#poly!feysand

You scrunch your brow in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“When I picked my crown.” She says. A fondness creeping over Feyre’s face as she keeps the memory of that night to herself. “Now it’s your turn.” 

Your stomach and heart drop at the same time. “But I’m not a High Lady nor do I have a title that would justify me wearing a crown this extravagant.” Your voice shakes as you look back at the wall of crowns. Is this some kind of cruel joke? To show you something you’ll never have? 

Rhys cups your face in his hands forcing you to look at him. “Never.” He says in that stern High Lord’s voice. “You are our mate. Our equal in every sense of the word. To think you are not worthy of a title or that you wouldn’t have one at all is utter nonsense.” 

“We are both High Lady’s, y/n. Anything less for you would be unacceptable.” 

Tears start to well in your eyes. “But…what if I don’t want to be? Or what if I am and I lead us down the wrong path and–” Rhys shushes you by softly pressing his lips to yours. “Nonsense.” He says. You look back at the sparkling crowns. 

Your mates each wrap an arm around your waist, holding you between them. Your eyes dart from crown to crown taking in all the details. Already feeling the weight of the responsibility of your new title you take a breath. “I want to think about it for a while.” 

“Take all the time you need y/n.” Rhys hums. 

“You can still pick one if you want,” Feyre says with a smirk. “We can never say no to spoiling you.” 

You push up on the balls of your feet, thinking which one called to you. After a long moment one crown seemed to shine brighter than all the others. It’s diamonds swooping up from the band to a sapphire in the center of the point. Feyre notices which one your gaze lingers on grabbing from its little alcove to rest it on your head. 

The next few weeks are nothing short of hell. I didn’t know pretending like nothing is wrong would be as exhausting as it has been. It was a never ending cycle of waking up, getting ready, going to work, and coming home. At work I was dancing a fine line of hiding everything from my seamstresses and sister and failing miserably. The only small mercy that I have had was that I haven’t had to see my mates. Thank the mother for that; I don’t know how I would have reacted to seeing them so soon after the bond had snapped. Not seeing them however did nothing to dampen the feelings that the two of them would throw down the bond unknowingly. Deep down  I know that they didn’t mean to send those memories and feelings to me, but on a good day it makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t know why it has gotten worse. I was fine for a year of burying the feelings that I have for the two down.

They were so happy together, and I don’t have a place in their perfect lifestyle. I thought that I had seen them around town a lot when they were just my customers but now it felt like every time I turned around they were there. It has increased since they came in to get their outfits for Starfall designed. I swear I ran into Rhys yesterday when I went to get lunch for myself. I ran into Feyre the other night while I was getting the groceries for my sisters and me. The two of them had actually approached me a week ago while I was at the park with my baby sister. They had little Nyx with them then and it felt like someone had taken a hold of my heart and started squeezing. The babe was adorable at two years of age. He's starting to reign terror on his parents who had apparently decided he needed to run off his energy at the park. The two of them are far more friendly with people than I would have liked, but mostly that friendliness was targeted towards me. As they joined me on the bench sandwiching me between them. They ended up chatting my ear off for the better part of an hour. There brushes of hands against my body that were too well placed to be incidental. It felt like a vice clamping down around my heart as I left the park with my sister to head home. Feyre had wanted me to stay a bit longer so that she could continue talking to me about my sketches. 

The physical interactions with them weren't the worst thing though. It was the images and emotions that the two had unknowingly sent down the bond. It wasn’t unusual to get a flash of lust from one of them at any given time of the day. It was inconvenient to just get hit with the overwhelming need for someone when I’m with clients. Late at night though I get the images. Of my mates tangled up in pleasure. Sometimes it was flashes of Feyre's face screwed up in pleasure; other of Rhys’s eyes alight with lust and desire. Those nights sleep was hard to come by. A few of those nights I found myself back in the shop working on my clients orders, anything to keep my mind from lingering on the two people that didn’t know I was bound to them.  I was surprised to be receiving so much from them down the bond given that both of them are powerful Demati. I figured that they would be skilled at keeping to themselves. 

Last night was one of those sleepless nights. It was a damn near endless barrage of want and need coming from both of them. If I hadn’t known that their mating bond had been accepted between them I would have assumed that they had accepted it last night. I left a note for my middle sister in the kitchen before heading to the shop in the dead of night. Being the night court, plenty of people were milling about the streets and shops in the palace of thread and jewels. Thankfully it isn’t one of the nights we keep the shop open for those who live under the stars, I could work in peace and not be bothered by anyone. No customers, no seamstresses, no nosy sisters, and most importantly no over friendly mates or their friends. 

It was wonderful to sit in the shop and do what I love with my shadows dancing around me. The shadows had been my friends since I was a very small faeling. They were more shy when I was out in public but when it is just me they come to life and sing. I had only seen two other people like me. One was my maternal grandfather who was from a court that had long since been lost; and the other was Azriel. Grandfather was able to teach me how to control the shadows and use them to my advantage. But he also told me to keep the gift to myself. Shadowsingers had long been coveted by the courts to be used as spies; and he and my parents were worried that the former High Lord would have conscripted me into his spy network if it was ever found out. I had successfully kept it a secret for nearly 400 years. Though times like this, when the shop is closed and I have the room to myself, I let them loose. A soft smile grows on my face as I watch the playful shadows dance about the room. A few of them try to be helpful by handing me tools and instruments that I need as I work on Feyre’s Starfall gown. 

Feyre’s dress had been coming along beautifully. She had come in for a fitting last week where we were checking the fit on the mock up. The High Lady had all but begged to have a similar fabric to my own. We had more of the fabric left; thank gods for that; the last thing I wanted to do was take a trip to the Autumn court to source more. I lose track of time working on the dress; so much so that I didn’t realize the sun had risen until I heard the lock on the door turn. 

“Sis, are you still here?” Genevieve calls out. Of course she came here. “I saw your note on the counter this morning. I dropped Itty bitty off at school and brought breakfast.” 

I sigh and set my things down to make my way out of the work room. Genevieve stands in the room looking so much like our mother; hair tied up in a worn red scarf, a dark red linen shirt and comfortable leather trousers. Ready for a day at the blacksmith. In her hands she balances a bag of what I assume is the breakfast and two cups in the other. 

“Your shadows are so helpful I’m jealous.” She passes me one of the cups and I take a sniff and immediately am greeted by the comforting scent of coffee “ Were you here all night again?” 

It's not hard to hear the concern in her voice as she takes a once over of me. 

“Yes” I responded, taking a sip of the delicious coffee that she had brought. 

“Ok what is going on with you.” She cocks her head to the side “It seems like you have been stressed this past year. Well more so than normal. This is starting to get worrisome. The number of times you have left the house in the middle of the night and worked through to morning is ridiculous.”

“What’s going on? I know it's not money since I help with the books and we have two sources of income coming in.” She takes a breath. “You can talk to me Sis.” 

“Let's go into the office. The ladies should be coming in soon.” I led her into my office not wanting to state what was going on when one of my employees could walk in. Once we are in the office I gesture for her to take a seat in front of my desk. I take a seat and my chair, bones creaking as I sit on the soft leather. She fixes me with a look telling me to start talking. 

“So I met my mates.” I sigh running a hand through my hair 

“You met your mate. That's good news right.” She starts rifling through the bag of food 

“Mates. Two of them.” She stops looking up at me 

“Two. Is that possible?” Her eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline. 

“It is.” I lean back in my chair. “Incredibly rare but possible.” 

“So let me repeat my earlier question. That’s good news right?” 

“It’s complicated.” I bite my lower lip “The two of them are already mated. Sealed the bond and everything. But the bond only snapped for me.” 

“They don’t know.” Her voice drops in concern 

“No,they don’t.” 

“So what is stressing you out about it? You wouldn’t be leaving the house in the middle of the night over nothing?” 

