Work Text:
“Looks like the family across the street moved out,” Feyre murmured before bringing her mug of tea to her lips, grateful it was finally at her preferred temperature.
Her remark was met with a disinterested grunt from her husband who was engrossed in whatever sporting event was on that Sunday afternoon.
She continued gazing at the house across the street from her place at the window, imagining where the family had seemingly disappeared to.
She heard the groaning of furniture then, the sound of feet shuffling along the carpet atop the hardwood floors of their home, punctuated with a sigh. He stood next to her, looking out at their street and the house that up until yesterday was occupied by a family of five, now standing vacant, the belongings they couldn’t shove into their minivan at the curb.
Another grunt from him before adding, “Left a mess didn’t they? Probably good they moved, they were a nuisance to begin with.”
Feyre fought a grimace at his words, the subtext loud and clear to her. She and Tamlin bought their home a year ago, a lovely cottage on the west side of town. Up and coming neighborhood, their realtor had praised.
Meaning: it had seen years of decline but the city had finally decided to start investing in it again, making it a hot bed for all-cash investors and flippers looking to strike while the iron was hot.
She didn’t mind, appreciating the diversity of their little section of town and the character each of the houses possessed. A legacy neighborhood, yes, that was the designation she much preferred.
“Wonder who’ll move in next,” she mused softly to herself, clutching her mug tighter as she watched a car zoom down their street.
“With any luck someone will fix it up and sell it. Could be good for the property values,” he answered before stalking back to his recliner, resuming his chosen afternoon activity.
She fought an eye roll at his words, at where his concern went. Meanwhile, she couldn’t help but see her own family and upbringing in the one that just left. They hadn’t spoken often, just exchanging pleasantries if anyone was outside. Hadn’t even learned their names, just could see the struggle etched in the way they carried themselves. Two parents, exhausted from being overworked and underpaid. Three young kids with a tendency to screech and bicker as if they were the only ones on the block.
One family, squeezed out of a neighborhood that was becoming increasingly unaffordable for them.
A twinge of guilt at her and Tamlin’s own comfort and lack of concern for their finances, as evidenced by the large emerald sitting on her left ring finger. Sure, they could have moved to one of the trendier neighborhoods with more aesthetically pleasing landscaping and walkable businesses. That would have been fine for Tamlin - preferred, even. But when this cottage came across her Zillow search - the one with a backyard that had a little gate enclosing a garden and an attached four seasons sunroom that would be perfect for entertaining - or painting - she knew she had to have it.
Plus, it was financially savvy - it was less than half the price of the expensive condos and townhouses closer to downtown and offered more space.
“We could save up for when interest rates drop, rent this one out and buy something nicer,” Tamlin had decided when he finally caved and agreed with Feyre on the house they now owned.
She took one more long look before turning away to resume the cleaning that she had begun earlier that morning.
***
The next couple of weeks passed as they always did: Tamlin went to work, Feyre stayed home, working on her latest commissions or catching up with friends. Tamlin came home, eating dinner with Feyre or watching whatever game was on that night. Then, once or twice a week, they’d have somewhat decent sex, or, if they had a little more wine over dinner, slightly better sex.
The strange void that had started to grow between them after moving to their new house grew, despite the efforts Feyre made to be a loving, doting, supportive wife. She opted to ignore the frequent messages from his assistant he received all hours of the night.
She was happy, she told herself. Comfortable, and she had no reason to feel otherwise.
The house across the street remained vacant - no one seemed to stop by to check on its conditions or list it. The family that used to inhabit it now gone from her mind.
Until one day, a sign went up.
For Sale.
It was midday, a simple sedan, a brunette woman, and a middle-aged man possessing a nice camera stopping by at last. They were there no more than an hour, then left.
The next day, Feyre looked the house up on Zillow.
For Sale
Perfect investment opportunity!
3 bedroom, 2 bathroom house, ready to be sold as is.
