Page 20 of From the Ashes (Redwood Bay Fire #2)

CHAPTER 20

Zahir

“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” I grumble, even though there’s no bite in my words. I can tell Colt knows this by how he grins at me.

“Are you ever going to understand the concept of a surprise? Be chill. We’re basically there now.”

He pulls his car into an industrial complex I’m not sure I’ve been to before, which is unusual considering how work has pulled me all over town throughout the years.

It looks like one of those areas that used to be factories and warehouses but got shut down during one of the recessions in the eighties or nineties. It appears the space in is the process of being split up and sold off to be repurposed. As we drive down the central road, I see an accounting firm, a T-shirt printing business, a nail salon, and a pet grooming parlor.

I wonder if he’s brought me here to tell me he’s setting up his own practice to put some distance between him and his father. That’s probably selfish of me, but he seems so excited, I feel like this has to be something kind of big for it to make him so jubilant. It’s a shame that I think getting out from under his parents’ control would make him happy, but I don’t think there’s any point in sugarcoating it, especially if I’m just thinking it to myself.

In any case, I’m not going to say anything one way or the other until I know where our destination is. We could be going to an escape room or laser tag or one of those places that you get into giant inflatable balls and run around. I have no idea what’s on the other side of this complex. There could be open fields or forestland or a damn quarry for all I know.

It strikes me that I don’t get many surprises in my life, and I’m nervous. Colt leaving me like he did at a formative age left me feeling insecure about a lot of things. It seemed at the time like he was the only person in the world who really knew me. So no wonder I’ve spent most of my life avoiding situations that would make me anxious. The station therapist we all check in with regularly was pleased when I pieced that together on my own a couple of years ago.

Knowing this about myself hasn’t stopped me from rejecting change and being resistant to the unpredictable. My job has enough surprises every day, but my training and experience makes me feel prepared for that. In my everyday life though…yeah, no wonder I never wanted to go speed dating when Yara tried to set me up or join in with Sawyer and Anton’s spontaneous plans. In my defense, sometimes those plans have later involved bailing Sawyer out of jail, so I stand by my reluctance there.

Right now, I don’t want that old baggage clouding an experience that Colt is clearly enthusiastic about. He’s been playfully secretive about something for the last couple of weeks, and I assume this is the culmination of that effort. I don’t want my apprehension to make me come across as ungrateful.

Because what have I been reminding myself of over these past several weeks? That I trust Colt. He’s given me his heart again and I have to let him have mine if this relationship is ever going to have a chance at growing into something bigger and long-term.

So yes, I trust him. I know he’s not tricking me right now. Wherever we’re going and whatever we’re doing, he thinks it’s something I’ll enjoy. Even if he’s missed the mark, it’ll be the thought that counts.

It’s taken me a hot minute to get used to the idea that Colt thinks about me as much as I think about him. I’m having to re-write all my old assumptions in my head. They’ve been there a decade and a half, so switching off the knee-jerk reactions is going to take time. But Colt cares about me a lot. I know this from all the big and little things he does for me.

So while I might not be able to completely sweep away my nerves, I can at least keep a lid on them. I’ll soon know what’s going on, then hopefully I can relax.

Finally, Colt swings into one of the parking lots and kills the engine. He turns and looks at me, practically vibrating. “Ready?”

“Ready if you are,” I tell him sincerely.

He unbuckles and hops out the car, running around to open my door before I get the chance. Once he’s locked his car, he grabs my hand and tugs me toward the front door of the rather gray building we’re apparently going inside.

As he punches in a security code he double-checks on his phone, I see a sign that reads ‘Monarch Studios.’ For a brief moment as I follow him inside, I wonder if it’s a photography studio and he wants to prove his commitment by doing a couple’s photoshoot. Then I wonder if it’s a recording studio and he wants me to sing.

Then I realize how ridiculous both those ideas are and shake my head as we go up a flight of stairs. Maybe it’s a dance studio and he wants us to learn something together. That might actually be quite romantic, but surely he’d have told me to wear comfortable clothes if that was the case, and he didn’t.