“They are sending things down the bond. Images, emotions; it’s driving me crazy Gen.” 

“Shit, well can you block them out.” Mom had taught the two of us how to shield from Demati when we were younger. 

“I’ve tried; it only is able to dull it.” I fidget in my seat.  “It also doesn’t help that I keep seeing the two of them every time I go out into the city.” 

“Oh..” She hesitates “Do you mind if I ask who it is.?”  I quickly sent a few shadows out to make sure that the shop was still empty and that there were no busy bodies lurking around the shop. 

“It's the High Lord and Lady.” This was the first time I had ever said those words out loud. I guess I had thought that if I didn’t say it then I could pretend it wasn’t real and that it didn’t bother me. Gen lets out a low whistle.

“That does complicate things. I was going to tell you to grow a pair and tell them but fuck. The High Lord and Lady that… that makes things way more complex.” 

“You see why I am stressed now.” I can feel the ugly emotions filling my chest.

“Yeah, you are in the world's shittiest situation.” She lets out a sigh “It's not like you can go up to them and say hey I am your mate. Fuck I am sorry Sis.” 

I let out a wet laugh, a few tears escaped my eyes and rolled down my cheeks “ There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I just got dealt a shitty hand by the mother.” 

“Are you going to…” She trails off. I know what she was going to say though. It wasn’t something that was talked about often and not in polite company. Rejecting the bond. 

“It’s an option, and I am considering it. I want to ask a few friends of mine in Day about it first though. Since it hasn’t snapped for them they shouldn’t notice but I would like some confirmation first.” It helped that I had friends in other courts that I could gather information from; and there was no better place for information than  the Day Court.

“I will support whatever decision you make. You deserve to be happy Sis, and if your happiness is achieved by breaking the bond then do it.” 

The conversation between us dies after that as she passes me a blueberry muffin from the bag. Seems she stopped by our favorite bakery before heading over here. Time seems to fly too quickly and all too soon Gen has to leave for work leaving me here by myself. Although I’m not on my own for too much longer as my employees start trickling in.

The day seems to stretch on and on as clients make their way into the shop for fittings or to pick up their orders. The dull chatter of my employees and the various customers buzzes in my ears as I methodically pull a small needle through water-like silk. It's hard to make out any distinguishable conversation from behind my office door. Today seems like one of those days when time is just suspended and I can work in peace. There is a quiet content hum from my mates bond; one of the few times that I haven't felt heightened emotions from either of them. 

A soft knock shatters the silence of the office, effectively breaking the spell of tranquility that had fallen over me 

“Come in.” My voice cracks just a bit from not using it. The door squeaks open as a familiar head of midnight hair pokes in. Violet eyes twinkle in amusement as a smile grows across his stupidly handsome face. 

“Sweetheart!” The door swings open the rest of the way as Rhysand swaggers his way into my office like he owns it. I am quick to stand from my desk. 

“High lord.” I give him a polite curtsy, slamming my mental shields up before meeting his gaze

“How many times do I have to tell you it's Rhys?” He laughs before taking a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of my desk. “ So are you ready for my fitting or should I come back later.”  

Shit… Shit shit shit. I had completely forgotten that he was on my books for his second fitting today. It wasn’t like I was completely unprepared. No his suit was ready for the fitting but I was nowhere near mentally prepared for a fitting and not having slept the night before was going to be the actual death of me. 

“No, you are fine.” I move from behind the desk “Let me go grab your suit and we will get you out of here in no time.” 

“No need to rush, I quite enjoy your company.” I cannot afford to focus on my racing heart right now. I need to get him out of this shop as quickly as possible. I move through the back of the shop with practiced ease quickly locating the High Lord’s suit hanging neatly next to the High Lady’s gown. The two pieces were works of art in themselves that compliment each other. The suit as dark as the night sky embossed fabric giving the illusion of swirling depths. The dress flowed off the hanger like liquid moonlight, the delicate silk the identical twin to my own gown. Small gems sewn into the bodice catch and reflect the light like the stars that will make their journey across the sky on Starfall. For as much as I don’t want to care about the two, these pieces tell a different story. If I wasn’t just a little bit attached to the two of them I would have passed the designs along to another dressmaker and been done with it; but now I painstakingly designed and sewn these garments for my mates. I let out a small sigh before reaching up to grab the suite. Once I get back to my office I am quick to pass the suit off to Rhys directing him to the small changing area at the back of the office. I quickly begin to route around my desk for my supplies.  

An hour, all I have to do is make it an hour and then I will be free of Rhysand for the time being. It feels like forever before he walks out from behind the curtain. It is only years of working with Rhysand that keeps me from gasping out. If the suit was beautiful on the hanger and dress form it is absolutely stunning on the male it was made for. Rhys makes his way over to the platform and mirror in the office stepping up before moving to fuss with the cuffs. 

“This is a beautiful suit Sweetheart.” He moves to pick off the smallest piece of lint on the  collar. I move to stand behind him to begin the process of adjusting the way the suit sits on Rhysand.

We continued the song and dance that we had done for many years to get the suit to fit him perfectly. I can't help the small ache in my chest as I circle around him placing pins and chalk lines where minute alterations need to be made. Rhys is beaming the whole time chatting away like we hadn’t seen each other just the other day. I can feel the long day in my bones, my hands ache from the countless hours of work. My fingertips are raw from the amount of times I have jammed pins and needles into them. While I try to appropriately match Rhys energy, it's easy to tell that he isn’t buying the act. 

“You seem tired.” He arches a brow at me as I move to pin the hem of his pants. 

“My mates kept me up last night.” A mischievous glint grows in his violet eyes.

“Oh. They kept you up .” He teased but hidden in the back of his teasing tone seemed to be a bit of jealousy… possessiveness. 

“Yeah the two of them kept sending all of their emotions down the bond last night.” I sigh looking up at him from my spot on the floor 

“Two mates…” He stumbles with his words. He hasn’t done that since he was a teen and I was helping my father with his fitting “The mother has blessed you.” 

“Blessed or cursed.” I put the pins down. 

“Cursed.” He questions

“The bond only snapped for me.” A small sad smile grows on my face.  My mental shields are intact and stronger than ever and it's not like I can tell Rhys that he and Feyre are my mates. 

“Have you told them?” He questions, holding a hand out to help me from the floor 

“No. The two of them have already sealed the bond and have started their own perfect little family.” It feels like an Illyrian has punched me in the gut as I make this confession to him “I don’t want to ruin that for them.” 

“So what are you planning to do?” He tilts his head looking at me in sympathy “ Because you seem to have wilted these past few months. 

“I have a few things I am thinking about doing. I want to seek out a few friends in Day first before committing to it.”

“Committing to what Sweetheart?” he gazes at me with concern 

“Breaking the bond.” And as those words leave my lips you can see the color drain from his face.

You paced back and forth across the room. It had been a long day, and it felt like everything was going wrong. Misplaced shipments, the till balanced incorrectly, your overbearing boss breathing down your neck just hunting for ways to fire you. Of course if he knew who you spent your nights with he wouldn’t dare, but you were keeping your relationship under wraps for now for that exact reason. 

“What’s going on?” Feyre asked, worry touching her eyes. 

You ran a hand through your hair, completed a final round in front of the fire, and sat opposite her. “Just … work,” you said lamely, wincing. 

“What about work?” Rhys asked from behind you. You didn’t jump this time - you’d gotten used to not noticing him entering rooms. You’d expressed disdain for your boss before, and they’d both expressed desire to have a word with him. 

“I don’t really wish to speak of it,” you dug your teeth into your bottom lip. 

Feyre sighed, but crossed the room to stand in front of you, cupping your cheeks with both hands, tilting you up to face her. Her skin was soft, despite the callouses from holding paintbrushes so frequently. 

