#poly!batboys

❤️🤍💙🤍💜

You rolled over in bed, searching for the warm body that you knew should be there, but were met with cold sheets. Your head popped off of the pillow as you looked at the empty space, a frown falling over your face.

"Dada?" you asked, looking around the room to see where he'd gone to. It was then that you noticed none of your partners were in bed with you anymore. Your frown deepened as you slid out of the covers, shivering at the cold air. A dressing gown went over your bare body, the ribbon tied into a bow just how you liked and your bunny slippers on your feet. Normally, your mates would dress you.

"Papa?" You were met with no response, the hallway empty of your mates. "Daddy?" You padded down the hall, getting poutier by the second. "Where are you?" you whined.

It was only when you were in the kitchen that you found them, each of them working to prepare breakfast.

"You left me alone, daddies," you pouted, standing with your arms crossed in the doorway. Three heads snapped to look in your direction, two violet and four hazel eyes landing on you.

"You weren't supposed to be awake, baby," Rhys said, abandoning his task of cooking pancakes once he lifted the last out of the pan. "We wanted to surprise you."

"For what?" Your lips were still pulled into a pout, but the idea of a surprise had you peeking up slightly.

"For being our good little girl," Cassian said from where he was still cooking bacon, hazel eyes roving over you appreciatively.

"Hmm... I'm still mad at you," you sighed, letting yourself fall into Rhys's arms. Your nose just barely reached the crook of his neck, and you melted into him at his scent. "Morning Papa."

"Good morning to you too, baby," he said, arms holding you close as one hand rubbed up and down your back, just how you liked.

"Where's my hug?"

"In a minute, dada," you murmured into Rhys's chest. "Papa smells yummy today."

"Did you want a different surprise?" Rhys asked quietly in your ear, heat rushing between your thighs at what he was suggesting. You smiled brightly and nodded, a giggle escaping you when he hauled you into his arms.

"Hey!" Cassian yelled, and you saw him drop the spatula he was holding and move to follow, only to be stopped by Azriel's hand on his chest.

"Finish cooking the bacon, Cass. Then you can join us," Azriel said, his words growing fainter the closer that you got to the bedroom. You felt his shadows swirl around you, the only way that you knew Azriel was close.

Rhys set you on the bed gently, untying your dressing robe like a present on Solstice morning. "You're such a pretty girl, darling," he sighed, immediately spreading your thighs and sliding between them. "And such a pretty cunt, too."

His mouth was on you as Azriel moved over the bed, coming to claim your mouth. "Daddy," you sighed when his lips left yours, one hand coming to thread through his hair, the other through Rhys's.

"Hey, baby girl. You feeling good?" You nodded then moaned at the first flick of Rhys's tongue against your clit. Azriel's chuckle against your neck sent a wave of heat through you, doubled by his teeth biting down gently on the sensitive flesh.

"Gods, I take five minutes and you've already claimed her cunt, Rhys," Cassian chuckled, taking the space on your other side in the next moment. His mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking and biting softly while his fingers played with your other breast.

Azriel paused his ministrations on your neck to respond, "Papa always does that, right baby?"

You nodded, gasping when a thick finger pressed inside of you, quickly followed by a second. "Pa-" your moan was cut off by Cassian's lips, your hands slipping from your other mates' hair to grip his instead. Your eyes screwed shut when Azriel's mouth covered your breast, teeth nipping at your sensitive bud. Cassian swallowed your moans, keeping your mouth occupied while Rhys and Azriel drove you to the edge.

A third finger slid into you with no resistance, and all it took was Rhys's fingers curling inside of you to have you at your peak, body going rigid with pleasure. Your daddies worked you through it, their gentle grip bringing you back to reality.

"You up for more, princess?" Daddy asked, his scarred fingers brushing over your cheek with reverence.

"Mm... Mhm," you moaned, well aware that Papa's fingers were still inside of you, stilled and waiting. "I want Dada first," you demanded, ready to reward him for the cooked bacon that you knew you'd be eating later. His patience in not running after you made him deserving after all.

"Good, I've been looking forward to pinning you down all morning," Cassian growled, nearly shoving Rhys from between your legs, shedding his pants as he went. He pressed the head of his cock into you, giving you a moment to adjust before he forged his was forward. You were breathless beneath him, hands clutching at the sheets. "You can take it, baby, just relax for dada, okay?"