I’m so preoccupied by my thoughts that I almost bump into him when he stops. He’s holding up a key and for the first time since he picked me up, he looks a little nervous. “Um, this is for you. It’s yours. But if you don’t like it, we can change it up or get rid of it or…” He huffs and shakes his head. “Sorry. I steamrollered into this and now I’m scared it was a terrible idea.”

My heart melts and I step closer to gently kiss his lips. “I’m sure whatever it is, it will be wonderful because it’s from you.”

He lets out a tiny, relieved whimper and nudges his nose against mine. “Okay,” he says breathlessly. “I suppose I should just open the door and let you see, huh?”

“Sure,” I tell him, rubbing the side of his arm to give him some reassurance. His nerves tell me he’s put a lot of thought into whatever’s waiting on the other side of the door. The fact that he cares so much is all that really matters to me.

With a final nod, he jams the key in the door, unlocks it, and swings it inside, gesturing for me to go in first.

What strikes me first are the enormous windows that stretch from the high ceiling down to the wooden work benches opposite me, letting in so much natural light. The floor is laminated, and the white walls have an industrial, slightly distressed finish to them that matches the silver lamps and exposed piping overhead where a fan is spinning, keeping the room cool.

I absorb all this in a second or two. After that, my brain latches on to what’s in the room…what it’s being used for.

My art.

At least a dozen of my paintings have been hung up, with more propped up on the floor against the walls and some standing in easels. I recognize my old stand from my teta’s conservatory when I used to work at her place, but the others look new. Maybe not brand new, but hardly used and certainly unfamiliar to me.

“How did you…? Where…?” I try and ask faintly, looking back at Colt.

He lets the door close behind him and moves to stand in front of me, pressing the key into my hand. “Your grandma kept all your important pieces,” he explains. “In a storage locker in town. The same place all my stuff used to be.”

I blink at him. “You’re telling me you did this with my teta?”

He nods bashfully. “We ran into each other and a plan just sort of formed. Well, more of a scheme, maybe. A mission. Where do you think all the potted plants came from?”

I was so stunned that I didn’t even notice. But now he’s pointed them out, there are at least half a dozen pots spotted around the place, from large leafy ones on the floor to pretty, colorful flowers on the windowsill. They make the place feel almost like a conservatory. I don’t know what its purpose was when this place was a factory, but this room is the most perfect, incredible art studio I could imagine. Even the view from the window overlooks one of the few patches of grass I saw in the area.

“You have a sink over there, see,” Colt says, continuing to give a tour from where we’re standing in the middle of the room. “I’m not sure I’d recommend drinking the water, but it’s good enough for cleaning brushes.” He chuckles, then directs my attention to some new looking drawers. “We stocked some things up in there, like paints, pencils, a couple of different thicknesses of papers, but we figured you’d probably want to pick your own stuff, so there’s plenty of space for that. And the brushes are all in those jars on that table there. Farah said that was the best way to store them. I, um, even installed Bluetooth speakers that you can connect your phone to if you want to listen to music or podcasts while you work.”

He blushes, perhaps because saying it out loud is making him realize just how enormous this gesture of his is. Of all the things I was expecting, they don’t even come close to the reality I’m looking around at now.

“Colt, I…” my voice is too weak to finish the sentence. “This can’t all be mine? It’s too much. I…”

He squeezes my hands tighter so I can feel the key pressing into my skin. “I paid five years rent upfront,” he says softly, as if that isn’t a breathtaking bombshell to drop. “If it’s not right or whatever, I have permission to sublet it. But I’d love nothing more than for it to be yours, so if there are things you want to change, we can do that. The landlady said you can even paint murals on the walls if you feel like it. She’d just probably have to cover them up if she needed to look for another tenant.”

This is so overwhelming. I can’t stop staring at it all. Colt didn’t just orchestrate this for me. He conspired with my grandma to do it. It makes me feel seen and important in a way I’ve never experienced before.

