Author's Note: Hey, y'all! Last update of the night! Y'all better let me know what y'all think. And I better have tons of lovely feedback from most of y'all tomorrow evening when I get on here again! Of course, I don't even have to tell y'all that. That's just how amazing y'all are. Hope everyone's day is going well! Enjoy this next chapter! (:

Chapter Thirty-Eight

"What is this?" I demand as I walk into my apartment.

In middle of the living room sits a strange looking, tall shape obscured by a white covering, with boxes littered about, and Mr. Lamb stands there, surveying the mess carefully.

He glances over at me, and smiles grandly. "Oh, Mrs. Wayland! So glad you're here. I have something for you."

I arch my brows, drifting further into the room and sitting down my knitting things. "Well...what is all this?"

Mr. Lamb removes the covering from the item, and my eyes widen. Before me sits a dark wooden art easel—with a canvas already sitting atop it, waiting to be painted on and discovered. And then Mr. Lamb opens the boxes, letting me see the plethora of high-quality paintbrushes and the seemingly endless colors of paints hidden inside.

My jaw drops. "What…how?"

Mr. Lamb is smiling, the skin around his eyes wrinkling charmingly. "It's a gift."

"From…who?" I ask in awe. I don't believe I've been so caught off guard in the last five years.

"Mr. Wayland, of course. He phoned in last night and told me to deliver these things to you. They are all from the best art store in the city. Everything you need is here—or can at least be gotten for you. Mr. Wayland said to spare no expense, so I did."

"Jace did this?" I demand, just to make sure.

Mr. Lamb nods, still grinning as if this delights him. "Yes, ma'am. And he told me to give you this." He hands me over a small card, and before I can open it, he says, "Have a good evening, Mrs. Wayland." And then he's sneaking off, leaving me to my new things.

I stare at the easel and supplies for a long time, stunned beyond action. What possessed him?

Glancing down, I open the little card and read the writing quickly.

-Clary

I hope you can find some inspiration to paint again. I'd love to see what you create.

-Jace

I stare at the easel for two days before touching it.

I'm just so shocked at first by Jace's surprisingly touching gift that I don't know what to do. Then I'm suspicious. Then I'm just in awe again.

But finally, on the third day, a whole month since Jace left, I decide to pick up a brush paint a little.

It's awkward at first. It's been so long since I've painted—and I've never even had such luxurious tools before, either—but eventually, I get the hang of it. I remember the feeling of a brush in my hand, and I remember what colors should be mixed, how much color should be where…and then there's no stopping me.

The first thing I paint is simply a strand of pearls on a woman's neck. It's life-like, as all my things are, but I get the feeling that it means more than an obvious picture. It represents something greater, though my own reasoning is clouded from me.

I paint all day, until I'm tired and decide to take a nap on the couch.

I lay down and stare out the window, watching the steel gray sky and praying for snow—because I do love snow—and before I know it, I've passed out. I only wish to rest for a moment or so, but I suppose I'm more tired than I think because when I'm woken again, the sky is navy and still. Abel is resting on my stomach sounding, curled up into a little ball, purring loudly.

Everything seems peaceful.

But then there's a thunk to the left of me, the same kind of sound that I realize must have woke me, and it shoots through my body like a gun, making me sit up swiftly, heart pounding.

Abel shoots down into the pitch black around us, meowing like crazy.

"Hello?" I demand into the darkness of the room.

There's a slight crashing sound before a muffled curse and then warm light is flooding the room from the lamp—the lamp Jace just turned on.

He's standing there, slightly hunched over with messy hair and a little bit of stubble from being unable to shave, but he looks relatively unscathed. And, of course, beautiful. Then he's crouching down, rubbing Abel's head, because Abel is crying relentlessly for his attention.

"You're home," I blurt out, unable to think of something else to say.

"Your keen mind takes my breath," Jace replies, standing and rolling his eyes.

I glare at him briefly before noticing the way he's hunched is completely unnatural—and unlike him. He never hunches. So I stand up slowly. "Are you hurt?"

"Not that bad. Nothing I can't take care of myself," he says, shuffling towards the bedroom.

I follow after him, hot on his heels all the way into the bathroom where he's pulling off his shirt and exposing the nasty, deep looking gash that slices across his ribs, down over his abdomen a bit before ending right above his navel.

"Shit," he grunts, looking down at it and the dried, crusty blood around it. "Do you think you could get me the first aid kit in the closet right there?"