You managed to nod, words escaping you for the moment. Your hands were pinned above your head a moment later, your other mates taking control of the rest of you.

"You gonna be good and take my cock, doll?" Azriel asked, already freeing himself from his pants. You nodded, gasping when his fingers pinched your nipple harshly. "Answer me."

"Y- yes, daddy," you said, just managing to push the words out before his cock was at your lips. You opened wide, letting him take what he needed from you, doing your best to control your gag reflex.

"Such a good girl for us," Rhys purred, his free hand playing with your breasts.

Already, you were overwhelmed with pleasure as your daddies used you. The way Azriel fucked your mouth without a care for your lungs made you clench around Cassian's cock, drawing a groan from him.

"Such a tight little pussy, baby. Are you going to come for me again?" You tried to nod, but Azriel's fingers threaded through your hair and held you fast, chasing his own release.

Pleasure built and built within you, bursting when Cassian lifted your hips slightly, somehow managing to reach even further within you.

You shook in their hold, desperate for air as Azriel spilled himself down your throat. You gasped when he pulled out, sucking down air greedily while your pleasure was drawn out by Cassian's cock, still moving within you. One peak rolled into the next, amplified when Cassian stilled inside of you with a groan, warmth flooding your core.

"My turn," Rhys said, pushing Cassian off of you without warning. "I want you to ride me, darling. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Papa," you moaned, following Rhys's guiding hands to straddle his hips. Your thighs were still shaking, but the hungry look in his eyes had you forgetting all about them.

You could do anything for them.

❤️🤍💙🤍💜

The only thing keeping your restraint in place is your companions' determination. The sprinkle of common sense that hasn’t fizzled into a ravenous beast at the scent of your meal is easy to overlook, but Azriel’s menacing presence beside you isn’t. His back is ramrod straight in his own seat, and the food doesn’t seem to be affecting him in the slightest. He’s undeterred by their taunts. Instead, his woody eyes drink in your surroundings for the umpteenth time, as if there might be a hint as to what’s really going on here. 

On your other side, you’re flanked by Cassian, who does look like he’s struggling to keep himself from sinking his teeth into the juicy thigh on his plate, however little it might be. It’s more than he’s had to eat in days, months, and he wants it so fucking badly.

In fact, no one’s touching their food, which is a red flag of itself, but your head is swimming at the smells, your stomach a mess of knots that loosen at the idea of food, and tighten at the thought of where your best friend could be.

You’re also a little afraid, if you’re being honest, of getting sick should you eat something this…real after having gone so long without.

Nesta watches you from across the table with a piercing stare. There’s a malice you’ve become accustomed to being fed in the little time you’ve known her. You understand that she’s worried for her sister, out there with little protection, but you’re worried too. You feel as if Feyre is your sister as well. You’ve been winning your own little war against the undead for too long to remember.

At her side is who you can only decern to be her lover, Eris. You ponder their relationship, what you saw in the woods. Perhaps they’re nothing more than companions, but with the way the auburn-haired man keeps stealing glances at her, worry etched in his brow, you know there must be more.

The chair beside Eris is filled with a near clone of him. They have twin eyes and looks of caution on their fox-shaped faces. The unnamed man wears his hair long down his back, a single braid hangs down the side of his face. It’s not a nice one, practiced, but messy, like whoever put it there was distracted more often than not during styling. The only differentiator is the color of their skin, because even the shape of their eyes and their stature is eerily similar. It’s clear that they are nothing like their scumbag of a father, and the thought of Beron alone makes you shiver in your seat.

There’s an empty seat beside him, and you can’t help the stab of guilt you feel at the sight of it. You don’t know if they’ve lost someone important to their little unit they have going on here, or if there’s a reason for the unoccupied seat.

Cassian’s stomach growls loudly, breaking the terse silence. 

“Everything is safe to eat, I can assure you,” Eris mentions after clearing his throat. Nesta shoots him a look that could make even a zombie cower, but he must be used to it because he takes the betraying look with grace, gently settling a palm onto her lap.

Nesta doesn’t shove it away like you expect her to. Instead, her lips go razor thin. The pair stare at each other so intensely that you feel like you’re intruding on something monumental.

Eventually, Nesta breaks. With a sharp inhalation, she turns her gaze to you. She doesn’t look happy, but at least she doesn’t look like she wants to reach across the table and maul you for losing her sister.