“The sofa?” I ask, because that’s apparently the level of vocabulary I’m capable of right now.

He juts his chin at the soft-looking ocean-blue couch. “In case you need a break. Or in case I want to come hang here with you while you work.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Really?”

He lets go of my hands to hug me, tucking my forehead against his neck. “Yeah, baby. I love watching you create magic. And I love being surrounded by your pieces. You, um, might notice there are a couple missing.”

He sounds guilty, and I glance around at all the canvases. I can’t see some of the ones that are propped up on the floor, but honestly, it’s been so long since I saw my old work that I’m not familiar with them anymore. “Did they get damaged?”

Colt laughs, but not unkindly. “No. Your grandma kept a couple to hang in her place, and I took a big one for mine. We agreed that if you wanted them back, of course you can do whatever you want with them. But seeing as you thought they’d been given away years ago, we thought you’d be okay if they lived with us instead.”

He’s right. I don’t need everything here. I’ve forgotten painting half this stuff. But the idea they liked something so much they wanted to hold onto it stirs pride within me. What’s the point of creating beauty if it’s not going to be appreciated, after all?

I think in the midst of my sadness, I forgot that. These pieces are so tied into mine and Colt’s relationship, I always felt I had to hide them when we were at school, like we hid ourselves.

But we’re not doing that anymore.

“Which ones did you guys keep?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Farah has a couple that you did of her old garden,” Colt tells me, and that immediately makes me happy.

“That’s why I painted them,” I say with a small laugh. “I knew one day she’d move out of the big house, and she wouldn’t be able to take all the stunning landscaping work she’d done with her. I’m surprised she didn’t claim them before.”

“I don’t think she felt she was allowed to,” he says gently to me, and he probably has a point.

“And you?”

He looks slyly at me. “There was that huge one you got an A on, right before we graduated. It’s mostly black and white lines with splashes of blue and yellow.”

Of course that’s the one he picked. “You know that was me capturing us making love on the beach, right?”

He bites his lower lip and grins, color rising on his cheeks. “I had a feeling.”

I’m kissing him before I even realize it. But I guess it’s okay, because he’s kissing me right back. “That one’s yours, anyway,” I mumble against his lips. “It was always yours. Colt, this place is incredible. I love it. I…it’s the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Phew,” he says with a nervous laugh. I pull back to look at him properly and he keeps talking. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to be opening a can of worms. You started painting again—you gave me that triptych—so I hoped it was something that you were enjoying again. But I was worried it could equally set off a trauma reaction or something.”

Bless his heart. I kiss his cheek. “Nothing but gratitude and happiness here, I promise.”

He touches my hair then cradles my jaw. “I want you to be free, Zahir. The way you’ve made me feel free. I want you to bear your soul for the world to see. It’s too beautiful to keep hidden away.”

“So are you,” I say earnestly, feeling overcome by his words. “I…Colt. Will you let me paint you?”

“Like one of your French girls?” he quips. I can see the vulnerability in his eyes.

But, yes, that’s exactly what I want.

“Not for the world to see,” I assure him. “Not if that’s something you don’t want. But for me. I’d like you to be my first subject in this beautiful sanctuary. Please.”

He swallows, his eyes shimmering in the light streaming from the windows. “I’d be honored,” he whispers.

Without speaking, I gently steer him toward the sofa until we’re standing beside it. Then I make short work of divesting him of his clothes before easing him down on the couch. When he’s lying down, I drape one hand above his head and place the other on his stomach, then move his legs so one is hooked over the sofa arm and the other is resting on the floor.

“Comfy?” I ask. He nods, looking up at me reverently. “You look so beautiful,” I murmur.

His body is already a work of art. But there’s a history there, too. A scar I remember him getting from climbing out his bedroom window one time to see me. Another I don’t know anything about. Tan lines from surfing with me recently. Muscles he’s built up over the years to become the strong man he is today.