She leant down, pressed a kiss to your forehead before releasing you. You missed her touch.

“What if you let us help?” Feyre offered, a sly smile appearing. “With your stress, of course?” 

For some reason you didn’t think that meant a conversation with your boss. 

“No it doesn’t,” Rhys came behind you, hands drifting over your shoulders. His thumbs hit all of the sore points, drawing small breathy moans from you. “You could just lie back and let me take care of you,” he drawled. 

At first, there were no words. What was there to say, really? What could anyone say? The High Lord of the Spring Court had been found dead a week ago, his body splayed out in a pool of red atop the black and white checkered floor of the art gallery Feyre had left behind. There was no evidence of foul play, only a knife in his hand and a note on the door. An empty bottle of faebane sat abandoned on his bedside table. When he’d heard the news, Rhysand had gone numb. He’d been in his study, sat at his desk with his brothers flanking him as a teary eyed Lucien relayed the news.  When he’d told Feyre, she’d blinked at him twice before collapsing to the floor in a heap of sobs that sounded more like screams. She’d cried for nearly two days—empty, hollow tears that felt like nothing at all. They were just that—tears. Feyre knew it was only just the beginning.  And then the silence set in. Whispers preceded their steps as the couple walked through the River House and continued as they walked past staff and friends alike. Elain had taken Nyx to a separate wing of the house for the time being ,so they could visit but he wasn’t around their parents. Eventually they would have to tell him that Tamlin was dead. Eventually, Nyx would lose the man he’d just come to call father.  At seven years old he was barely old enough to understand the complicated dynamics of his parents. Though he knew they weren’t a normal family, he’d quickly come to love Tamlin. But first Feyre and Rhysand needed to face the reality themselves. They’d barely had five good years as a trio and their newfound comfort had been lost in a few sluggish heartbeats.  They moved around each other, not speaking for a week. Then, one night, the dam that they’d both been building against each other finally broke. 

Finish the fic on AO3.

     My arms and legs are so heavy.

     It’s the first thought I have, that my limbs are heavy and so warm, I could easily go right back to sleep if it weren’t for the throbbing pulse of my clit pulling me towards consciousness. I shift my hips to ease some of the pressure, and a featherlight stroke parts my lips, baring me to the cool morning air. Exhaling a short, shaky sigh, I spread my legs wider and a warm, wet tongue licks a long stripe up the length of my empty, aching cunt to the tip of my clit.

     A high, keening whine escapes my lips and the dark, feminine chuckle that follows it is a promise I’d like to cash in on. Immediately.

     “Good morning, sweet girl,” Feyre says, her voice still husky with sleep. A good morning, indeed. Her palms glide along the backs of my thighs before she wraps her arms around my legs, spreading them wider. “You don’t have to wake up yet, princess, it’s still early. You just lie back and let me take care of you.”

     “Mmhh,” I groan, letting my head loll against the plush, expensive pillow.

     “I love you like this. You’re so good and sweet for me when you’re sleepy. Aren’t you, baby?”

     “Yes,” I mumble as her tongue lazily traces my entrance, so close to where I need it that I want to scream.

     “Yes, what?” The tip of her tongue flicks against my clit and I gasp, my hips jerking ineffectively as she uses her grip on my thighs as leverage to keep me pinned to the bed.

     “Yes, Mommy.” I try my best to sound penitent as I will my legs to relax and fall slack, to leave me open and pliable. Exactly how she wants me.

     “There’s my good girl. It’s too early for you to be thinking, baby.” I hear the wicked grin in her voice and it’s not hard to imagine the way she looks: lying comfortably between my open legs with a gleam in those cool blue eyes, her sleep-mussed hair shining like honey in the early morning light. Rhys has so many pictures of her just like that, looking like a goddess in every one, tucked away for when business takes him from us for an extended period of time. Sometimes he’ll send me one in the middle of the day, just to leave me wet and eager until they get home.

     Feyre’s tongue flicks against my entrance and I whimper, wishing I could lace my fingers through her hair and use her cruel, wicked mouth the way I want to. My nipples tighten at the thought, as I imagine the way she’d look as I use her to seek my pleasure. I don’t notice the way my leg falls loose from her grasp until her fingers grab the stiff bud and pull, leaving me gasping as she begins to roll my nipple firmly between the pads of her thumb and forefinger.

     “Look at what a needy thing you are, so eager to be fucked,” she says mildly, flicking her tongue against my clit until I whine and shift my hips again. “You need to be a good girl if you want to come, baby.”

     “Mommy, please,” I mumble, spreading my hands against the mattress to keep from grabbing her hair. “Please, I wanna-”

     “Oh, I know you want to, baby. But this isn’t about what you want, is it? This is about you being a good, sweet girl and letting me toy with you until I decide you can come.”

     “Yes, Mommy.”

     “You don’t sound very sorry.”

     “I am,” I whine, dragging my teeth across my lower lip as she squeezes my nipple harder. “I’m sorry, I’ll be so good.”

     Feyre releases my nipple after one final squeeze, a warning to keep my word, before she loops her arms securely around my thighs and effortlessly tugs my body down the bed. I gasp at the first rough swipe of her tongue along my slit, a meager preparation for the moment her hot, wet mouth descends on my pussy and she begins to suck.

     "Oh, fuck-" I gasp. My hips jerk as her teeth scrape against my aching clit, the swollen bud beginning to pound in time with my heartbeat the moment she starts fucking me with her tongue. I want to be still and pliant, I want her to call me her good girl again, but I'm already so, so close. "Gonna come, please Mommy, I can't-"

    My legs fall limply to the side as she abruptly pulls away and I keen at the loss, suddenly aware of how empty I am and how badly I need to be filled and fucked. By her, however she'll take me.

     The first slap to my dripping cunt tears a gasp from my throat, and my eyes fly open to see Feyre kneeling between my spread legs with a wicked smile twisting her pink, pouty lips. Her thin, white nightgown dangles from her shoulder by one thin strap, and the silk is so sheer in the early morning glow I can clearly see the peaks of her lovely, pink nipples through the fabric. The hem pools over the tops of her creamy thighs, barely covering the sparse thatch of blonde hair between her legs.

     I'm so distracted by the notion of burying my face between those thighs and licking her until she forgives me that I don't notice the second slap until it connects with my clit. Her smile widens at my high, plaintive whine and I swear I almost come on the spot at the power glittering in those endless blue eyes.

     "Didn't you just promise me you'd be a good girl?" she asks sweetly as she pins me to the bed with only her stare. "Didn't you say you'd be so good while I played with your pretty pussy and made you feel good, baby?"

     "Yes, Mommy. But I was good! I didn't come."

     Another sharp, wet smack leaves me gasping.

     "Don't you know better than to talk back to me, princess?" she asks, laughter in her voice at my barely suppressed moan. "Have we spoiled you, pretty girl? Do you need to be punished instead?"

     "Mhhh," I whimper as she slowly moves up my body and carelessly arranges my legs until her bare, slick cunt is pressed firmly against my own. She rolls her hips one, grinding experimentally against me with a cruel smirk as I fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head.

     "This is much better, isn't it, baby?" She punctuates the sentence with a slow, lazy roll of her hips. "You feel perfect. Maybe I'll use you like this and take care of my own needs first."

     "Yes," I babble, gripping the sheets in my fists to keep from touching her. "Yes, please, I'm yours. I'm yours. Use me, please, want you to feel good."

     "What a good girl," Feyre gasps as her clit slides against mine. "Move your hips then, bunny, make me come."

     I do. It's a borderline religious experience to watch her fall forward, her hands planted on either side of my face as I rut wantonly against her, mindless with need. She shines like a goddess bathed in warm, golden sunlight and my breath hitches as I fight the urge to come. Her name falls from my lips like a prayer.