I immediately do as he asks but as I'm searching for it, I demand, "Why didn't you let the medics take a look at that? I know you have doctors out there."

"I didn't think it was that bad. And I wanted to come home. I'm sick of being there. Nothing's even happening."

"Something obviously is," I mutter, motioning vaguely at the cut.

"This was because some asshole panicked when he heard a fucking frog croak in the woods and he pushed me out of his way—and I got shoved up against something that did this. It's nothing serious. Just a gash…Are you looking for the first aid kit or what? Do I need to get it?"

I roll my eyes at his impatience and then find the kit, pulling it out and sitting it on the counter. I pop it open and grab the things I need before Jace can. "Sit up on the counter," I order.

"I've got it," he cuts in.

"Sit," I growl, giving him a look.

Jace sighs but hoists himself up so that he sits on the edge of the counter, his legs dangling over. "So damn bossy."

I step between his legs, trying to ignore how warm he is as I reach down and begin cleaning the cut.

He's right. The cut isn't so bad once I've cleaned all the dirt and dried blood off from around the wound. It doesn't even need stitches.

As I begin doctoring it, I become acutely aware of Jace's warm breath brushing over my temple lightly, of the way his heat surrounds me, of the way his scent fills my nose—manly and spicy and so foreign to me.

"Ow," Jace hisses suddenly when I touch the cut with a new ointment. I watch in fascination as all the muscles in his abdomen tighten and clench with pain.

"Sorry," I say, not sounding one bit apologetic.

I finish up with the medicines and then grab one of the stick-on bandages big enough to entirely cover the wound. I peel the backing off carefully and then gently press it to Jace's gash, making sure it sticks.

Then he's sliding off the counter, crowding me as he does so. "Thanks."

I nod in response, and I don't back away from him, to give him room to walk away. Instead, I tilt my head up towards him, meeting his eyes that burn like molten gold. "Thank you," I say.

Jace stares down at me with a carefully neutral face. "For what?"

"For the painting things. I forgot how much I enjoyed it," I say softly because I really do mean it. "What possessed you?"

The ghost of a smile passes over his lips. "I just thought it'd be something good for you. And it was a shameless tactic to smooth things over between us."

I drop my eyes briefly but peep back up at him from underneath my lashes, watching as the shadow of lust falls over his face, darkening it, making it wilder. Helping it to steal my breath.

"Things have been smoothed over between us—for some time now," I murmur quietly, barely able to hold his bright, predatory eyes.

"Have they?" he inquires back, his voice barely a whisper but it somehow reverberates in my ears, down into my chest, through my bones.

I can't respond verbally, so I just nod rapidly.

"Clary," Jace says softly but doesn't say anything else. His hot hands just come up, cradling my face gently, his thumbs stroking the skin of my cheekbones.

I stare up at him, helpless, trapped, with my lips parted and shallow breaths sawing in and out between them.

And then Jace is leaning down, and though I expect one of his fiery kisses, he takes my bottom lip in his mouth, sucking on it gently as I almost moan in relief at the contact. Our lips move together briefly and then Jace is pulling away, a small pucker forming between his eyebrows as he stares down at me, his eyes on fire.

I look up at him, almost pleadingly but most definitely lustily. It's a look that feels surprisingly comfortable on my face, not forced in face of what he's making me feel.

Jace brushes his nose against mine. "Don't look at me like that, Clary," he whispers hotly over my parted lips.

"Like what?" I inquire, breathlessly, innocently though I'm anything but at this point.

Jace's lips trail over mine, down my chin, across my jaw, to my ear, leaving a trail of fire behind, a torturous burn. "Like you want me to fuck you." He says the words quietly, gently, as to not scare me off.

But there's nothing he could do to scare me off at this point, as much as I hate to admit.

His words only make the fire building inside my stomach erupt into crackling flames that engulf me from head to toe. My skin hums with electricity, with his nearness, and Isabelle's advice echoes in my ears. So I let myself enjoy this, this crazy, unusual, feral reaction my body has to him. I'm hot and wild feeling, alien—so unlike myself. Like I'm standing on a cliff, ready to spiral downwards, but I don't care about the impact at the bottom—I just want to experience the thrill of the fall.

"What do you want to do?" I ask Jace sweetly, still looking up at him from underneath my lashes.

My question has the desired effect.

I see the subtle shift in him, feel it in the air. It makes my heart want to burst free from my chest.

"Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?" Jace murmurs back in that same quiet voice, but now, there's a lower note, something that thrums beneath the surface like a warning.