“Eat,” she all but demands. She cringes, grits her teeth, and adds like the words are truly poison in her mouth, “Please.”

“You’ll excuse us if we don’t trust you,” Azriel replies curtly. Your eyes soften as they land on him, even if his gaze is trained on your hosts. Weeks ago, he’d been wary of you, and now he’s here protecting you from the outsiders that are holding you captive.

You’ve never been so thankful for him, and you remind yourself to thank him for it later.

“Don’t eat, then.” Nesta shrugs as if his words don’t bother her in the slightest. Your whereabouts of Feyre seem to have caught her off guard because right now she is the perfect poise of excellence. Her nature could give any queen a run for their crown.

She’s the first one to dig into her meal. She uses the cutlery as if they’re weapons, tearing into the meat with a force that has you praying to any higher being that Feyre and Rhys are on their way to you, because you do not want to be on the other end of Nesta’s knife.

Your eyes flicker back down to your plate, to the shiny silverware placed on either side of your plate. Hell, you’re not even sure you remember how to use them anymore, with how long you’ve had to make do on the road.

“Please, eat,” Eris counters with a stern look that doesn’t affect Nesta in the slightest. Eris motions to his brother and they both pick up their forks, as if trying to show you everything is okay.

“I don’t trust the animals, either,” Azriel responds.

“How about the vegetables, then?” Eris offers, and you think you catch a glint of pleading in his amber eyes. You think he’s trying to keep things civil and calm for Nesta’s sake. You’re sure she’s worried to pieces about her littlest sister out there when the sun is so close to hiding away for another night of hell. “The animals are perfectly healthy, though I assure you the food will not go to waste if you don’t eat it.”

“How are they safe?” Cassian questions, grimacing down at the meat. You know that he out of everyone in your little group needs it the most. You’ve seen his protruding ribs only yesterday, and with him being the biggest in your group, he needs the nutrients more than anyone.

A sudden urge of protectiveness washes over you. You want him safe and healthy, want both him and Azriel safe and happy, and you wish more than anything that you could give it to them.

Only time will tell.

Eris gives a very diplomatic response. “My family has owned this land for generations,” he starts, and you don’t like to think of how he is Beron’s son. It makes all of the desperation to eat, subside. “We have been raising and breeding our own meat and dairy for just as long. They have never showed signs of disease, but perhaps it’s because they live a life unknowing of what goes on in this world.” You’re not following, but Eris continues before your confusion causes you to blurt out questions.

“My brother—Lucien,” he nods toward his brother beside him. “Takes care of them. When our father first heard the mumblings of a pandemic so devastating, the world as we knew it would never be the same, he built a bunker of sorts, where we continue to monitor and raise our animals to this day.”

“That was about the only smart thing he ever did,” Lucien mumbles, looking green at the mention of his father.

You get the feeling.

Azriel says, “Yeah, we’ve had the unfortunate displeasure of meeting the bastard.”

Lucien’s utensils fall to the table with a clang that startles you in your seat. He looks sick to his stomach, his ying-yang eyes drawn down to his plate in shame. His shoulders are stiff and he’s gone so still you think he might be comatose, turning into a zombie right in front of your very eyes.

“You’ve met him?” Lucien asks, and he sounds like a little boy, reliving a trauma so ghastly that it’s altered his brain chemistry.

“Met him, killed him,” Azriel shrugs as if it was no big feat. Your stomach roils at the memory and you must look paler than normal because Cassian’s placing a. warm hand over yours in comfort. Azriel’s brashness isn’t new to you, but the reminder is too fresh. You try to focus on your hand in Cassian’s, offering him a weak smile.

The tension in the air seems to disperse with Azriel’s words. You’re pretty sure you see Lucien’s shoulders physically drop in relief, like he feels the same way you do about his father. Eris sits in his seat, stunned, but he doesn’t look upset about the news, he looks more disappointed, like he missed out on being the one to kill the crazy cannibal.

“Well, I think this calls for the good wine,” Nesta says, and you swear you see the corners of her mouth threaten to tug into a satisfied smirk.

She glances at you from across the table, and you pick up your fork.

You hope that this is the first of many things that you will agree with her on.

There is little conversation while you eat. Azriel’s brows are drawn in tight, and his mouth is set in a hard line. He keeps glancing over at you with a scolding heat in his eyes, but there’s a sliver of worry that makes you ache, like he thinks you might keel over from the chicken.

