His deadline is in exactly one week, and I get the idea he’s looking for a reason to procrastinate. I flutter up so that we are face-to-face and breathe in the scent of strong tea as our lips collide.
I guess even faerie-born cryptids depend on caffeine when they’re pulling all-nighters. “You did sleep last night, didn’t you?”
“I did not.”
“Moth—”
“As if my flame cannot relate to a burst of creativity in the midnight hours,” he says, tucking the top of my head under his chin. I can feel him yawn. “Yet now, in the morning light, my only desire is to return to our bed and carry you with me.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t complain,” I say, snuggling against him. “Did you finish that chapter you were working on?”
“I fear if I do not answer correctly, I will have to return to my desk…”
“Why?” I tease, my body flush against his. “I love being a distraction.”
He growls, pulling me upward. I hook my legs across his waist, allowing myself to be peppered from my lips down to my shoulders with kisses, sharp then soft. We move through the long wallpaper-covered hallways decorated with photos—both candid and staged—of the two of us and the people we love. With each step, he guides us through the living scrapbook of ourhome until we’re back where we started: the large bedroom with a California king bed covered in soft blankets and pillows. I’m happily tossed upon them.
I glance at the clock.
What’s being alittlelate anyways? Oak is never on time, and worst-case scenario, Widow will raise her eyebrows at me and start humming some faerie-written love song about “sweet kisses in the morning.” I can’t tell if she’s making it up on the spot to tease me or if it’s just a common theme with fae artists. Either way, I can handle a little teasing if it means more of Moth’s touch…
We keep it to kissing … and kissing. God, his lips feel so damn good. My body aches for more and my alarm is buzzing for me to get going. But I’m weak to his touch, and it’s minutes before we untangle ourselves.
“Okay, now I’m actually off to work,” I say, rolling out of the bed and smoothing my dress. “Make sure you eat more than pastries and drink more than tea.”
He’s a sugar fiend on the worst of days and even more terrible on the days he’s sitting at the computer all day.
“I think I have had my fill of sweets—until you return home.”
Insatiable, I think as a smile curves at the edge of his lips. We both have busy days ahead, so I make the effort to leave with one last kiss. Our lips lock and I feel his hand at the small of my waist, pulling me close. Inhaling deeply, I break away, comforted by that same woodsy smell of pine and campfire.
“I love you, Moth.”
“I love you, my flame.” His lips land one more peck before I’m off.
It’s not a far commute. Sprout happily bounds through the grass as I make my way to the old shed that we converted into an office. Whoever said you can’t have it all obviously never had a cryptid husband and a portal to the faerie realm. Queen Plumewasn’t kidding when she said the Dragonfly Court owed us a boon and I was all but happy enough to cash it on this gorgeous magic mirror that serves as my entrance to the studio. We’ve been open for almost a year now, and Oak was right, the novelty combined with our talents really has made something magical.
I slip into the backroom; from my viewpoint, I can tell the sign is still turned to “closed,” which is odd. Until I hear the sound ofmoaning.
Oh my God!
I peer around the corner and find Oak, his arms around Widow whose corset strings are loosened. Oh wow, I shouldnotbe watching this. They have been flirting nonstop since before the wedding. Widow even caught the bouquet! Now that they’re finally lip-locked, I’m so not ruining the moment!
Giggling to myself, I dip back through the portal and slip back into the house. Moth is back to typing, and when he looks up, his face freezes as if buffering. “I was worried you were about to tell me it has been eight hours and I have not gotten down a single word.”
“Not quite. I walked in on Oak and Widowtotallymaking out,” I say, still giddy with the fact they’re finally getting together.
“Seems romance is in the air this morning,” he says thoughtfully. “I am happy for them—they will make a good match.”
“Well.” I clear my throat. “Looks like I have a few more minutes to be a distraction.”
He licks his lips, a hunger in his eyes burning as if he’s just been offered a four coarse meal. I wonder what kind of scene he’s been writing.
“I would prefer to think of you as my muse.” I shiver at the words. The idea that we can share this idyllic, yet domestic, life together and I still have the power to inspire him is …well, it’s more than I could have ever dreamt of.
I hesitate, unsure whether I want to play this coy or outright ask him if he wants help bringing his pages to life. “Well,” I say, cracking a smile. “May Iamuseyou?” I decide to take the teasing route. In a lifetime together, there’s more than enough time for us to walk both paths.
“Well,” he says, fluttering down from the loft, “I could use a proper breakfast.” He grins, his mouth filled with fanged teeth. Desire heats me at my core.
