Page 40 of Finally, His

“Hmmm. Yes, and apropos, I suppose.” Rebecca was the most alive person he’d ever met—besides Eric. The man had no idea how gorgeous he was. Alexander tilted his head toward the frame. “I see someone’s already bought it.”

“I’m surprised you were willing to auction it off, actually.” Eric lifted a wine glass to his lips.

Alexander glanced at him. “Oh? I rather like your and Rebecca’s idea to open that training camp. And raising funds this way. Let people have some ownership around its success.” The art gallery had jumped at the chance to showcase and sell art from Alexander’s private collection—and the few originals painted by Eric.

Eric’s eyebrows shot up. “But not too much ownership?”

Alexander chuckled. “Maybe I’ve softened in my old age.”

“God, let’s hope not.” He cleared his throat again and shuffled on his feet a bit. “What do you think of the … other painting?”

Alexander had been waiting for the question all night. He squared himself to a very nervous-looking Eric. “Which other painting?” Alexander couldn’t help but tease the man. Eric was a naturally gifted painter, something he’d not shared with anyone until very recently. And the painting he’d done of Alexander was stunning.

A twinkle shone in Eric’s eyes. “That one.” He lifted his chin toward the portrait of Alexander.

Alexander glanced at it, once more appreciating the depiction of himself. It showed him standing in the middle of the Library, his eyes not focused on any particular scene that unfolded around him. At least, that was what a casual observer might see. On closer inspection, Alexander finally understood exactly where his eyes in the painting landed.

It didn’t rest on the woman strapped to a black padded bench before him or the two men intertwined with one holding the other’s head back by fistfuls of hair to the side, something Eric particularly enjoyed when Alexander did it to him.

Rather, Alexander’s gaze was firmly locked on someone across the room, a woman with red hair blowing in an unseen breeze from an open window.Rebecca.

And in the far right corner of the painting? A blond man’s reflection in an old-fashioned stand-up, full-length mirror.Eric. He also stared at Rebecca but held something in his hand. It took a full forty-five minutes of staring at it for Alexander to recognize the object held by Eric’s depiction in the painting, as the image of him was purposefully painted half hidden from view.

It was the Contessa, Alexander’s oldest flogger from a time long ago when he and Rebecca first started in the lifestyle. He’d used it on her—and Charles, their late lover. But never Eric.

The message the image gave was both hidden and clear. Eric still felt outside after all this time.

Even after wearing Alexander’s bracelet, a collar of his choice, Eric remained unsure of his place with them—as if the past was always still a ghost in a mirror.

Could he blame him? He’d been so absent of late. Then that scene before those newcomers? It had to go that way, but it wasn’t right. They’d never spoken much about it afterward. Rather, swept that day under the rug.

But now, things had to change. Little did Eric know tonight was pivotal for them both in so many ways. He’d prove it … later.

Alexander had a surprise for him, and he only hoped Eric would finally understand. Alexander had disappointed him this last month or so. Not a state he entertained ever. So, tonight, the man was always free to leave. If he did, Alexander would mourn him as strongly as he had Charles.

Eric smiled at him. “The one of the old man. What do you think?”

Alexander arched an eyebrow. “I’d say the subject of the painting is still able to stuff that younger mouth of yours with something that will make you rethink your ageism.”

Eric swallowed. “No ageism. Wouldn’t dream of it, but if you feel the need to prove it, I—”

A light hand fell on his shoulder, and Rebecca’s face appeared between them. “What are you two whispering about?”

“You,” Eric said quickly.

So, Eric believed he’d dodged a bullet—or a mouth full of cock. They would both love it, of course.

“Oh, good, and … look. It sold.” She pointed at the portrait of her. “I wonder who bought it?” She craned her neck around the small crowd gathered before black onyx sculptures of bodies intertwined and abstract paintings, one depicting a woman holding a man and the other a tamer pastoral scene.

“It was sold to someone very lucky.” Alexander circled her waist and drew her into him. Now that people in the room knew Rebecca had sat for the painting, too many eyes assessed her. Probably wanting to know if she was a “real” redhead since the picture gave no clue.

Still, he liked Eric’s interpretation. Rebecca was similar to a lush garden. Full of quiet energy and endless surprises. He also enjoyed Eric’s depiction of him. It was real.

Eric’s eyes drifted down to Alexander’s hold on Rebecca, then shot back up to his face. The man’s thick bracelet declaring him tethered to Alexander and Rebecca was visible. Eric’s fingers touched it. Instead of comfort, however, Alexander caught a flash of discontent crossing his eyes.

Alexander gestured to Eric to draw closer. “Why don’t we adjourn to the back showing room? I have a surprise.” He lifted his chin at Marta, the gallery owner hovering nearby. He’d asked her to stay on standby for his signal.

She nodded her head once, then moved toward them.

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