If you do, you’re not even sure you’ll be mad. It’s good fucking chicken.

You try to savor it, to eat slowly so that your body doesn’t reject the first real meal you’ve had in forever, but you can hardly control yourself. You feel like a rabid animal, hungry enough to gnaw your own arm off. You wonder if this is what the zombies outside feel like, an insatiable hunger, or if they’re so mindless they don’t feel anything at all.

You reckon you have only minutes before the food makes its reappearance, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you slide your silverware onto your empty plate, trying to deter yourself from leaning forward and licking it clean.

Cassian has no such reservations.

“How long has it been since you’ve tried to contact my sister?” Nesta asks when the three of you have finished. Even Azriel couldn’t help but clear his plate, though he did take the longest of the three of you, more than mindful of your captors.

It makes your heart swell that he has kept an eye out for you and Cassian.

Azriel and Cassian share a look over your head, debating how much to indulge. But this is Feyre’s sister, and they want to find her and Rhys just as much, so they relent.

“We tried getting through to them this afternoon, before we ran into you,” Cassian explains. “They were too far out of range.”

“Call them again,” she demands, and Eris opens his mouth to protest but Nesta is clearly done with niceties. “No,” she snaps at the man beside her. “We have given them a place to stay and a warm meal. It’s time for them to do something in return.”

You don’t mention how you didn’t have a choice but to be here, and that they wouldn’t have had to give up their food if you were still wandering out in the woods, but your stomach is too full to argue that point.

Cassian tugs the walkie-talkie from his pocket and switches it on. The static is loud, and you all wait in anticipation until the signal calms a bit before he clicks the button on the side and makes the call. “Rhys? Feyre? Are you out there?”

It’s like waiting for a cure as the six of you listen to the channel. Nothing comes through, and Cassian calls again, to no avail.

“We’ll keep trying,” he says, a determined look in his eye. You’re pretty sure that’s the only thing keeping Nesta in her seat, because she looks like she will reach across the table and stab you with her knife.

Movement in the corner of your eye makes you flinch. Cassian’s arm reaches out to block you and Azriel’s already halfway out of his seat, ready to tear you away from the threat that stumbles into the doorway.

The threat comes in the form of what must be Feyre’s other sister, Elain. She looks ghastly, skin as white as sheet, and as well-fed as Eris’ claims them to be, she’s all skin and bones. Her brown eyes are dull and sunken, purple-rimmed as if she hasn’t had a peaceful night of sleep in years. Her blonde-brown hair sits limp on her head, knotted at the back, as if she’s been drained of all of the health in her life.

She looks like a zombie.

Nesta jumps from her chair at the same time Lucien does, the both of them rushing for Elain. Lucien gets to her first, catching her just as her knees give out and scooping her into his arms. Her head lolls against his chest as if the effort to keep it upright is a burden too much, but her dazed gaze sharpens when it lands on you.

You’re frozen in your seat. You have no words for what you’re seeing, the sickly girl who looks closer to death than a zombie. Your heart pounds a thousand miles a minute in your chest, and your fingers are white-knuckled with confusion and fear where they’re wrapped around Cassian’s forearm.

Elain’s brown eyes widen in a way that looks unnatural for her once beautiful face. Her cracked lips form husky words that are so ominous it has the hair on your body standing on end.

“Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black. One has an injured wing.”

Lucien hushes her softly, murmuring to her as he removes her from the room. “Shh, Elain. Let’s get you back to bed, petal. You shouldn’t be expending so much energy until you’re feeling better.”

Guilt stabs you a thousand times over as he takes her away. It doesn’t take long for you to connect the dots with what you’ve seen. How sickly she looks, the faraway look and ramblings that don’t make sense.

“When did it happen?” You blurt, eyes darting from a stoney-faced Nesta to a grimacing Eris to the door Lucien and Elain disappeared through. You don’t like the feeling that overcomes you, the one that wants you to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible.

Something isn’t right here.

“It’s late,” Nesta states, looking between the three of you like she’s deciding how she’s going to kill each of you. You suppose she might, if she feels any sort of threat to her sister. For now, she needs you alive, if only to help find her other sister. She won’t dump any of you out yet, unless you can’t prove your worth.

Not unless Feyre is dead.

Azriel tucks you carefully behind him, more than aware of the threat before you. You can tell that he’s just as confused as you are. There’s a tightness to his shoulders that you don’t like, an edge to the strain of his body that screams danger.

