missy

The only moving thing was now the door opening all while Rhysand stood there, staring at both of you and his mate. His eyes were unreadable. You couldn't say if he was angry, or exasperated. Or... whatever.

You, on the other hand, were desperate. Frozen. Your eyes widened so much that you could think it'd jump out of your face. You held your breath like it'd postponed the inevitable: the fight you're sure would that happen. And certainly expelled, if he was miserable enough to not kill you right way. You'd end up dead, anyways, considering that... well, in this world, you know nothing but this house and them.

And it took your panic too. You've remembered where you are. A strange world, with different people. Powerful people. Both in a magical and political sense. Was cheating considered a crime here? You could end up in jail for getting fucked by someone's wife? But you didn't start it!

At this point, you barely remember that your core and legs are bare.

You can't see Feyre's face right now, but you can feel her body moving behind you, her hands lazily caressing your belly and her sigh that sounds almost tired and bored.

You still don't move. Your eyes stare at Rhysand. He's unmoving. But his violet eyes blink, and change its spot from you to his beloved. All you can read in that gaze is wonder. There's more, but nothing your human senses are able to get.

Hesitantly, you move. Looking from Rhysand to Feyre, your head tilting back, neck a little stiff with the move, and finding Feyre's beautiful features. Her eyes glow, and she has a soft, barely there, smirk pulling one of the corners of her lips.

She stares at her husband, a silent conversation going between them. Right, the "daemati" thing, you assume. One of her eyebrows rises, and her lips threaten to open in a half grin. Your own eyes snap down to her hand in your belly, that now have only her finger tip circling your belly button, provoking your skin to shiver and a chill run through you.

He finger tip goes lower, and lower, and you catch more breath to hold when her hand cups your intimacy, covering it. You swallowed, finding your throat so dry that it was as if you hadn't drunk a cup of water in weeks.

Blinking, your gaze turned back to the High Lord, that now was clenching his jaw while staring at your body. At where Feyre is covering. At your shirt, your chest. His eyes slowly move from your chest to your eyes, and the final tip of his brows lifts, and a smirk, just like Feyre's, stamps his lips. His eyes grow dark, with a danger gleam.

You swallow again and look down at where he was staring, just to exhale shaky and feel your cheeks burning when the vision of your hard nipples bulging the shirt you're wearing fills your view. Worse... You can hear, faintly, the sloppy noises coming from the friction between your soaked core and Feyre's hand while she moves it just slightly, caressing.

You can't look at any of them. You want to squeeze your legs, cover yourself, run, hide and force your own mind to forget it all. You want to explain yourself, even though you didn't ask for any of that. Your body can't help but make you swallow dry again.

— Are you thirsty, dear? — Feyre's voice, sensually and low, spoke in your ear. The sudden break of the silence made you shudder, and your breath hitch.

You don't have time to answer before Feyre takes your jaw and turns your head to her, her pink lips closer to yours. But she doesn't kiss you.

You're looking at her face when her eyes, fixed on Rhysand's, turns to you with a malicious shine, as if provoking the male and she mouth molds in a kind of peck. She squeezes your cheek just enough to your lips open.

And then she spits in it. In your mouth. A line of saliva runs down with it. Your tongue is hit with the warmth of her drool, and you can't react. Your body doesn't move.

She smirks at her husband again and then whispers to you.

— Swallow it. You were swallowing your own until now, weren't you? Be a good girl now...

You do, instinctively. It goes down your throat like a sweet poison. And you feel horrified at yourself when your pussy clenches and spills more of your own wetness. You immediately squirm, you don't know exactly for what. For stop yourself or them, or for more.

The mates don't lose it either. Feyre chuckles darkly, now caressing your intimacy again, more insistent.

— So you like it? Do you like Ma'am spit in your mouth? So sweet...

Whimpers escape from you inevitably. She simply keeps the sadist giggling. Her hands now move to lift one of your legs while her arm holds your waist against her.

— C'mon. Let's show Rhysie what we were playing... How pretty your cunt looks all wet and swollen.

You try to resist, try to shake your head, whimper, and close your legs. But she doesn't accept it. Her hand gets stronger.

— Ah ah... Let's not be shy now. I promise he'll love to see it, pretty girl. Now, let's open those legs, uh?

You squirm harder, but freeze again when Rhysand's deep and gruff voice fills your ears.

— Open for me. I want to see.

,He is close now, the door shut. He stands close to the bed, just where he'd have the best view of your core.

Your heart beats against your chest. You don't exactly fear him, no. But those eyes... His always were much darker than Feyre's. Much more straight forward than hers.

Apparently, he realized it, because he softened. Slowly, he placed one of his knees in bed and leaned forward, supporting himself in one elbow and a hand in the mattress, close to you. His face close to your know.

Exchanging a glance with Feyre, he approached you with his face and his nose caressed you while he murmured.

— What's it...? Are you scared, is it? — he wondered, his lips daring to peck your jaw and cheek before running to your neck to whisper in your ear — Y'know... You don't need to... I'd be nothing but... fucking glad to see... To taste... To feel you...

You exhale, shaking, your eyes heaving. His pecks turned more intense, more sucked kisses.

— I promise you won't regret... I promise that I'll be much better than Feyre. I promise that you'll feel so, so good, little thing... Uh? Can you show this...?

