“Mm-hmm. Come to bed, Goldfinch.” I point a finger at him. “No ravishing, Ravinger. We’re both tired and you’re still recuperating from a power drain. We need to sleep.” His eyes skate up my body as if it’s something to relish, when really, I probably look like a wind troll with tangled hair and three-day-old clothing. “Fine. But I’ll be ravaging you tomorrow. I’ll wear tight pants to set the scene.”