His mouth opens to speak, but he’s cut off by the sudden voice that comes over the walkie-talkie.

“Cassian? Azriel? Do you copy?” Rhys’ panicked voice sounds through the machine. More than one emotion threatens to consume you, relief and worry. The full meal in your belly swarms like crashing waves, and you might just throw up after all.

Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta all lunge for the radio. Eris gets his hand around Nesta’s bicep and pulls her away, much to her reluctance. She claws against him but he’s only keeping her away from the three of you, still very much a threat.

Not that you’d be of any assistance should either party try to attack. You’ve collapsed in the closest chair.

“Rhys?” Cassian calls back, just as frantic. His terrified hazel eyes are locked with Azriel’s, and it’s all the black-haired boy can do to console Cassian with a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “Can you hear me? Where the fuck are you?”

It wouldn’t mean much to Nesta, who’s given up her struggling to listen into what’s happening, but to Cassian, you know the touch means everything.

Anticipation skyrockets throughout the room, bringing the temperature up to boiling as you await his response. Each second feels like an eternity, and you’re sure the vein throbbing on Nesta’s forehead is about to explode when Rhysand finally responds.

It sounds like he’s running. You pray that’s not a groan of the undead you hear in the background. “Fuck,” he curses in such a hopeless way that makes your heart drop to the floor. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s not going to be good. “I need you to come find us. I don’t know where the fuck we are, but we need help.”

Azriel rips the walkie-talkie from Cassian’s hand, ready to take the lead. He pockets one of the knives at the table and you can’t even muster the energy to joke about how a butterknife won’t be the best weapon against a horde of zombies because you’re more than ready to follow him into the fray, sans weapons, if all to save your friends.

“Where are you, Rhys? I need landmarks.”

 “Az,” Rhys breathes, but he doesn’t sound relieved. In fact, he sounds spent, and there’s no sign of Feyre on the other line. “We need help. Badly. Feyre’s been bitten.”

And hey, your dinner does make its reappearance after all.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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Teeth tug at the interior of your lip as you walk into the sitting room, finding all three of them contained within the cozy chamber. 

Three sets of eyes raise when you enter, sensing you have something to say. You shift anxiously on your feet. “Hi…” you begin, toes curling in your socks, a spark of nerves glistening beneath your skin, pulse spiking in your throat—one they can almost certainly pick out. 

It’s Rhys who takes the lead as the closest to where you are, lowering his book and setting it down, open, over one arm of the sofa, Cassian watching intently from the other end, ankle crossed over his thigh. “You look…nervous,” Rhys muses, violet eyes gleaming with satisfaction when you shift, fingers clutching the hem of your thick, purple jumper. “Did something happen?” 

Your lips part to speak, but a rush of nerves has you second guessing yourself, averting your gaze to the floor, heart pounding. “I have…” Fuck, you’re nervous. You swallow. Look back at them. “I have something to tell you…?” 

Rhys’ lips tug upward at their corners, interest sparking in Cassian’s hazel eyes, a neutral but attentive expression from Azriel. You ease in a small breath—you know them; they won’t be angry with you. You just need to show them. It’s easy to admit you’re far more scared of the attention they’ll give you rather than potential disappointment. They’re feral enough if they so much as catch a glimpse of a new set of underwear they’ll be dragging you to their bedroom, pinning you to their mattress, so this…you swallow again. Maybe it was a stupid idea. But they’re going to find out eventually. It’s already been a week, after all. 

“Maybe it would be better if I showed you,” you mumble under your breath, fingers tugging at the deep purple wool, the knit stretching as you lift it to reveal the lacy white camisole underneath—sheer enough for the metal bars to be visible as they push against the soft, creamy fabric. 

Cassian’s book slips from his grip, thudding on the floor. Pages fluttering. 

You bite the interior of your lip, folding the jumper over your arm so your have something to do with your hands. “They’ve finished healing now…” You tell them, glancing down at the individual stitches that make up the purple knitwear, picking out how the yarn wraps around itself to form a repeating pattern. 

“Come here.” Rhys’s voice is deeper; rougher. Strained, as he calls you over. 

“Why…” you ask, a note of warning in your voice, raising a brow. This is exactly what you were worried about. “I’m only telling you so you know. They’re still—”

“That was an order, princess,” Azriel murmurs from the other sofa, tension underlying the rigidity of his wings, hazel eyes piercing in on you like you’re a rabbit that’s about to turn on her fluffy tail and frantically try to hop away. 

