with every waking moment, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
She’s the missing piece to the puzzle that is my soul, and I will do everything possible to keep her in my life. The place she’s solidified in my heart will never be undone.
“I want you to fuck me like this…” She brings her legs underneath her, raising her hips high while keeping her head low on the pillow. “Your muse wearing your art.”
Just hearing her accept the title of my muse makes my heart soar, and my dick throb. She doesn’t have to tell me twice.
Gripping her hip with one hand, the other slides down her front, massaging her clit the way she liked before. Her back arches more as she lets out a soft moan.
I let go of her hip, grabbing my dick and lining it up with her. As my tip grazes the wetness between her legs, my body jerks, begging to be inside her.
She pushes back, my tip entering her and making me shudder. I move my hand back to her hip, pushing myself fully inside her and holding her close.
As I begin to pump in and out, I change up the motion of my fingertip against her engorged clit. Every moan that floats from her parted lips seems to bring the painting of the waterfall to life on her back, pure magic emitting from her.
Gods, there’s no woman in this world who is more perfect—in her entirety, or for me.
“I’m glad you didn’t want this to be a one-time waterfall thing,” I tell her between breaths, thrusting deeper and deeper as I hold her steady.
She lets out a deeper, longer moan as I hit her G-spot. “How could it be when you fuck like this?”
I lower myself so that I’m hitting her at a different angle, making each stroke stronger. As happy as I am to please her, I want to please her in more ways than just sex—I want to please her in life and in love.
Her tail is tight around my waist, keeping me where I am and growing tighter as she gets closer to the finish line. We finished together last time, another sign in my eyes that we’re in sync.
I want to finish together again.
She tightens around me, both her tail and her walls, and I can barely hold myself together. I moan from the depths of my soul, and she reaches backward, placing her hand over my hand on her hip.
With a few final thrusts, the pleasure becomes too much to bear, and I finish into her. Her fingernails dig into my hand as she shakes beneath me, her orgasm merging with mine.
We stay like that, intertwined with each other, for a moment, just catching our breath. Slowly, I pull out, and she removes her hand from mine. She pushes herself up, turning to face me.
There’s a cold feeling where her tail was, my torso now free…but I don’t want to be.
“Orie,” I say, staring into her eyes but unable to find the words I want to say.
She blinks at me, the corner of her lips curving upward. “Yes?”
I take a deep breath, licking my lips as I try to sort out everything going on in my head. “This isn’t just sex for me.”
A smile takes over her full lips, and she reaches out, placing both hands on my thighs. She leans toward me, tilting her chin up and puckering her lips. I meet her halfway, bringing my lips to hers.
This kiss is softer, slower, gentler—everything I need right now.
When she pulls away, she bats her eyelashes at me, her cheeks flush. “This isn’t just sex for me either. I feel very…connected to you, in deeper ways than just sexual attraction. Your soul has mixed with mine.”
“I truly think you are what I’ve been searching for my entire life.” I watch her closely, loving the way her smile grows and cheeks get darker. “You are not only my muse, but the missing part of my heart.”
She leans closer again. “And you, my artist, are the missing part to mine.”
My heart soars as our lips meet again, my hands caressing her legs gently. I never thought it would be possible to fall in love so quickly, but this world has shown me the wonderful reality of experiencing impossible things.
I love her more than I love art itself. The question is, how to tell her?