I’ve positioned him like this to display his cock prominently. He’s not entirely soft, but still mostly relaxed, which is what I wanted. After so long in the closet, I was concerned this might be too much for him. But he looks completely at ease. In fact, he seems a little punch drunk as he smiles up at me.

“You make me feel beautiful, baby,” he says. “You’re my ocean.”

I bend down and kiss his lips. “You’re my sunshine,” I mumble against them.

Before I can get carried away, I move back and look for what supplies are close at hand. Perfect. There’s a new pack of charcoal pencils on the table, and it takes me no time to find the right kind of paper in the drawers to put on one of the easels. Once I’m set up, I meet Colt’s gaze and begin unbuttoning my shirt.

The only sounds in the air are the overhead fan and both our heavy breaths. I don’t know if either of us even blinks until I’m as naked as he is, and I’m glad this studio is on the second floor where no one can peer through the windows at us.

This moment is just between me and my man.

I move to the easel and start sketching, capturing Colt’s prone form quickly in bold strokes. Then I move on to filling in a few details like his gorgeous eyes, nose and lips, several strands of his soft hair, and his budded nipples.

Until there’s just one thing I haven’t drawn.

I lick my lips, meeting his gaze. I’m pretty sure he’s been quietly watching me during the few minutes I’ve been working. “Touch yourself,” I instruct him, my voice hoarse.

He doesn’t even hesitate or look away. He just lowers the hand from his stomach to wrap around his cock, swiping his thumb over his tip, making it shine with pre-cum.

“Like this, baby?”

My heart is hammering, and my own cock is thickening. “Yeah,” I grunt, flicking the charcoal over the page, immediately bringing to life his hardening length and the way he’s pleasuring himself. It’s raw and fluid and beautiful.

This is Colton Ross. He might not be able to come out to everyone, but this is me helping him come out to himself and the universe. He’s stunning and I won’t let him hide away any longer.

As soon as I’m happy I’ve got what I need, I move away from the easel. I plan on adding a lot of shading and more details later. But right now, I desperately need to feel Colt under me.

He just watches as I approach, naturally dropping his hand and giving me space to straddle him. His cock is rock hard and leaking now, and for a second, I revel in rubbing myself against him as I capture his mouth for a filthy kiss.

But I’ve still got the charcoal in my hand. I did that on purpose. So before we can get too carried away, I lean back and study Colt’s chest as it rises up and down, looking at the perspiration beading on his skin. My palms are already mucky, but I rub even more black dust over them. Then I press one against the side of his neck and the other over his heart, kissing him again as I do.

After I’ve left handprints on both those spots, I take the stick of charcoal and start outlining under his pecs, around his dusky pink nipples, and along his cum gutters.

“I told you that you were a work of art,” I say, smudging the lines with my fingers. We’re still pressed together, and I can feel his cock throbbing against mine.

“Sign me,” Colt says, completely seriously. It’s silly, but in that moment, it feels so sexy as I use the blunted pencil, pressing down hard as I scribble my signature over his hip.

That seems to do something to him. Something feral. The second I’m finished, he knocks the charcoal from my hand, then grabs the back of my neck to crash our mouths together in a fierce kiss. With his other hand, he circles both our leaking members and starts jerking us off, hard. I moan and rut against him, and it’s clear neither of us are going to last long.

Sure enough, within minutes he starts spurting sticky white cum all over his chest, and I follow shortly after. I’m a trembling, sweaty mess, but I still have enough strength to prop myself up and swirl my fingers through the gunk, mixing it with the charcoal and painting him even more.

“Beautiful,” I utter.

He threads his fingers through my hair and caresses my scalp. “Only because you make me beautiful.”

I shake my head. “I just let it out. It was always there, Colton Ross. My sunshine.”

I want to tell him I love him, but the moment is so raw and vulnerable, I can’t bring myself to take that final step just yet.

Soon, though.

For now, I just drink in the sculpture of a man between my legs, grateful to the millions of moments that brought us here to this one. I’m glad I captured it on canvas. Is it possible that we’ll be able to look back together at that sketch in years to come?

I hope so.