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Viggo forced yet another deep breath. “Thing’s supposed to be for thirteen year olds?” He grumbled. “Just take this grey piece, bend it back til it reaches this tab and with any luck…”
Sean chuckled to himself as trilingual curses filled the air. “Over thinking it, Mortenson. You artists always do.”
“I’m not-Damn it!”
“Think Henry would rather that be in one piece.” Walking over, Sean casually fixed it.
Viggo blinked. “How…?”
“Over thinking, mate.” Hands now roamed over the seated man, hot breath in his ear. “Let me remind you how good it is not to have to think.”