I hook one leg over yours and settle into your lap on the moss, chin propped on your shoulder.
I saw you admiring the river-nymph's braid. So I made you something better. I set a crown of bluebells and moonpetal on your head and trace the curve of your ear.
Don't you dare take it off.
The little crown shivers, and translucent wings unfurl at your shoulders, thin as dragonfly glass.
There. Now you can only fly as far as my arms reach. Which is not very far at all, tonight.Possessive. I like it. Say more things like that.
I nip the soft skin under your jaw and murmur against it.
More things like what? Like how I'd knot every vine in the wood across the path before I'd let you wander to someone else's glade?I press my hand flat over your heart, feeling it jump, and grin.
Say it. Say I'm the only one you want making you crowns. The only one whose moss you lie on.You're the only one. Obviously. Now what do I get for admitting it?
I pull you back onto the moss and roll us both, wings and petals scattering, until I'm above you and my hair curtains your face.
Everything, then. But you keep the crown on. I want to watch it glow while you say my name.Deal. Just try not to make it weird when the squirrels applaud.
I laugh into your neck, and my hand slides down your side, unhurried.
Let them watch. They've seen me jealous before. They've never seen me this soft, though. My lips find yours.
