Wings of the Wicked
Page 110

I kissed his cheek. “Happy birthday, old man. I didn’t put all the candles on your cake, because it’d end up being a bonfire in my nana’s kitchen. And I know you don’t like cake, but I like cake and I’m pretty sure Lauren does too.”
Marcus raised a hand. “I like cake.”
Ava frowned at the sugary mountain of stick-reaper murder. “I do not.”
“Well.” I huffed and poked Will’s chest. “You and Ava can go pout in the corner and be losers together.”
He laughed again and pulled me toward him, but I wriggled away, fighting a smile.
“Don’t even try it,” I warned him. “I slaved over this cake! I waited for probably five minutes in line at the grocery store for it, and then you don’t even want to know how many hours I spent slaving over the frosting art. And Lauren watched. She knows what’s up.”
“I sure did,” Lauren said. “She squirted all that red frosting on there by herself, if you can believe that.”
I waved a dismissive hand at him. “This masterpiece puts Michelangelo to shame, and you don’t even want to eat it.” I turned to Lauren. “I should be a professional cake decorator, shouldn’t I?”
She nodded firmly, keeping a straight face. “Definitely.”
He took my hand and pulled me back to him. “Fine, fine.” He laughed. “I’ll have a piece. You pick it.”
I lifted the knife and a plate. “I’m going to give you a corner piece so all that frosting makes you sick. That’s what you get for your initial rejection.”
He stepped up close behind me and buried his face in the bend of my neck. I could feel his smile against my skin, and his happiness melted into me. “You’re very spiteful to me.”
I chose a corner piece that had a decapitated stick-reaper head on it and plopped the piece onto the plate. I turned around and shoved it at him. “It’s not spite; it’s vengeance. Shut up and eat your cake.”
He took the plate and picked up a fork. He took a big bite and smiled at me. “Delicious.”
“Duh,” I grumbled, and began serving the others. Even Ava accepted a plate with a small sliver of cake and minimal icing. We all sat around the kitchen and laughed and joked, reminiscing about good times we’d had, and about Nathaniel.
Later that evening, after everyone had left, I was cleaning dishes and Will came up behind me. He bent over to kiss my shoulder and said, “Thank you.” He moved around to help me by lifting clean dishes and drying them with a towel.
“I didn’t embarrass you, did I?” I asked.
“Just a lot.”
“Are you happy?”
“Yes,” he said, and his eyes fell over every inch of my face. “You made a mess, too.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “It’s not that bad. There isn’t much to clean up at all.”
He grinned. “I meant on your face.”
I jumped and wiped at my cheeks. “Are you serious? There’s cake on my face?”
His grin widened.
I gasped at him and shoved him while he laughed. “I can’t believe you knew it was there all night and didn’t say anything to me!”
He shrugged and gave a playful, smug look. “It’s not spite; it’s vengeance.”
“You’re such a jerk!”
“No, I’m not,” he said. “I’ll even help you clean it up.” He leaned forward and slowly kissed the smudge of frosting on my cheek, sending a mix of shivers and heat straight to my toes. I wobbled and had to lean against the counter for support.
It was hard for me to gather enough breath in order to speak. “That didn’t help at all.”
“Forgive me,” he whispered very unconvincingly, and kissed my lips without any hurry, as if he had all the time in the world.
“That’s not frosting,” I scolded him, very aware that his lips still brushed mine.
“Tastes like it.” He didn’t wait for me to respond before he opened his mouth against mine and pressed himself into me. My hands were still wet from washing dishes, but I couldn’t stop myself from putting them all over him. He didn’t seem to mind as he tugged me as close as possible to his body and kissed me thoroughly. I made a little noise as I smiled against his kiss and his mouth moved south to my jaw and neck. His hands slid down my sides to my hips as his lips and teeth grazed my throat. His fingers were hot as they slipped just under my shirt, brushing my belly.
“We should go upstairs,” he whispered hotly, and his lips found mine again.
Heat flushed through me. “Upstairs?”
“Or we should stay right here.” His hands smoothed lower over my hips, and his fingers dipped into my jeans. His teeth nipped my bottom lip as he kissed me.
The spinning through my body made me dizzy, and I was about to faint. “My grandmother will be home soon.”
“Or we should go someplace that’s not here.”
I bounced the idea around inside my head, but it was very difficult to think with him kissing me the way he was. I wanted to say yes to him, to agree to anything that he suggested, but something other than desire made me question what I really wanted. I wasn’t afraid of having sex with him—that wasn’t what it was. I just … it wasn’t right yet. It wasn’t the right time. I wasn’t ready yet.
“I don’t …” I started, and felt him tense immediately. “No, Will.”