Amara's pov
"I want to see your wings again, I think I like them." He huffed at my words and laid me on the bed. A satisfactory moan escaped my lips when my back met with the soft bed coverings and I snuggled in for more warmth, "Pweetty pweease..." He frowned at my pout and I couldn't resist the urge to take my fingers to his face, my thumb soothed the furrow on his forehead and it was his turn to sigh.
"You are drunk." He moved my legs and I felt his hands on my feet pulling at the shoes, "I said you couldn't have any."
"Tipsy, the word is tipsy." I raised myself a little with my elbows resting on the bed, acting as support. I wasn't drunk, I was just slightly inebriated and I could still function quite well, "Tell me more about yourself..."
"I hate being stabbed with a fork on a fir