     "My sweet girl," she says as her hand gently wraps around my throat, giving her added leverage to fuck me harder, slower. My thighs flutter against her and I whimper, my eyes watering as her grip tightens. “My good girl. You’re going to make me come, pretty girl. You’re so good for me, so beautiful, I- hngh - oh fuck, bunny, there.”

     Her hair flows like a sheet of dark gold over her shoulder as her cold blue eyes, clouded with lust, flutter shut. Her moans as she chases her orgasm are the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. The slick sound of our bodies and her little gasps are the symphony I’m going to come to, unable to resist the siren call of her body as her pubic bone grinds against my clit, urging me on. My back arches and my hands clench the sheets so hard I think they’ll rip. Through the tears leaking from my eyes, I just make out the way her lips curve into a grin before her hand slips between us.

     “Come on, baby, come for me like a good girl,” Feyre coos breathlessly, thumbing tight circles around my clit until I break with a short cry of my own that falls short as she tightens her grip on my throat. The hand falls away slowly, tracing a path between my breasts that makes me shiver. “What a good fucking girl. I’m not done with you yet, princess.”

     “Ohh,” I moan as two of her fingers slide into my slick cunt, still spasming through my orgasm. Those nimble, clever fingers have me back at the precipice before I’ve come down from my first orgasm, and I mindlessly ride her hand as her thumb finds my clit again. Her wicked mouth lowers to suckle at my hard, flushed nipples until I want to scream. My breath stutters when she looks at me again with the reddened, abused flesh between her teeth. I could die right here, I think, I’m going to if she doesn’t let me-

     “You’re going to come again, aren’t you, bunny?” Feyre asks, flicking her tongue against my nipple.

     “Mommy, please-”

     “Then come, bunny. Right now.”

     I’ve never been able to deny Feyre before, so why start? My walls pulse and flutter around her fingers, trying to draw them further into my body as I come with a strangled cry. All the while, my heart flutters like a hummingbird’s, too quick and light. My lungs heave in an effort to draw in breath, I want to touch the goddess kneeling between my thighs but my arms are far too heavy to lift. I give her a dazed, happy smile as she snatches her phone off of the nightstand beside me and proceeds to take a picture of her hand, soaked with my juices, with me in the background.

     “I did tell Rhys I’d start without him if he didn’t cut his run short,” she says with a satisfied smirk, placing her phone carefully back on top of the wireless charger. “You were so good, love. I’ll go run you a bath, would you like that?”

     “Mhm,” I mumble, rolling onto my side. “Kisses first.”

     “Of course, bunny. I didn’t forget,” she says, leaning down to pepper kisses from my temple to the slope of my shoulder, following the curves of my body like she’s mapped every one of them. To be fair, I think she has. They both have. Once I’m tucked back beneath the blanket, warm and giggly in the morning haze, Feyre slips from the bed and pads into the obscenely large master bath. Her phone vibrates on the nightstand. Repeatedly.

     “Someone isn’t happy to have missed the show,” I mumble to myself, pressing my thighs together at the thought of Rhys coming home to find me in bed, warm and fucked out, while Feyre preens like a cat before the mirror. It’s almost enough to make me want to slip my hand between my legs again, but I’m still so sensitive I don’t know if I can take it if I’m not being made to. Mhhh, no, that thought certainly wasn’t helpful. The sound of running water echoes in the master suite and I gently pull myself up to sit against the headboard, plucking my phone from the top of the nightstand to distract myself while my lover prepares my bath.

     I have a few texts, mostly my roommate wondering where I was, if I was going to be out all night. Glancing at the time, I’d say she got her answer. Then one from this morning from Rhys, a photo of the sunrise over the duck pond at the park near the townhouse. If I can count on nothing else, he always sends me a picture of the ducks on his runs, usually sleeping with their heads tucked beneath their wings. Today there was a little family of ducklings trailing their mother into the water for a swim.

     “All right, love,” Feyre says as she wanders back into the room, loosely cinching her silk robe at the waist. The fabric is so thin, it does little to shield her body from view, and I can practically feel my mouth water at the sight of her pale, creamy skin in the morning sunlight. A bath is the last thing on my mind when my eyes trail to her breasts, her rosy pink nipples practically begging for attention beneath the loose fabric. I want to take them in my mouth and suck hard until she’s writhing against me, begging for release- “Eyes up here, sweet girl.”

     Reluctantly, I glance up into those sparkling blue eyes and flush at the knowing grin twisting her mouth.

     “You’re going to be so good for me, aren’t you?” she asks sweetly, coming to stand at the edge of the bed. Her long, artistic fingers tangle in my hair as she forces my head back, keeping my eyes on her. “You’re going to slip into the bath and get clean. And whatever else happens, you’re not going to touch yourself until you’re given permission.”

     “What else is going to happen?” I ask breathlessly, catching the fabric of her robe between my fingertips. She leans in to kiss me then, so lightly it’s like the brush of an angel's wing, then her hands clasp mine and she’s pulling me out of bed. I slip into the bathroom on my own and happily sink into the huge tub filled with milky, almond-scented bubbles and pale pink rose petals. Candles flicker around the ledge of the tub, filling the air with the smell of jasmine, verbena, and oak, a warm, almost musky scent that often lingers in Feyre’s clothes since she often burns it at the gallery as well.

     These days, it smells like home to me, but I wouldn’t dare say that out loud. Instead, I slide further beneath the water and scrub my sweat-soaked hair, washing it with Feyre’s expensive shampoo and conditioner until it’s soft and clean again. Once the rest of me is clean, I lean against the side of the tub and peer through the window looking out onto the rose garden filled with pink and white blooms. Distantly, I hear the heavy front door opening and the sound of Rhysand’s keys clattering into the bowl alongside my own, and something warm begins to bloom in my chest at the domesticity of it all.

     Feyre’s delighted giggle tells me he’s found his way to the bedroom, then that sweet laugh gives way to a heady moan and I pull my lip between my teeth as I settle back against the tub and rest my head against a soft, rolled towel. My eyelids flutter closed as my hands drift over my breasts, gently squeezing and plucking at my nipples as I imagine Rhys with his head between his wife’s legs, drawing those sweet gasps from her lips with his teeth and tongue. My clit begins to ache, begging for attention, and my skin flushes from more than the heat of the bath. When I think of the last order she’d given me, I want nothing more than to disobey it, but something tells me I’ll be rewarded if I’m a good girl. I press my thighs together and rest my hands against my ribs, lying still as I listen to the glorious sounds of Feyre’s pleasure on the other side of the door.

     When the brazen moans of Rhys’s name on her lips fade to hushed gasps, I rest my heels against the rim of the tub and take a few deep breaths of my own. If I’m lucky, maybe he’ll let me clean her up…or finish him off. Both? Oh, fuck, I’d love nothing more. When the bathroom door opens and Rhys strides in, I glance up into his deep violet eyes and note the smirk curving his lips before I trail my eyes over the rest of him. I swallow hard at the sigh of his hard, flushed cock bobbing against the tan, taught skin of his abdomen.

    “Good morning, sweet girl,” he purrs as he braces his palms against the side of the tub to press a lingering kiss to my mouth. My tongue flicks against his lower lip, licking the remnants of Feyre’s orgasm from it. He chuckles lowly as I greedily pull it between my teeth, craving the taste of them. One of his hands slides around my neck, applying the slightest pressure as he pulls back with a wicked grin. “Look at you, needy thing. Was this morning not enough to satisfy you?”

     “No,” I whisper, shaking my head.

     “No?” His eyebrow arches as he tightens his grip on my throat. I moan a little and Rhys shakes his head, leaning in to nip at my lower lip. “Where are your manners, darling? I thought you’d been taught better.”

     “Daddy-” My whine promptly slips into a whimper as his fingers flex around my throat.

