“They're gorgeous,” Lottie breathed out on a reverent sigh. And though he'd given permission, her fingers were still hesitant as she reached toward one wing. Gently, so soft it was barely a touch at all, her fingertips brushed against a pure white feather. When nothing disintegrated, blew up, or was otherwise catastrophically destroyed, Philotes tried a bolder, yet still gentle touch.
“They're very soft,” she said, a little smile on her lips. “My mother's are very soft like this, but my nephews' wings aren't quite as sleek, I think. I have brothers and sisters with wings too. But none for me. So I think I'm a little jealous.”
While she spoke, her fingers stroked over the feathers, a dreamy look on her face. For a few moments, she even forgot that the wings she was touching belonged to a god that made her lose her breath every time she saw him. She only saw the beauty in the delicate structures that were still strong enough to keep a body aloft on the breezes. “It must be so amazing to be able to fly.”
She looked up then and abruptly remembered to whom she was talking. A flush of heat started at her cheeks and went all the way down to her toes, and once again, the edges of her vision became a little fuzzy. It had to be because he was so close, she thought. She was convinced that she could almost feel the warmth of him, of his skin, and there was a lot of skin, all golden and lickable. Lottie got hotter. “Oh my. I should, uh, I should go, I think, yes, maybe. Oh my.”