Looking for your next project? Look no further. Call or email…
She flipped through the pictures, the mystery that was the inside of the house becoming clearer. It was obvious the family had been rough on the place. She wasn’t sure how long they lived there before she and Tamlin moved in across the street. For all she knew, it was in poor condition before they moved in. That particular scenario wasn’t unheard of. In fact, it was a reality for the Archeron’s on a couple of occasions in Feyre’s youth. They were advertising the property to investors, which told Feyre that she likely shouldn’t expect anyone new for sometime. Judging by the pictures of the place, it would need extensive work before it was habitable.
***
Two weeks later, Sold in bright red letters was slapped across the sign.
***
Not long after, while checking the mail one afternoon, Feyre noticed work trucks in the drive across the street.
Knight Realty and Renovations, branded the side of one of them, their logo three mountain tops topped by three stars.
She stood, enraptured by the tools and supplies they dragged out of each of them.
And, of course, the two men carrying them. Large, muscular men, a tan that spoke more of heritage than their time outside. Dark, raven-black hair on both of them - one with shoulder length hair, pushed back from his face with work glasses and the other with shorter, cropped hair. She guessed they were around her age, maybe a little older - mid-30s at most. They wore work shorts and t-shirts - smart with the summer heat that had remained over Velaris recently. Work boots that allowed her to hear each step they took up and down the wooden steps, even from her place across the street. She knew she was staring - knew her mouth was agape, even. She couldn’t help it. These men were handsome and large and were clearly handy.
They continued the parade of tools into the house even as a sleek black sports car parked on the street, the purr of the engine hinting at how expensive it was.
Go inside, her gut seemed to tell her. It’s obvious you’re staring.
The door to the sports car opened, long, muscular legs dressed in nice black slacks, black shiny shoes stepping out. A man who looked eerily similar to the workers who now stood on the lawn appraising the newcomer. Brothers? She thought to herself. The man now stood beside his car, one hand tucked into a pocket, Feyre seeing him in all his beauty at last.
Tall, like the others, broad, muscular shoulders - muscles flexing beneath the crisp white shirt he wore - and only a shirt, no tie, no jacket, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, swirls of ink decorating him. He wore black sunglasses but his face - plush, pink lips, high cheekbones and a sharp nose was still visible, still noticeable.
Beautiful. He was sinfully beautiful, she thought nervously.
He lifted up a hand, waving his fingers at her. Without even thinking, she raised her own hand, offering a wave in response, before she caught herself, turning abruptly to return to her house, cheeks heating and stomach swooping at the intensity of the set of his body.
She scurried inside, grateful Tamlin was still at work so she could have her freak out moment in private.
She leaned against the front door, her heart racing. Tip-toeing to the window (why are you tip-toeing you’re alone in your house Feyre get a grip), she peeked from the window, fighting to stay hidden behind the beige curtains.
The three men were gathered on the lawn, the one dressed nicely tapping away on his phone while the two workers talked, laughing over something, a ghost of a smile gracing the nicely-dressed man’s face.
As if he could sense Feyre’s gaze on him, he looked up, searching across the street until he looked fully at her house. He was still wearing his sunglasses, but Feyre could swear he somehow was looking directly into her eyes.
***
Six weeks passed uneventfully in the home of Feyre and Tamlin, but not as much as in the house across the street. From her office upstairs, she saw, day after day, the two men bringing out old cabinets, rolled up carpet, discarded dry wall. A full gut job, she often heard the flippers announce on HGTV. They worked from early in the morning until dusk, keeping to themselves, breaking for an hour at midday to enjoy packed lunches from the inside of their trucks.
The nicely-dressed one rarely appeared again. Feyre had inferred that he must be the owner of the house, perhaps even the owner of the company whose logo was splashed across the work trucks. She looked it up, because of course she looked it up, and an LLC was listed - Knight Holdings, LLC - no first or last name. She cursed at this, once again irritated that corporate businesses got to come in anonymously and buy up properties, turning them for a profit of at least 100% in some of the more downtrodden neighborhoods, pushing out people who were just trying to find a nice starter home.
As sinfully beautiful as he was, she decided that no amount of beauty could hide the fact that he was likely a rich prick who only cared about dollar signs.