     “There’s my girl. Now, you’re going to be so good for me, aren’t you?” Rhysand’s eyes glitter at my eager nod and he releases my throat, trailing his fingers up to grasp my chin as he holds my gaze. When he gently rubs my lower lip, I open my mouth and flick my tongue against the pad of his thumb. He slips it between my teeth, and I greedily suck the taste of Feyre from his skin as his eyes roll back into his head. Too soon, he pulls his thumb from my mouth with a pop and I follow it up, settling on my knees as he stands over me, watching me with an imperious smirk.

     “Use me,” I whimper, bracing my hands against the side of the tub as my eyes flick to his cock, bobbing just inches from my face. “Daddy, please, I’ll be so good for you. So good.”

     “And how do you want me to use you, sweet girl?”

     “Fuck my throat.” The words fall from my lips like a plea as his laughter fills the room, edged with a cruelty that makes me moan at the promise of it. “Use my mouth, Daddy, please. I want you to come down my throat-”

     “And what if I want to come on your face?”

     “Oh,” I moan, nodding eagerly at the thought of being covered in him. “Please. Wherever you want, I want to be good for you.”

     “Open your mouth, baby.” It’s the only warning I get before he fists a hand in my hair and, inch by inch, feeds me his cock with slow, languid thrusts. I grip the side of the tub and obediently relax my throat, looking up at him between my lashes as tears gather in the corners of my eyes. The throaty moan that falls from his lips tells me how much he loves seeing me like this, and I flick my tongue against the head of his cock before he drives it in deeper, pulling my face flush against his body as I fight against my gag reflex. “You’re such a good fucking girl, aren’t you? Taking my cock like you were made for it, look at you. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

     I love him. Fuck, I love them both, which was never part of the plan. I clench the side of the tub so hard it hurts in order to keep from reaching up to grip his hips. My thighs shake from the effort to keep them spread, I want to put a hand between them and fuck myself with my fingers until I find some sort of relief, but the punishment wouldn’t be worth it. Instead, I relax into the pose and lick the thick, pulsing vein running along the underside of Rhys’s cock, just to hear him groan. The soft sound of footsteps catches my attention as Feyre pads into the room, a delighted grin spreading across her face as she takes in the sight before her.

     “Well,” she says softly, her robe sliding from her shoulders to land in a heap on the floor at her feet. Feyre slips up behind him and trails her hands over his abdomen, and we both watch the straining muscles flutter beneath her touch as he pulls back until only the head of his prick rests against my lips. “Isn’t this lovely? Isn’t our girl so wonderful, Rhys? See how pretty she is, sucking your cock like a perfect little slut? Doesn’t it make you want to ruin her?”

     “Always,” he whispers, collecting my tears with a swipe of his thumb. “She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?”

     “She is,” his wife agrees, pressing a kiss to his arm. “So are you. If you make a mess of her face, she’ll need to be cleaned again before we can go to brunch.”

     The way they’re talking about me like I’m nothing more than their toy pulls a desperate moan from my throat. Feyre laughs, leaning around Rhys to run a hand gently down the side of my face before they both pull my head forward. They share a kiss as her hand falls to my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before she settles it back on his hip and rests her chin against the side of his arm.

     “The shower’s big enough for the three of us,” he says conversationally, but I feel the way his hand shakes in my hair. He’s so close he’s practically trembling from it, and from Feyre’s sly grin I know she can feel it, too.

     “Then make a mess of our sweet girl so we can go eat.” I whimper at the realization she doesn’t intend to let me come. “She can wear that pretty little toy we got her. Then if she’s very good, after brunch we can have her for dessert.”

     “Fuck, Feyre-” Rhys curses, his hips jerking as he thrusts into my mouth, using me exactly the way I’d practically begged him to. There’s a low, calm buzzing in my mind and my eyelashes flutter as I watch Feyre’s hand wrap around his swollen member, slick with my spit, and give it a few slow, leisurely jerks until Rhys paints my face with his come and his head falls back. Words tumble from his lips, whether in prayer or praise, I can’t decide which but I smile under the weight of them all the same. Breath comes to me in ragged gasps, the air rough on my abused throat.

     Then Feyre grasps my chin between her fingers and plants a sweet kiss on my swollen mouth, and the buzzing in my head grows louder as I melt against her.

     “Come on, sweetheart,” she murmurs when she pulls back, and I rest my forehead against her collarbone. “Let’s clean you up, baby, then we can get some food. Would you like that?”

     “Yes, Mommy,” I mumble, relaxing my grip on the side of the tub. I hadn’t realized how cold the water had grown around my hips, but I’m not in it for long because Rhys slides his hands beneath my arms and lifts me like I weigh nothing. How he’s managed to stay on his feet after an orgasm like that, I don’t know, but the smile he gives me is radiant as he helps me out of the tub.

And yet the High Lord and Lady come and go as they please. They’re free to travel the land in ways you’ll never be permitted to. Hatred burns beneath your skin, resentment bitter in your mouth.

Your head is yanked back, sharply, a slim arm curling around your waist as a female body presses into you. You’re paralysed, completely taken out of your own control as you freeze. “Hello there, little traitor.” A shiver zaps down your spine at the cruelly lilting tone of the High Lady. What was she doing here?

A laugh rings from her dark painted lips, the sound empty and cold, “don’t panic,” she drawls, nails biting into your sides as her canines nip at your ear, “or maybe do, considering those treasonous thoughts you were practically screaming at us in the feasting hall.” Dread coils in your lower belly, solidifying into terror.

She laughs again as she scents your fear, nosing at the soft skin of your neck. “Not so aggressive now, are you?” She croons, hand releasing your hair to curl around your throat, “come on, where’d all that fight go?” She yields a seed of control, allowing your words to return.

You grit your jaw, the muscles trembling. You know what she’s capable of with those daemati abilities. You feel it as her lips slice into a wicked grin over the pulse point of your neck. “Silence isn’t going to cut it, little traitor. I suggest you start answering before I loose my temper.”

Terror thrums through your blood, singing for you to run, screaming at you to submit to escape whatever she has planned. You swallow, “damn you to hel.” The words come out as a rasp beneath the squeeze of her fingertips, sharp claw-like nails biting into your skin.

With powers you can only dream of, she drags your bedside table until it presses against your hips, forcing you to lean over roughly. “You brought this on yourself, pretty liar. Remember that when you’re screaming for us to stop.” Her hands forcefully push you down onto the desk, bending you over and your body complies, wilfully following her cold commands as she shoves your skirts up.

Her breasts press into your back as she leans into you, squishing you between her own lean body and the table. One hand slips beneath your waist, snaking between your legs as she cups you. You take in a sharp breath, freezing in shock at the invasion. Her canines nip against your neck as she opens her mouth over the sensitive skin, “scared, little traitor?” Her nimble fingers push further between your legs, her middle and forefinger pressing at your entrance as silver lines your eyes.

“There exist a multitude of methods to torture without resorting to violence,” she croons, “surely you’re aware of that.” You swallow, balling your hands into fists, thinking of every year you’ve spent trapped beneath the rock, kept from the outside. You grit your teeth, making a choice, “I’ve been kept beneath this mountain my entire life while you’re free to travel as you please,” you snarl, “I understand well enough.”

The sharp talons jutting from her fingertips dig into the bare skin of your inner thigh, making you hiss. “I wouldn’t want to make this any worse for yourself, pretty liar,” she purrs, hand dipping beneath your flimsy slip of fabric, fingers locating your clit effortlessly.

You’re surprised by her bold moves, and by the shock of pleasure that flows from your nerve endings. You jolt, dropping onto the table, forearms bracing you as you inhale sharply; exhale heavily. She laughs wickedly, “I didn’t expect you to crumble so easily,” she croons, circling the sensitive area repeatedly. “Who would’ve thought,” she drawls, “and after all that heat of hating us for being able to leave at our pleasure.”