A warning I don't heed.

"I think I'd rather you show me the answer." I can't believe the words as they come out of my mouth. I'm not sure if it's training or instinct or just a flashback to the dirty books I read, but the words are out there—and I can't take them back. I don't think I want to.

Jace exhales a hot laugh against my ear, his hands running down my neck, over my shoulders, pulling at the sides of my silken robe as they go, exposing my nightgown to him. And then one hand is grabbing a fistful of my hair at the nape of my neck, yanking my head backwards—gently but firmly, making me gasp with desire.

Jace's face is close, his lips brushing over mine as he speaks. "I'm only going to ask you this one time tonight, Clary—and that's it." He kisses me teasingly before continuing. "Are you sure what to do this?"

I don't hesitate. "Yes."

Jace doesn't hesitate, either. True to his word.

He's lifting me up suddenly, tossing me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing, and it makes me giggle—actually giggle, though the sound is a lot more breathless than it use to be.

And then we're in the bedroom and he's tossing me down on the mattress, jerking open my robe all the way. His warm, large hands skim down over the silk of the nightgown, over my trembling, clenching stomach down to the hem of the dress that rests on my thighs.

Instead of pulling the dress up, though, his fingers run down the soft skin of my legs, carefully, teasingly tracing all the way down to my ankles. His hand closes around my left ankle gently and then he's pulling it up towards him, lifting my leg, so that he can press a soft kiss to my skin there. And then he's tilting his head, pressing those hot, slow kisses all the way up the inside of my calf, over the side of my knee, further.

His fiery eyes meet mine as he continues his dangerous path, and though my body is screaming yes, I'm still too hesitant for what I think he's doing.

So I grab at his shoulders and yank him down onto me. He's not expecting it and he falls on top of me, making us both laugh a little breathlessly before we're kissing—rough and fast and desperate.

"Shit, Clary," he groans, pulling away from me just a little, just so he can reach between us and undo his belt.

And I'm shaking my arms out of my robe, pulling my nightgown up and over my body, tossing it to the side without a bat of my lashes. Then Jace is kissing my uncovered skin hungrily while still trying to undo his pants.

My hands run over his bare shoulders and chest greedily, trying to memorize every dip of his muscle, every hard plane of his perfect body. He is perfect. Or at least, I think he is. All hard, strong muscle over smooth, warm, gold skin.

He stands up briefly, to shove down his pants and boxers, and then he's on top of me again, scooting us up the bed, pulling down my panties slowly.

My legs part for him immediately, ready for him, but he's not ready yet. He wants to draw this out no matter how frantic our kisses and hands are.

He's dropping his head to my chest, peppering kisses over my breasts, his tongue darting out to circle my hardened nipples occasionally. When he does this, I groan and arch my back up to meet him, which makes him smile against my skin. Every time.

Then he's moving down my body, lavishing me with those scalding hot, open-mouthed, brief kisses that are making me crazy, making me squirm underneath him for relief he denies me.

I feel his hands on my knees, moving upwards, scraping deliciously over my thighs, up to my hips, and then he's dipping one hand between my legs, touching me where I'm burning for him.

I bite my lip to keep from moaning, but some sort of sound still squeaks through as I try not to buck against his fingers, which are probing teasingly at my entrance before finally, finally, slipping inside me.

We both moan in unison, and then Jace is muttering against my shaking stomach. "You're so wet, Clary," he says in a low groan. His fingers pump into me once, twice, and his lips are moving lower, over my navel, down before his lips are brushing back and forth, from hipbone to hipbone.

Then he goes even lower, and I'm grabbing at his hair, holding him away from him, keeping him from his goal.

"No, Jace, no," I manage to choke out, nearly delirious from the things he's doing to me. "No, I'm not ready…not for that."

His eyes meet mine hotly over the length of my body, and he stares at me for only a few seconds before letting me pull him back over me, covering me. And when I feel his weight pressing into me, when I feel him pulling my knees up to his sides, when I feel his length just ghosting over where I need him—I feel safer. Safer yet not. Excited.

"Okay," he murmurs against my mouth before kissing me soundly, a surprisingly sweet and long kiss.

I'm grabbing at his shoulders, rolling my hips upwards towards him, begging for him. "Thank you," I pant against his lips.

He just smiles softly, a sleepy yet burning look in his eyes as he rests his forehead against mine. "Anything you want, Clary. It's yours." And then he's thrusting into me, filling me completely.

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