Meanwhile, Tamlin stayed away on business trips longer. Feyre acted like she didn’t hear the sound of a woman’s laugh when he called each evening to say goodnight.
***
At the end of the six weeks, a new sign was placed in the front yard of the house across the street.
For Sale - Newly Renovated!
Feyre immediately opened her phone to scan through the pictures - to silently judge the millennial grey and white she was sure to find.
While she had resigned herself to assuming the worst about the design habits of Knight Realty and Renovations, what she found instead… Shocked her. For a job done in six weeks, they had maintained the hints of character in the house she had seen in the photos, but improved them.
No millennial grey or white to be found. Hell, not even the dark green that had been trendy in the last couple of years was present in the kitchen - that would have at least been an upgrade from the stark white cabinets she had in her own kitchen.
The house was a jewel-tone rich environment, with natural elements and bold staging throughout. It was a departure from what she saw while scanning Zillow a year and a half before on the hunt for her own house.
It was… It looked perfect.
Maybe they do have taste, she thought noncommittally. Her eyes bulged at the price - while it had sold for $150,000 previously, it was now marked up to $300,000. What kind of insane person thinks they can sell a house for that much on this side of town?
At the bottom of the listing was the contact information to schedule a viewing - the realtor listed was R. Knight. No picture of them, but there was an open house scheduled the following Saturday.
A bolt of energy went through her - who’s to say she can’t go see the house when it’s open for everyone? That wouldn’t be weird, right?
Her mind was made up before she had even finished her own question. It wasn’t out of the norm for neighbors to check out newly flipped and listed houses - there was no law against it, after all. It hurt no one, and it would satisfy her curiosities.
Maybe also satisfy her fantasies, the ones she had begun imagining late at night when Tamlin was away and she was all alone. The images of the tall, nicely dressed man coming over, pressing lingering kisses up and down her throat, pressing her into the mattress.
The images she conjured right before she slipped her fingers below the band of her underwear.
She told herself it was harmless. It was okay to imagine a stranger - probably weird if they didn’t know about it, but she remembered her mom talking affectionately about George Clooney when Feyre was growing up and she didn’t see that as being so different from this.
She would go over there, check out the house, see who the realtor is, and move on. Maybe even give her speech about corporate investors fucking over average people by buying up the housing stock and reselling at an even higher price.
Okay, maybe she wouldn’t do that, but she could imagine doing it. She would do it - she would go to the open house, snoop in this expensively flipped home, and put the whole thing behind her.
Hopefully soon she would have something new to obsess over.
***
Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, Feyre made her way across the street.
There were no cars parked along the street, at least none that weren’t typically parked there, signaling to her that her neighbors were home. She figured now was as good a time as any to make her way to the newly listed house and check it out.
They had done more than flip the inside. The outside had received a facelift as well - fixed wooden stairs, simple landscaping and shutters added to frame the singular window. They also installed a new front door and gave the house a fresh coat of paint.
Breathing in the new flowers and hint of sawdust, she reached the front door, slowly turning the brass handle. She knew what to expect - had seen the pictures, and knew the front door opened into the front living space.
Seeing it in person was a whole new experience. Dark wood floors were throughout the whole main level, with a decorative rug in the center of the living room to accent. A dark blue velvet couch stole the show, though. For staging, it looked surprisingly comfortable. Across the couch were two low-seated leather chairs, each with a small throw pillow. The front window allowed for incredible natural light to filter in through the white lace curtains, and in the corners of the room were tall floor lamps. The center wall featured a brick fireplace with a brass grate.
It was beautiful. There was no other way to put it.
She heard footsteps coming from the back of the house, and in the next heartbeat her vision was crowded with the sinfully beautiful man she had seen for the first time six weeks ago.
“Welcome in-” he cut himself off upon seeing who had made their way inside.
He was even more gorgeous up close, his clothes hinting at the wealth he possessed. Black slacks, and shiny black shoes again, a crisp white shirt but this time with a black sport coat, the same company logo now on an embossed lapel pin. His hair styled in a way that tried to scream effortless but she imagined he used about four different hair products to get it that way.