His hand was touching you now. Your core. And his thick fingers were so firm, so warm, so strong, and were spreading your juices so gently. You can't help but hitch and hold a tiny moan.

He pulled slightly to look at your face and smile wicked. He pressed a peck to your lips before going down.

Feyre now was holding you. Immobilizing your torso while Rhysand gets between your thighs and puts the back of your knees on his shoulders.

Feyre hands, while her arms embrace you, massages and squeeze your breasts, humming almost erotic in your ear, occasionally kissing and licking your neck.

— I d-don't know if it's right... — you stutter, softly and slightly breathless. Your legs move, trying to close.

— Right, wrong, what's the matter, anyways? You felt so good, didn't you? You can't deny... — Feyre seduces you, speaking so close to your ear that her breath winds your hearing. Her hands squeeze your titties harder, making you leave a moan.

— I think you should tell if it's right after I taste this sweet cunt of yours, little thing. — Rhysand said while he, almost sharply, spread your legs again.

But the kisses through your skin were nothing but gentle. His lips sucks his way down to your core, nibbing occasionally.

He'd wet your skin with his tongue, hot while it was strolling and leaving it to feel the cold air of the room to cool, making your shiver harder and your body more sensitive.

Soon enough, he was kissing and adoring all around your core, just not where you most needed him.

He provoked you. Kissing and nibbling your groin, licking your lips, sucking there, pecking your entrance and once or twice he'd taunt your swollen clit only with the tip of his tongue.

Only when you're squirming and whimpering, when you're swollen and almost hurting, sensitive like never, is when he tires of torturing you.

— Please... Please... — you beg.

— "Please", what? I need you to be a big girl and use your big girl words. — you can't tell who exactly said it, but you don't care. Not at this point. Not when you're desperate.

— Please, I need your mouth. I need your tongue. I-

You're interrupted by your own moan. Your back arches and Feyre pull you back.

Rhysand attacked your cunt with hunger. Covering it with his lips, his licked and enjoyed your sensitive bud like it was his favorite ice cream. His hands gripped your hips and held you with an iron hold.

His tongue licked, tapped, circled, and his lips sucked on that clump of nerves of your. He'd go down, only to fuck you with his tongue while his thumb would press down your clit to make you moan louder.

It's so good. Your lubrication mixed with his saliva, spreading and rubbing through your folds was so, so, so heated and satisfying. You're so sensitive that the pleasure is building faster than ever.

You can't move a lot, but Rhysand allows you to move your hips up and down, rubbing your slippery center against his face.

Your pussy only gets more and more wet with the seconds. The pleasure invading your body like lightning thunder, making your toes curl and your legs spread more.

You moan, so loud and shameless. Feyre squeeze your nipples to the pain, slapping your titties right after.

— If I knew this cunt was this good, I'd have woke you up by eating it right in the moment that you fell in my fucking garden. — Rhysand growls before he clamps his mouth against it again, sucking while his tongue circles it.

His tongue flicks in your entrance before he pushes it in your cunt, and, if it wasn't for the speed and strength inhumane of his holding your thighs, you'd have locked his head there.

Your moan were exhaled, raw, your eyes rolling to the back of your head while your face contorted in such dirty expressions. Your tongue wasn't shy anymore either.

— Yes! Yes! Fuck- Don't stop! Fuck! — You whine, biting your lips and looking down at him with a frown, moving your hips against him.

You exhale again in a moan.

Feyre, behind you, bites your neck. Hard. At the same time Rhysand suck you particularly harder. Your eyes wide open and a moan chokes in your throat before sounding out. Feyre laughs in your ear.

In one second, she's kissing your mouth. A sloppy, clumsy kiss. She sucked your tongue before shoving her own in your mouth. She licks your lips while your moans grow louder, almost groans.

You're getting so, so close. And both Rhysand and Feyre seem to notice. He eats you so hungrily, so starving that makes you see stars. Meanwhile, Feyre says against your mouth while she hugs your chest tightly and holds your nipples in a hell pinch.

— Come for us, pretty thing. Rub this needy cunt against him, show him how much of a desperate little girl you are. Come. You need it, right? You need to make a mess again. You need to cum again and again. Right?

You just get louder. So loud that you're sure your voice is reverberating through all that house. Your hips move uncontrollably, and Rhys growls against you, doubling his efforts.

Feyre's pinch in your nipples gets stronger. She covers your mouth with her own one last time before going back to your neck.

She bites there again, but harder, so harder that it may bleed.

And it's your end.

You're pushed from the edge. Your orgasm hits you so hard that your arch is high enough to Feyre almost lose her pinch in your nipples. Your legs spread the most your body could, and your pupils dilate.

The pleasure is absolutely overwhelming. It takes your air out of your lungs so hard that you, for a moment, forget how to breathe.

Your limbs and muscles tense and stiff, and the moan is held in your throat before it comes like a breath of air after minutes straight holding air.

You pant heavily, soundly. Your vision is blurred and your legs shake like your head as you keep feeling Rhysand's stubborn tongue keeps taking you.

You jolt, ears vibrating, abdomen clenching and eyes shutting while you whine loudly.

Once you start to get incoherent and almost cry, Rhysand finally stops.

You're dizzy, panting, blabbing. Not even your mind can form a single thought. You can't hear. Lost in a cloud of fog after a storm.