His wings were magnificent.
Strong yet delicate, their dark membranes melting into the night as Rhys hovered above me, his lips curled in the most annoying smug grin after he’d made me fall apart on his tongue yet again that night.
Smug Illyrian prick.
I could still see the traces of my own arousal glistening around his mouth and that tongue - oh, that damn wicked tongue - darting out, licking, tasting me.
Heat pulled in my lower abdomen at the sight, afterwaves of my last orgasm still cursing through my body. And I could feel myself falling into that place - that glorious state where I was lax and pliant and spent and yet, I was ready for another chase, a slow torturous ascend to sensual oblivion and the following fall into the arms of night.
All I could think of were his wings.
“Feyre, darling.” Rhys’ low purr reverberated against my clavicle and my skin sang in awareness, every nerve ending tingling in anticipation.
And I wanted - no, I craved - to have him slip into me again, smooth and slow and to the hilt, to feel so deliciously full and stretched and quivering, have his hands and lips and teeth trailing every inch of my body but -
But he’d have to pay for that wicked tongue of his first.
Her lips were spectacular.
There was a kind of profound artistry in the way they curved, into this smile that was luscious and mysterious and hungry, the accompanying gleam in her eyes making her look wicked and innocent at the same time.
In other words, I was well and truly fucked.
Or would be, the thought had time to cross my mind before Feyre - surprisingly agile given her relaxed post-orgasmic state - sprang to her knees and pressed my chest with her hand, pushing me off the bed and leading us towards the nearest wall.
I could feel faint flickers of amusement, tinged heavily with flecks of desire and fascination, licking at our bond, my already hard cock twitching painfully. I wanted - no, I craved - to take her here and now, fast and hard and dirty, her heavy pants resting on my skin and her sharp teeth buried in my shoulder.
But I wanted to find what she was up to more. So when she motioned for me to turn around, I did, placing my hand on the cold surface as her whisper rang in my ear.
“Remember that promise you made me? How you’d fuck me against the wall?” I nodded cautiously. “It’s my turn now,” Feyre said, her tone both teasing and demanding.
Cruel, beautiful thing.
I might be benevolent. I f you behave - her voice echoed in my mind through our bond and I couldn’t help that playful grin which emerged on my face at her words.
Hands on the wall, came another demand.
Do your worst, darling. Play with me.
“Oh, I fully intend to.” Her teeth nipped at my earlobe and the twitch in my cock was back again as I felt her breasts press against my wings.
She was going to be the death of me.
For a moment, the pressure subsided and I could take a breath again, even though my heart was beating wildly against my chest. And then, my mate’s hands smoothed over my calves, her touch burning, scorching to the bones as they glided - higher and higher - inch by agonizing inch. Little circles on the backs of my knees, nails barely scraping on the inside of my thighs, one hand nearing my throbbing length, the other brushing past my hips and up my spine.
My legs trembled as I rasped, “Feyre.”
I would last seconds if she kept that up, more desperate than a 18-year old Illyrian prick I'd once been. Shit.
You’re still a prick, you know. Her voice chuckled in my head as her fingers slowly climbed up my back, to the place at my shoulder blades, caressing the base of my wings with delicate but deliberate touch.
“I knew,” I somehow managed to croak, “knew you were all - “, she gave another gentle press against the membrane “ - about my wingspan.”
“So cocky.” I could almost see the smile on those spectacular lips of hers.
“I ha - “ My voice caught in my throat as Feyre reached for my cock with her other hand, closing around the girth and dragging from base to the tip and back again.
Those deft fingers danced along the edges of my wings, careful and thorough, and for the longest time, no words could get past my lips, only growls and pants and that hoarse roar stirring in my chest.
Mate. My mate. Mine.
I couldn’t tell whose voice chanted those words like a prayer, mine or hers, or perhaps it was the both of us, in the cacophony of moans and whispered promises. Her tongue flicking against the softest, most sensitive corners of my wings and her thumb rubbing the tip of my cock until my body tipped over the edge and shuddered to the rapid beats of my heart and it beat Feyre.
Feyre, Feyre, Feyre.
The taste of her name on my tongue was almost as sweet as the taste of her.
And I couldn’t wait to kiss my name off those spectacular lips of hers.