No sunglasses. No sunglasses, which meant she could see his eyes for the first time. Eyes that stole her breath away. They were the most piercing blue she had ever seen. Hell, they seemed to sparkle, even.
His lips had been fixed in a casual smile, one reserved for customers, she was sure. Now, though, upon raking his eyes over her - she hoped she looked okay, suddenly self conscious of her messy bun, linen dress and sneakers - a smirk took over his features.
“There you are, I was wondering when you’d make your way over here,” he said, voice sensuous with a hint of sarcasm.
The arrogance in his greeting reminded her that he was likely a rich prick, breaking her out of her shocked silence immediately. She fought a scowl, shooting back, “What made you so sure I would stop by?” Okay, weak, needs some work but at least you ignored the flush of heat. Mostly.
He chuckled, checking the notification that just appeared on his phone. “Darling, your nose has been practically glued to the window upstairs while my men worked. I knew it was a matter of time, that you’d be curious enough. Most housewives do it, it’s okay,” he crooned, tucking his phone in his pocket, leaning against the massive kitchen island.
The scowl won this time. “Or maybe I just came over here to tell you that you’re a huge prick and you should be ashamed of what you’re doing.”
This actually took him by surprise. “And what is it I’m doing?”
“You’re - you - you’re profiting off of homes! Homes people need in order to live. $300,000 is an insane price tag for this neighborhood. You and your ilk are what makes it hard for regular people to live,” she said in a rush, feeling exhilarated at being able to tell this guy off. His assumption of her and her interest - yeah, that did it. This guy was a prick, capital ‘p.’
He blinked once, twice, before his eyes darted to her left hand. Then, fixing his lips into a straight line, “Seems like you’re doing just fine where you are, Mrs…?”
She blanched, fighting to twist her ring so the rock wouldn’t show. “Other people. I care about other people, and if they can afford to live here. And you should too,” she breathed, feeling deflated. Why was she letting this stranger get a rise out of her?
Why, deep down, did it thrill her?
His eyes ran over her once more, his body shifting to a more relaxed, friendlier position. Less defensive. “I understand.” A beat, and then, “I think we got off on the wrong foot. We don’t need to debate the merits of my work - what’s done is done. My name is Rhysand Knight, and for better or worse, I have to sell this house. Now, you would be…?”
She stuttered, feeling like she missed something for their conversation to switch so suddenly. “Feyre. My name is Feyre,” she answered, sticking out a hand, seems like the normal thing to do after you yell at someone for taking advantage of late-stage capitalism.
He grasped hers, his so much larger in a way that she felt herself heat, heard his sharp intake of breath. His large hand, callous-rough and warm, enveloping her small one. “It’s nice to meet you, Feyre. You can call me Rhys. I might need your help selling this place, if I’m being completely honest.”
It was her turn to blink at him. “Me - help you?”
He chuckled, releasing her hand before dragging his own down his face. “Yes. I might have concerns - about the price point, the location, and current market conditions. This isn’t my first venture but it’s new to me on this side of town. I might need your help convincing people who need convincing. Help me sell not only this house but the west side. Think you can do that?”
She thought about it - thought about how bored she’d been at home, how much more absent Tamlin has been. It wouldn’t hurt helping, especially if it meant helping her get new, interesting neighbors.
“Sure, yeah, I think I can do that,” she decided at last.
***
Open houses came and went - few visitors, very few privately scheduled viewings. Rhysand - Rhys - found every excuse to go to the house in between those (“The contractors wanted to make sure the gasket in the faucet held,” or “We’re doing a test of the laundry machine, making sure it works,” or “The Nest notification said there was something wrong with the HVAC, just double checking it’s okay.”). She eventually saw the rest of the house and the handiwork of the men - tastefully staged, spacious, clean rooms, all of them smelling faintly of Rhys. The primary bedroom was large enough to possess a king size bed - a fact she stored away for no particular reason at all.
Each time, Feyre would venture over, watching Rhys do his “checks” around the house, and they would talk.
“Where are you from originally?” He asked her one Tuesday morning.
“Springfield,” she answered, “But Tamlin and I came to Velaris for college and decided to stay.”