Her hands leave you and you seize the chance to scramble for your composure. That is, until she kneels behind you, tendrils of darkness wrapping up your thighs and lower back to keep you tied to the table. You gasp when her thumbs gently pull at the soft, wet skin around your entrance, spreading you wider. Hot embarrassment flushes your cheeks, “what the hel are you doing?”

She laughs darkly from behind you, thumbing at your sopping hole, “No guesses? I’m sure I’d be delighted to hear your ideas.” Your thighs tremble as you have to lean more heavily on the desk, frantically attempting to close your legs. “How do you even know if I have an appetite for females?” You pant, trying desperately to force a growl into your voice, to no avail.

“I don’t,” she laughs, the soft breath brushing over your inner thighs with how close she is, “this is torture, remember?” Her tongue sweeps over your entrance and your arms almost give out then and there. You revel in the way the hot, wet muscle drags over you, how she laps so intently. “Don’t you think it’s unbecoming of a High Lady to lower herself like this?” You manage to pant through the mind clouding pleasure that’s thrumming through your body, lighting your sensing with flame.

She nips at your clit and a moan escapes you. Your palm smacks across your mouth the second after but it’s too late. “You seem to certainly be enjoying how I’m lowering myself.” Her tongue pushes against your entrance and you dig your nails into the desk desperately.

“You want to come, little traitor?” She drawls, lapping up your cunt, pressing against the swell of your now puffy clit. “Come on,” she croons, “as your High Lady, you belong to me. Every part of you. Every breath, every touch, every orgasm. It’s mine.”

“I believe you’re my High Lady, Feyre Darling.”

You freeze. Even the female behind you stops. Then she’s rising from her kneeling position, arms lacing around your waist possessively, one hand snaking to your jaw, forcing you to watch as the High Lord prowls into the room.

“Which means all of that,” he emphasises as his cold, violet eyes burn into you, “is also mine.” Behind you, you can feel the exact moment her body looses its tension, muscles melting as his words slither over her, becoming soft and pliable.

Pure malevolence drips from him as he stalks forward, power thrumming in the air of your bedchambers, pushing into every nook and corner. “Surely you remember how to share,” he purrs, eyes on his mate. Despite not being able to see her, you’re sure her lips have split into a wicked grin. “Just warming our girl up,” she drawls, hand snaking again beneath your skirts; between your thighs.

Utter mortification paralyses your body as her fingers slip through your wetness, pulling away as she shows the High Lord how you’ve slicked her fingers. He cocks his head, a gleam in those violent eyes, a hellish smirk curving the edges of his mouth. He moves forward, lethally quiet, until he’s just before the table. Then he’s raising his High Lady’s fingers to his mouth, lapping at the slick coating them. Your mouth drops open at the act, petrified to your spot as his eyes flick to your own, a sinful grin glittering over his mouth.

His hand grips your jaw, tugging you against the table as his nails bite into your cheeks, “want to know how you taste, little lynx?” You don’t have time to protest as he lowers his mouth to yours, tongue licking and lapping over and into you as his teeth nip at your lower lip, dragging in it. He shoves his way inside, dominating in a way only possible for those born into terrifying power, and you can taste the distinctive flavour of arousal coating his tongue. “Like that?” He drawls, noting the hot flush on your cheeks.

You’re hardly able to speak as Feyre’s mouth opens over your neck, making you gasp, ravishing the sensitive skin. The High Lord chuckles, grip tightening to bruising as silver lines your eyes from his pain and her pleasure. “I think this punishment is rather fitting, wouldn’t you agree?” He drawls, continuing as if his High Lady’s hand isn’t snaking between your thighs again.

When her fingers land on your clit, you squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to not yield to either of them. The air shifts in the room, becoming heavier; denser. He’s not pleased with your refusal to answer.

The High Lord’s hand leaves your jaw, dropping to attend to himself as he unties the constrictions of his fine clothing. Behind you, Feyre’s dragging down your spine, slowly returning to her original placement. She pushes the fabric of your underwear to the side and you squeak. At the sound, their arousal becomes more prominent to you, invading your senses entirely as she presses her mouth to your inner thigh; teasing.

“Why are you doing this?” You pant, hating how breathless you sounds as you look up at the High Lord from beneath a narrowed brow. He grins maliciously, “because it’s our right. We rule over you. You are part of our property and have no say over what we do to you,” he drawls, one hand fisting in your hair, “isn’t that right, Feyre darling?” At his address, Feyre laughs, finally pressing her mouth over your pussy, enveloping you in the hot, wetness of her mouth.

The High Lord’s brutal touch strengthens as he feels you slipping away, “seems you’re enjoying my lady’s mouth,” he croons, applying a sudden pressure to lower you to the table, bringing you to level with his hips, “shall we see if you can keep up with her?”

You watch in horror - and with almost painful arousal - as he forces your mouth to his cock, pressing the tip just beneath the curve of your lips. “You can choose to do this of your own volition, or you can refuse, and have one of us slip into your mind to open up that pretty mouth,” he grins as a milky sheen wets your lower lip, the slit in his head beading with precum. “So which will it be? Because neither of us are stopping until you learn how to submit.”

Anger and arousal twine together sinfully in your lower belly, both simmering until you can’t differentiate between the two. Your upper lips curls into a snarl, “fuck. You,” you spit. Feyre nips at your clit, a small warning from her end that makes you wince. The High Lord’s grin widens and you can feel the blood drain from your face as dark, glittering talons scratch at your mind, piercing through until he has a firm leash on you.

You’re practically kicked out of your body, shoved to the forefront of your mind so you can only watch and feel as your mouth open, tongue resting on your lower lip as you drag from root to tip. Seconds later you feel a second presence filling your mind, pressing into every space available as the two occupy you.

You deliver small laps to the slit in his head, a groan coming from above you as he forces you through the movements of what he likes. Your nails dig into the table at the insane pressure filling your mind, as thought your skull will split open. Their presences retreat, leaving you grasping at the space of your own mind, returning to your body. ‘The next time you disobey we won’t be so kind.’ The High lord’s voice echoes through you, threat dripping from his words as he jerks at your hair, commanding you to meet his gaze. ‘Now,’ he drawls, grin growing wider, ‘open that mouth for me.’

Shame swarms your body, crawling beneath your skin as violet eyes watch as you part your lips, just as he asked. ‘That’s it,’ he goads, ‘keep behaving and this’ll be over in no time at all.’ The deceptive lilt to his voice tells you he’s lying through his teeth, putting that silver-tipped tongue to work.

‘Let me see, Rhys.’ The High Lady’s voice echoes through your mind, her tongue continuing to lap at your entrance. Her mouth drops down to your clit, oscillating nimbly over and over as the pleasure builds. Rhys’s hand tightens in your hair as he guides his cock into the hot, wetness of your mouth, groaning as he feels your tongue sliding with velvety smoothness beneath him.

An image flashes through your mind - courtesy of the High Lord. It’s from his point of view, with your mouth opened, lips poised to wrap over his cock, tongue positioned to cover your teeth as he pushes in. Your eyes are alight with fire, burning with flame as you hold his dominating gaze. Feyre moans loudly at the image, your own cheeks flushing more with the obscenity.

‘Keep working that pretty mouth of yours, little lynx,’ he calls, smirking wickedly as he pushes you further down, making your eyes squeeze shut as they burn. ‘Working so obediently,’ the High Lady drawls into your mind, her words laced with cruel mockery, ‘working so hard to please her High Lord.’

At her words, the sheer degradation, you feel a coil tighten, heat building in your belly. She laughs as she surely feels it, knows what’s happening to your body as a result of their cruel game. You feel yourself reaching your peak, the way Feyre’s swirling her tongue over your clit has you seeing stars. Yet just as you reach that mind fogging high, sharp black talons squeeze your conscious, suspending you in a state of almost.