Half reluctantly, you step closer to Rhys’ side, fingers fiddling with the jumper to try and keep your nerves soothed. 

Violet eyes look up at you, and you force yourself to remain still as he grips your hip, a sure enough sign you won’t be leaving without their permission. “Is this why you’ve been hiding yourself from us?” He inquires, and you nod. “And you’re saying they’re healed now? Properly healed?” His thumb swipes across the bone of your hip, your every sense keyed to his touch. You feel like you could get lost in his eyes. So strangely hypnotising. Like they’re luring you in. 

His lips tug upward, and then you’re being tugged forward, landing perfectly in his lap under his guidance. You squeak, squirming beneath his touch, trying to shift out of his lap—you knew this would happen. “Rhys, hold on,” you try, gripping onto his wrists as his palms splay across your stomach leisurely, fingers crawling beneath the hem of your close-fitting camisole. “Wait, they’re…” 

“What?” Rhys drawls, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Tell us what they are, darling.” 

“…they’re sensitive.” 

The pads of his fingers stutter briefly over your skin, before his lips are curving into a grin. “How perfect.” 

“Rhys, please…” you murmur, trying to glance at him. 

“Please what?” 

“Be careful?” You request, shifting in his lap. Shaky fingers lightly wrapping around his wrist. 

He hums, attention flicking to his brothers. “Should we?” 

“Rhysand!” You exclaim, trying to turn to look at him, but his grip tightens on you punishingly, reminding you to keep still. 

“Try her out first,” Azriel muses, drawing your attention, hazel eyes boring into you—hot, hungry, and adoring. It gives you a little reassurance, at least. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Az,” you mumble, a little betrayed he isn’t advocating for your release. “When you’re wearing pretty things like that? I think not,” he drawls, a hint of affection in his expression. “Besides, you know very well you aren’t permitted to keep secrets from us.” 

“I wanted it to be a surprise…” you mumble, flushing. 

“I think it’s safe to say we’re surprised, sweetheart,” Cassian drawls, “but a secret is still a secret.” 

“Cass…” 

“Do you disagree?” 

You open your mouth to do just that, but instead a startled sound squeaks from your lips, Rhys’s fingers brushing lightly over the peaks of your nipples. You gasp, trying to grapple with him to get his hands away but you can hardly manage to make him budge as he circles your breasts through the thin fabric. 

“I didn’t want you to have to wait while knowing about them,” you try, cheeks heating as thoughts begin to melt away. “Wouldn’t it have been worse if I had told you?” 

“A rule is a rule, darling.” 

“But Rhys…Rhys!” You gasp as he pulls your top away entirely, and you can practically feel their attention on your breasts. The pretty bars adorning your nipples. 

“How sensitive are they?” Azriel asks, but it’s worryingly not directed at you. 

“Let’s see…” 

A panting moan spills suddenly from your lips, breaths fluttering as Rhys brings his thumbs to lightly drag across the sensitive peaks. You squirm in his lap, nonsensical pleas whispering from your mouth as you try to squeeze your legs together, heat simmering violently and you’re worried how severely they’ll exploit this for their advantage. 

“Pretty sensitive,” Cassian drawls, and you exhale deep breaths of relief when Rhys’ fingers cease their stimulation, already practically trembling in his lap. “I suppose I can see why she wanted to keep these secret, knowing us,” he remarks, your lower lip wobbling at the comment. He grins, and your hairs rise. 

“I have different ones,” you say, trying to halt Rhys’s fingers, trying to figure a way out of his hold. “I got ones with different colours…let me show you.” Rhys laughs beside your ear, breath fanning down the side of your throat, making you shiver. “Darling, that won’t work. You’re staying with us until we decide you’ve had enough.” 

“But that can take hours…” 

“And it’ll take days if you don’t stop whining,” he counters, grazing his thumb across your nipple. “I’m sure between the three of us, we could make it last much longer.”

You squeak as shadows wrap around your ankles, wrapping around your calf, up your knee, lacing around your thighs, pulling them further apart. 

“And if we have to correct your behaviour one more time…” Azriel warns, your skin prickling at the low, raspy tone. Toes curling. Shadows creeping higher.

He doesn’t have to finish that sentence for you to understand the meaning. 

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