“Ah, so high school sweethearts?” He teased lightly, an edge to his gaze.
“Yeah, high school sweethearts,” she responded robotically, twisting the emerald on her finger.
“How did you get into the business?” She asked after the third week of the house being listed - and no new interest.
He launched into an explanation of his dad owning a venture capitalist firm, but his brothers - best friends, the two men that worked on the house - enjoyed destroying things and decided that they could make money if they rebuilt things in the process with seed money from his dad. Eight years in and the business was thriving, he said.
“Show me some of your paintings,” demanded, not asked, when she finally revealed she was an artist.
She was seated on the island, legs swinging, bare thanks to her linen shorts - it’s gonna be a hot one today, folks! The weather man had said that morning. He was leaning against the island, his arm pressed against her thigh, playing on his phone. She was doing her best to ignore every point of contact between them but as the weeks went on, it became harder and harder to ignore.
The longer Tamlin stayed away, the more she craved this pseudo-enemy turned friend.
She dug her phone out of her bag, opening to an album and selecting a random one, murmuring for him to just swipe through.
He was silent for a while, all of his focus on her device in his hands. She stared at her hands in her lap, paint underneath her fingernails, splattered across her thighs.
He shifted, leaning one elbow on the island, catching her attention. The ever-present glimmer in his eye was even more pronounced. In the time they had spent together, she knew this to mean he was excited about something.
“You’re incredibly talented, Feyre darling,” he breathed.
She didn’t know why her eyes grew misty, then - maybe it was the lack of affirmation at home, or any meaningful opportunity outside of the rich downtown folks who wanted something to say they had it before anything else - she grew emotional at the praise, at the admiration he so freely gave.
“Hey,” he gently chided, standing to his full length now to stand before her, her legs opening to allow him closer, not a second thought about the action.
His hands cupped her face, her phone discarded now. “None of that,” swiping a tear away. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, I just think you should know you’re really very talented.”
She sniffed, feeling silly for being so sensitive. “Yeah, I know I - thanks, Rhys, that’s very sweet of you.” She met his eyes, tossing him a watery smile.
“I mean it,” he murmured, wrapping her up in his arms, allowing her to breathe in the jasmine, sea and citrus smell of him, her body and mind instantly relaxing.
That night when she fell asleep, she hugged her pillow, imagining it was him in her arms.
***
After a month, the price was lowered.
The house saw more foot traffic. Still, it remained for sale.
***
Another month passed.
Open houses came and went, Feyre attended each one so long as no one else was there - and no one else was ever there.
Tamlin’s work trips kept getting extended.
Feyre brought a bottle of wine to the next few open houses.
***
Sitting on the blue velvet couch, each of them two glasses of wine deep after yet another uneventful open house, her legs across his lap, his fingers dancing along her thigh, ghosting underneath the hem of her skirt. Her skin flushed, heat pooling low in her belly.
This is the most action I’ve gotten in months, she thinks humorlessly. She stifles yet another yawn, the wine hitting her harder considering she only snacked on cheese and crackers that afternoon.
“I should probably get back home, it’s getting late,” she murmured, avoiding the disappointment in his eyes.
His hand flexed on her thigh, ever so slightly, before he responded, “Yeah, yeah you’re probably right.”
Feyre and Rhys stood silently, her neck craned to look up at him. The air felt charged - more so than usual, she noted. He was close to her, when did he get that close, his hands ghosting to rest at her hips.
“Well… Thanks for the entertainment tonight, Feyre darling. You’ve made these open houses so much more enjoyable,” he purred, his hands settling more firmly on her hips, his fingertips settling just above the curve of her ass.
She swallowed, licking her bottom lip. “I’m glad I could be of service. Thanks for making this housewife’s evening more enjoyable,” she breathed, feeling herself press closer to him without realizing it.
His head dipped as he fully embraced her, his nose grazing along the column of her neck, the sound of his inhale an answer to a question that had bubbled up in her mind weeks ago.
She wrapped her arms around his neck then, holding him tight, not wanting to let go, her fingers trailing up to tangle in his raven-black hair, luxuriating in the softness of it.