A whine escapes your throat, crying onto his cock as the pleasure is taken away from you. The encompassing warmth of Feyre’s mouth leaves you as your eyes flick up to meet the cold violet of the High Lord’s. They’re flecked with cruelty yet heat is clearly roiling in their depths. A need for suffering.

‘Beg for it,’ the High Lord commands, and you really consider it. It’s so good. The way her tongue had been working you mercilessly; the way the High Lord had been using your mouth, releasing those delightful pleasures moans. ‘All you have to do is beg, and you can have it,’ he goads, pulling you from his cock. You flush with heat as the threads of saliva trailing from your mouth to him.

“I think she needs more, Rhys,” Feyre purrs, mouth gliding up the ridge of your spine to nestle at the junction of your shoulder and neck, nosing at the sensitive skin, noting the heavy arousal. “I think we should make her go again.” Her words are coated with cruel passion, her hand dipping down to cup your breasts, making you shrink back into her.

She bites at your ear, “don’t pretend you don’t like it, little traitor. You’re the one on the verge of begging for my mouth.” A soft moan claws its way from your throat as her thumbs graze roughly over your nipples. She looks up at her mate, “I think that’s a yes, don’t you?”

Your eyes widen marginally, turning to look at her as you try to shake your head but her hands are already grasping your hips, pulling you up against her and spinning you around, pinning you against the table. Then her mouth’s on yours, her hands snaking beneath your thighs as she shoves you up onto the table, settling herself between your spread legs as she devours you. Her hands slope down your spine and settle on the swell of your ass while your nails dig into the table in shock at the flavour of yourself on her tongue. So overwhelming.

Behind you, the High Lord groans at the sight. ‘Enjoying, High Lord?’ Feyre drawls, that taunting lilt returning to her voice. ‘It’s not kind to keep her all to yourself, darling.’ Then large, rough hands are gripping your shoulders, pulling you away from her mouth and slamming your back down onto the table, the High Lord grinning down at you as he shoots you an image.

It’s of you, as your are: lips swollen and puffy, glossy with saliva and cum while silver lines your eyes, hazy arousal dancing in their depths while your hair’s haphazardly strewn about. You look completely done for already.

A flush glows over your cheeks as you move to wipe your lips but shadows restrain you. While they’re at it, the loop beneath your thighs, pulling them up so your spread out perfectly for Feyre to daintily tap your clit, repeatedly. This time you do whine, attempting to close your legs at the sensitivity, your back arching.

She leans over you, fingers still perched atop the sensitive bud, “but you were so desperate for my touch moments ago.” She cocks her head, “what happened? Did you get cold feet?” Her thumb presses down on your clog and you shriek, legs attempting to curl beneath her to push away but you can’t. “Stop,” you cry, her thumb oscillating sharply at the sound.

The High Lady pulls away and you watch warily as they move.

Your stomach drops when the switch places.

The High Lord’s hands land roughly on your inner thighs, spreading you further apart, his cock gliding through your messy wetness, bumping your puffy clit. A moan crawls from your throat. Then Feyre’s crawling onto the table, swinging a leg over you as you’re met with her glossy heat, slick coating her thighs as she settles on top of you, just out of reach of your mouth. “Remember, this can end any time you want. All you have to do is plead,” she purrs from above you before she’s spreading her thighs wider, settling down on your face, wetness coating you instantly. She moans loudly, unabashedly, at the feeling, already winding her hips gently.

Between your legs you feel the High Lord shift, his thumb coming to brush over your clit as his tip presses against your entrance, one hand bracing your hip as he pushes in. Your back curves as he stretches you full, delicious, solid warmth pushing at you from within. A moan flies from your mouth and your can’t resist as one of them buries into your mind, forcing your tongue to start moving.

At some point, they leave, but you’re moving on your own, hands latching over the sweep of Feyre’s hips, lapping at the wetness between her thighs, desperate to have her coating your tongue. She moans, hips bucking as they wind over your mouth. Rhys’ thumb speeds up to a pleasurable pace and already that euphoria is building, returning to its original strength as he begins pounding into you.

Moans and groans are falling from your mouths, filling your bed chambers as they use you as they please.

Again, you hit your peak, and again, glittering talons squeeze at your mind, suspending you while they continue their ministrations. Your nails dig into Feyre’s hips but she only moans, grinding against your face more, dying for your tongue to unravel her as she practically fucks herself on you.

The High Lord uses both his hands to bite into your hips, pounding into you while slamming your hips back to meet his, throwing you effortlessly into overstimulation without giving you the overwhelming pleasure to ride it out. It’s just too much.

Your back arches, toes curl, your body automatically bracing to be thrown over the edge yet it never comes. They’re keeping you right on the edge, an ounce of pleasure more and you’d be free falling but you’re kept in your place: beneath them.

Tears spill down your cheeks when you feel Feyre’s finger glide between your thighs, playing with your clit. It’s so much but you can’t give into them. No matter what hel they put you through. No matter how much you enjoy it.

You yelp when Feyre pulls her hand away, tapping your clit harshly, your whole body jerking at the sensitivity. ‘Stop, please,’ you beg across that channel but she continues. ‘Beg for your pleasure. Beg for us to give it to you. It’s ours to decide what to do with,’ Feyre growls into your mind, fingers soothing over the stinging skin.

‘You’re being soft on her,’ a voice snarls, soaked in sin as you feel her hand being pulled away, enough for a moment of relief. ‘Let me.’ His hand smacks down between your legs and you scream, muscles tearing at the darkness binding your legs as pain sings through your body.

He doesn’t stop after just one, he keep going, barely giving you a few seconds to recover before his hand is smacking back down, each one harder and more painful than the last. ‘Fucking beg for me to stop. Try it.’ He taunts, your nails slicing into his mate as she moans louder.

‘Please, stop.’

‘You can better than that.’ He growls.

‘I can’t!’ You cry, ‘please! Please just stop! I can’t do this!’ The stinging stops, and you nearly cry again with relief as Feyre shifts above you.

Rhys sends an image down the line: Feyre sat atop your mouth, his cock pounding into you, his High Lady leaning over as saliva drops from her mouth to perch atop your clit, her fingers rubbing soothingly over your tender sex. ‘Come on, pretty liar,’ she goads, sweetly; menacingly, ‘beg your High Lord and Lady for pleasure.’ You manage to hold back, using the entirety of your will power - what’s left of it - to refuse.

Across the bond, you watch as she grins, ‘unless you want me to let Rhys have his way with you?’ She pulls away, and you feel it as he raises his hand, preparing to smack down.

‘Please!’ You cry out, halting his movements. ‘Please, I’m begging, please don’t. Please give it to me!’ Tears roll down your cheeks as Feyre moans above you, riding your tongue as her high approaches. The High Lord laughs darkly, hands returning to your hips to slam you back against him.

‘Uh-huh? You want us to give you some pleasure? You’re sorry for even thinking about disobeying us?’ The words are painted with malevolence, lethal threat lying beneath them. ‘I’m sorry,’ you plead, ‘I’ll never think like that again. Just please let me go.’

The talons that had been holding you pull free, pleasure erupting across your skin, flooding your senses as your nerves are set alight, practically glowing with euphoria. You feel Feyre’s heat fluttering above you as she comes on your tongue, releasing herself onto you. The High Lord continues pounding into you, seemingly harder, chasing that high until he’s spilling inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim as your back arches, nipples peaking.

Your mind takes a while to clear, muscles spasming with the force of your pleasure, after so long of being suspended on that edge.

The High Lady’s fingers have returned to your clit, rubbing soothingly as she raises her hips from you. Your tongue laps over your mouth, tasting her release, revelling in her flavour. ‘Look at you,’ she taunts, peering between her legs, ‘so good. So fucked out.’

