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“No Sebastian here.” He sweeps his hands down his body. “That’s Rainer, Lord Ansgar, to you.” He tips his head, staring at me, his smile growing. “And I owe you my apologies. What was I thinking, calling you Ziggy, when you’re…”
Don’t say it. I’ll kiss you if you say it. I’ll tackle you with kisses if you say it.
His smile widens to the devastating-dimples, bright-teeth smile that I can barely survive on the best of days. “…Tindra, Warrior Faery Queen, who thoroughly kicks my ass in book two.”
“Oh God,” I mutter against my bit lip.
Sebastian’s grin sets those crinkles at his eyes as he pushes off the counter, then takes my hand, squeezing it in our way. “You okay? You’re being very quiet.”
I swallow, my heart pounding. I nod. “I’m okay.” On a step closer to him, I set my hand on his jacket and trace the stitching up his torso to his collarbones, to the open throat of his collar where his skin glows golden. Holding his eyes, I tell him, “Happy birthday.”
His smile softens as he holds my eyes, too. “Thank you.”
Impulsively, unable to stop myself, I throw myself into his arms and hug him, pressing a hard kiss to his cheek. “Ziggy,” he chokes out, strangled in my neck-squeezing hug, “watch out for the—”
Poof. The sound not unlike an umbrella being opened echoes behind him. Someone curses on his right as they stumble into the fridge. A tray of utensils clatters loudly to the floor. I pull away, wide-eyed.
Sebastian Gauthier—or should I say, Rainer, Lord Ansgar—stands in front of me, a rare and delicious blush heating his cheeks. Stretched out behind him, dark, yet gossamer fine, woven with the same sparkling pewter thread as his clothes, are—
“Wings!” Viggo hollers. “He’s got wings!”
28
SEBASTIAN
Playlist: “All of Me - Cover,” Noah Guthrie
That…did not go how I wanted it to. Ziggy blinks at me, deep green eyes wide, mouth parted in surprise.
“Wings!” Viggo hoots and does a fist pump. “I called it. Cough it up, honey bunch.”
Oliver scowls at his brother, then pulls out a twenty and slaps it into Viggo’s outstretched hand.
“Seb!” Ren yells. “You’re here! The birthday boy is here!”
I’m tackled rather quickly by a rowdy bunch of hockey players. “Whoa,” I holler. “Watch the wings!” Reaching back for the wings, I try to collapse them, but it’s hard. The past few times I tested them since they were finished, I slipped them off, then closed them, but they’re firmly attached to the jacket now, and I’m surrounded by a team of rowdy hockey players who are euphoric from a win yesterday and the prospect of letting loose tonight.
Taking pity on me, Ziggy inserts herself easily, right through the shovey hands and affectionate jostles. Her youngest-of-seven family experience is evident, her expression and touch unfazed by the chaos as she calmly reaches over my shoulders, placing her chest tight against mine, baring her neck inches from my lips.
My mouth waters. I shut my eyes and breathe her in, rainwater clean and soft. I want to wrap my arms around her and run my palms right over her beautiful, full ass. I want to bury my face in her neck and lick my way up her throat. I want to sink my hands into that soft, thick hair, press her legs wide open with mine, and lose myself in her.
The wings collapse, and Ziggy leans back. “There.” Her head turns, and our noses brush. Her eyes hold mine.
I swallow roughly. Ziggy does, too.
And then I’m dragged back by the team for a photo that Viggo takes, grinning like the self-satisfied schmuck that he is.
On a break between takes, I glance over my shoulder at Ziggy, who smiles at me, looking like… God, she looks like heaven. A pale, pearl-white gown draped down her body, a quiver’s strap across her chest, arrows poking out behind it. Her hair’s pinned half up, woven with tiny braids and revealing deceptively believable elf ears. It’s so her, such a maddening twist of sweet and sexy, nerdy and naughty, I can’t even take it.
She flashes me a wider smile, eyes holding mine, then brings a cookie to her mouth and crunches.
A groan leaves me as she licks her finger, then throws back the rest of the cookie, exposing the long, pale column of her throat.
This is going to be a very long night.
It’s despicably late, even for a formerly “carousing” night owl like me. Frankie’s passed out on the couch, snoring as Ren closes the front door behind the last of the stragglers, waving and calling goodnight. A massive yawn leaves him as he turns and rubs his eyes.
“I’ve gotta go to bed,” he groans. Dropping his hands, he spots Frankie passed out on the couch. “Poor Francesca.”