“Don’t go home tonight, Feyre,” she heard him whisper as his lips pressed just below her ear.
The last thread of control within them snapped with the words, “Okay, Rhys.”
It happened so fast - Rhys picking Feyre up, her legs wrapping around his middle before his lips crashed into hers, contradictions of hard and soft consuming her. She let out a moan when his tongue swept in, the hard length of him pressing into her. She let him devour her - take and taste whatever he wanted, her own teeth biting into his bottom lip, the need to bite, claim, savor taking over.
He walked them in the direction of the primary bedroom situated at the back of the house - she hadn’t been in here since one of the very first times she checked the place out.
She knew the moment they were both in this room the physical threshold wouldn’t be the only line crossed.
He laid her on the bed, his body covering hers, loathe to separate his lips from hers, his hands firm around her waist now. It could have been minutes or hours, the amount of time they spent kissing before Feyre finally got the courage to tease, “You finally get me in this bed and all you do is kiss me?”
He pulled back, his eyes heavy lidded, his chest heaving as he took in her mussed up appearance - skirt rucked around her hips, her tank top showing the tops of her lacy bra, her own eyes likely a mirror of his. “Darling, I assure you I intend to do more than just that,” and as if to prove a point, he began peeling her clothes from her, starting first with her tank top, followed by her skirt.
He stopped, taking her in for a moment, admiration taking over his features. “So beautiful,” he breathed. She fought the insecure feelings - the ones that said he only thought that because she was half naked - and instead thrust her hands to his shirt in an effort to get it off his body.
He chuckled darkly, one of his hands wrapping around her wrist, bringing her hands above her head. “Oh no, we’re doing this my way, Feyre,” and he said her name as if he couldn’t believe he was getting the chance to.
She whined pitifully, need coursing through her. He tsked, his free hand caressing across her lower belly, his dark skin a contrast to her paler tone. “None of that, baby, I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”
She was ready to retort, something snarky, I don’t need you to take care of me, before his fingertips dipped beneath the band of her underwear, teasing her, lightly stroking her atop her entrance but never fully diving in.
She gasped at the contact, at feeling him so close to her cunt, wishing he would just push in already.
He dipped his head, his lips capturing hers as he at last rubbed the tip of a finger in her arousal, swirling in between her folds before dragging it up to rub her clit, his tongue sweeping in at the same pace of his finger. He pulled her underwear off before teasing her even further.
She moaned into his mouth, feeling herself ready to give up already, to let him take care of her. His lips trailed down her cheek, her neck, across her chest before mouthing her nipple through her bra, his tongue flicking her hard buds as he finally inserted a finger where she wanted him most. Her hips bucked at the welcome intrusion, his thick finger piercing her, pumping in and out of her, making a mess of her.
“So wet already, Feyre darling. Is all this for me?” He groaned, alternating between her nipples in time to his finger entering her, his other hand still holding her wrists above her head. She wouldn’t last long like this - she knew it and suspected he did because he added another finger, stretching her around him, carving space for himself within her.
He can take up whatever space she wants as long as it’s always this good, she thought through the haze.
Feyre nodded her head, knowing he would probably want an answer to his question, his own response a chuckle before he increased the pace of his fingers, adding a third when she had sufficiently accommodated two.
She was writhing and panting beneath him, growing wetter when he released her wrists to flip the cups of her bra down, revealing her full breasts to him.
The feeling of his lips and tongue on her skin should be illegal, she thought. Her pleasure amplified to a 10, unable to see or think or feel anything else but him him him.
Her heart beat to the rhythm of his fingers inside her as they brought her to the brink, pressure building in her spine, heat pooling and arousal flooding out of her as he finally commanded, “Come for me, baby,” and she had probably the most intense orgasm of her life with those four simple words.
He stroked her through it, still flicking his tongue at her nipples, his free hand having abandoned her wrists to grope her breasts at will now.
She finally came down, breathing heavily, feeling a sense of ecstasy she hadn’t felt in, well, ever.
The sound of a belt clinking and a zipper being pulled down pulled her back to the moment, to the handsome stranger before her.
She took in her surroundings, brushed her hair out of her face and felt - her ring - fuck, panic began to well up in her before Rhys’ hands were on her face, his eyes the only thing she saw.
“Shh, baby it’s okay. I’m here. We don’t have to do anything - we can stop, but I’m here, you’re okay,” he murmured, smoothing her hair.
And it was as if the planets all aligned in that one singular moment because here she was, feeling the freest and happiest ever - and it’s because of the man in front of her who was being so kind and understanding for what is arguably a fucked up situation.
She didn’t think about it - didn’t care. She met his eyes, swallowed, and leaned her lips into his once more, as if saying thank you for seeing me. Thank you for finding me.
He pulled back, only to continue divesting himself of his clothes as Feyre shifted on the bed, providing enough space for the two of them.
The sound of foil ripping, she watched as he rolled a condom onto his impressive length. She thought, briefly, there’s no way that’ll fit, but she caught his eye then, caught his smirk, really, as he said, “Don’t worry darling, I’ll fit.”
She scowled, not really meaning it and he responded with a pinch to her side - that’s how they were, at the end of the day.
He was a self-possessed, arrogant prick and she would call him out on it. That hadn’t changed since the first day she marched across the street, and they both knew it never would.
She laid there, bare before him, her eyes taking him in as he did the same. He swallowed thickly as he caressed her legs, settling in between them, rubbing small circles into her thighs.
“Feyre?” Rhys asked, eyes trained on her glistening cunt, slick from his efforts before.
“Yes, Rhys?” She breathed, moaned even.
“If we do this - there’s no going back. You’re mine. Do you understand that?”
She knew. She was his the moment she saw him drive up in that pretentious sports car, when he seemed to see her from where she hid in her house.
She knew, and she was grateful for it, no matter how it happened.
She nodded, slipping the emerald rock from her finger and setting it on the night stand, licking her lips at him in a challenge.
That’s what did it, in the end.
Lunged at her, would have been a more accurate description for what happened next, because he was over to her in an instant, his lips finding hers, his hands tangling in her burnished-gold hair as he hovered above her.
They breathed into each other, a weight lifted from both of their shoulders. Finally, they both seemed to say.
Rhys pulled back to angle himself at her entrance, coating the thick head of him in her arousal. Feyre trembled, excited and nervous, but not nervous enough to want to walk away. Finally, her heart seemed to beat. This was what she was waiting for.
He slowly pushed in, her tightness enveloping him, both of them groaning at the feel of the other. Rhys took it slow, pushing in, letting her adjust and repeating until he was fully seated, panting at the sensation.
She met his eyes, brought her hand up to cup his face before whispering, “Are you gonna fuck me or what, Mr. Realtor?”
He chuckled breathlessly, his head falling briefly. “Still have such a mouth on you, brat. You asked for it,” he teased before pulling out and pushing back in.
He set a lazy pace, as if they had all the time in the world. And perhaps they did - it was evening, and sure, they could clean the place up before any viewings in the morning, if there were any.
Rhys nipped and kissed and sucked at her chest, at her neck, whispering “so fucking good for me baby, all mine, you’re so fucking beautiful,” as Feyre mewled underneath him, urging him to fuck into her faster, harder, please don't stop.
He slowly increased his pace, beginning to pound relentlessly into her, her cries crescendoing as he brought the pad of his fingers to her clit, rubbing tight circles, bringing about yet another orgasm, talking her through it the entire time.
Her walls tightening and fluttering around him brought him to the brink of release, his own climax finding him in time with her third, both crying out each other’s name.
Rhys collapsed on top of her, the flutter of her heart right beneath her ear. She dragged her hands up to tangle into his hair, enjoying the weight of him above her in her post-release state.
“Rhys?” She whispered.
“Yes, darling?”
“I’m glad you were a greedy prick and tried to sell this house.”
He hummed his agreement.
***
The next week, Feyre’s things were moved out of her little cottage. The emerald ring sat atop the kitchen counter.
A Sold sign in bright red letters was slapped on the sign across the street.