Her gaze lifts to her mates, ‘do you really think she meant that?’ The line in clear, a hellish grin dancing over the High Lord’s mouth as his eyes flick down to you, hands tightening on your thigh.

‘I think we should make sure,’ he drawls and you feel as he hardens against your already sensitive walls.

You’d caught Feyre’s equally hungry gaze from where she stood in the doorway, licking her frosting-covered hands lewdly, earning her a moan for her efforts. Her skilled fingers were for more than just painting, her creative abilities made it easy to decorate the sugar cookies the twin wraiths had baked earlier in the day, and now, as they worked you while her mate licked you, you were more than thankful for her talents.

Rhys had laid you on the set table, ready for the arrival of the Inner Circle, hastily shoving the delicate plates and cups away, clattering into each other and off the side of the table with a crash. You couldn’t seem to see reason through your lust fuelled haze, the table had been set perfectly for your friends, whom you’d all share supper with before the rest of the partygoers arrived for desserts, dancing, and the colorful display of stars shooting through the night sky.

Though you weren’t sure you’d be able to think about anything else other than what was happening at this very table for many weeks to come.

He made quick work of removing your clothes, violet eyes hungry for something other than the delicious dinner he knew was to come. Rhys was eager for dessert, the first taste of your sweet cunt spurring him on, his cock achingly hard and leaking at the tip, trapped against his leg in his trousers.

Feyre had crossed the room quickly, eager to join in, eyes locked on where her mate was tasting you. She wasted no time sinking her spit covered fingers around his mouth and into your soaking hole, her other hand palming your bare breast Rhys had left open for her.

Your chest heaves as you gasp for air, head dizzy from the orgasm they’d made last as long as they could.

“Please,” you pant, but you don’t even know what you’re asking for. Feyre’s fingers are still moving inside of you, curling and rubbing in all of the right places. Her gray eyes are dark with lust, and Rhy’s free hand snakes up the back of her skirts, caressing her through her undergarments as he watches her work you.

You grasp on to the bunched up cloth of Feyre’s dress, tugging her weakly to you.

“Kiss me High Lady,” you beg breathlessly. The way that she’s staring down at you like she owns you sends shivers up your spine. The end of your plea slips into a loud moan as she curls her fingers inside of you, “Please.”

Your High Lady obliges, leaning down right as Rhys slips his fingers inside of her. She falters, humming loudly in bliss before she continues on her path, latching onto your exposed breast and teasing your tight nipple with a swirl of her tongue, a graze of her teeth.

You whimper your frustration. That wasn’t what you meant, and by the smug look in her gleaming eyes as she slowly pulls off of you, blowing on the wet bud with amusement, she knows it too.

Your back arches beautifully off of the table at the sensation. Her cold breath is both torture and bliss.

“You didn’t specify where you wanted me to kiss you,” she puffs blissfully, grinding down onto Rhysand’s fingers. She’s just as wet as you are, loves the way your pretty little cunt convulses around her fingers as she works, loves that she makes you feel this way.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Rhys,” you pant, squirming as she slides her slick fingers out and up against your clit, playing with the sensitive bud. Your head hits the table harshly as you throw it back but you don’t care, the sharp pain feels as incredible as Feyre does right now, and you wonder for a moment how she got so good at this.

“Perhaps we need a night to ourselves,” she agrees, much to the dismay of her mate. Feyre ducks in for a kiss while she rides Rhys’ fingers, who’d thought of stopping to tease her when the two of you had agreed on a night without him, but he knew that doing so would only solidify her decision.

Your stomach coils at her suggestion.

“You’re going to get it for that one,” Rhys growls, though the image of you and his mate rolling around in the sheets together while he watches isn’t something he’d ever fucking turn down.

You and Feyre moan into each other's mouths at the picture Rhy’s places in your heads. The two of you as you are now, you fisting her hair in your hands while she fucks back into you with as many fingers as she can fit, all while Rhys fucks into her with his own.

He’s so achingly hard from the taste of you lingering on his tongue, from the way Feyre’s grinding his fingers like it’s his fucking cock, her delicious juices sliding down his wrist as she fucks down on him.

He considers himself the luckiest male in all of Prythian.

“Would you like me to finish you off with my tongue, Feyre darling?” he scissors his fingers and she keens against your mouth, drawing her attention to him. Gods, he nearly cums right there, seeing the both of your blown out pupils and bruised red lips.

“No,” she gasps at a particularly delicious twist of his fingers, “I want (Y/N) to.”

Holy fucking Gods. You have absolutely no problem with that.

Rhys releases an aroused curse at her request that sends shivers up your spine. Apparently the High Lord has no qualms about it either.

Feyre’s watching you as you take her hand gently in your own, tugging her that much closer to press a warm kiss to the palm of her hand.

“Come here, High Lady,” you drawl, eager to get a taste of her.

Rhys helps rid Feyre of her scandalous dress, the silky midnight fabric falling around her curvaceous body like water, pooling at her feet. Rhys helps her up onto the table where she straddles you, caging you in with one hand planted on either side of your head as he lowers down for another kiss.

There are hands everywhere, yours sliding down the smooth skin of her sides, skimming over her puckered nipples and she gasps into your mouth. Her hips grind down against yours, drawing an eager noise from the both of you. It’s so incredibly hot, so pleasurable just to be with her like this, bodies writhing together, you might cum again already.

She pulls away with a gasp that melts into a moan, your noses jutting together as she jumps, only for her forehead to press against yours as she pants into your mouth while Rhysand gets a taste of her cunt before you do.

He couldn’t help himself. He’s a greedy High Lord and with two beautiful females naked on his dining room table, ready for him to feast upon…he’d obliterate anyone who tried to stop him.

Rhys is lapping at her drenched cunt and you snake your way down her spine, grabbing a handful of her plump ass, spreading her wider for Rhysand.

Feyre’s hand slides between your bodies, threading through your folds and finding your clit, rubbing furious circles around the sensitive bud, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

Your hand slides closer to the crevice of her ass, tentatively circling her rim, a barely there brush of your fingers that has the arm propping her up gives out and she collapses on top of you.

“Please,” she’s begging in your ear, and you know she wants it, wants you to keep going, but she wants you to taste her more. There’s a promise in her plea, that there will be a next time and you both will get to explore so much more.

You urge her upwards with a pull to her hips and she follows, docile from the near orgasm she’d just experienced from you and her mate.

You kiss every inch of her body as she moves up, her collarbones, her breasts, her stomach, all the down until you’re met with her tight and dripping cunt.

You can’t help yourself, lifting your head. You take your first taste, only a flicker of the tip of your tongue against the slick walls of her inner thigh. You could’ve gone straight inside of her or suckled on her clit but you chose not to, reveling in the way that she shudders at the feeling and her sweet taste.

Rhy’s hands settle on your hips and you jolt as he slides his cock through your folds, wetting his cock with your slick. You moan, digging your nails into the soft skin of Feyre’s ass because of the warm and welcome weight against your cunt, your stomach coiling with need already. You urge your High Lady to turn around so that she can look at Rhys, maybe kiss a little if they want.

She does as you suggest, settling on her knees on either side of your head, your hands massaging the soft skin of her hips, gliding to the tops and settling there for now.

Her and Rhys must’ve had some sort of signal because she’s sinking down onto your face while he plunges his cock right into your tight cunt. You gasp against Feyre, losing your bearings for a moment before you quickly react, hooking a leg around Rhys’ waist while you suck your High Lady’s clit into your mouth, humming with pleasure.

Feyre wastes no time, riding your face like a true commander, taking what she wants. You can’t get enough of her intoxicating taste, like cherries and the first snow of the season, swirling your tongue and slurping up her slick.

Rhy’s is taking no prisoners, fucking into you with abandon. You hear his voice ring in your head, a strained grunt that the other members of the Inner Circle will be arriving soon, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck if they walked in right now with their High Lady sitting on your face and their High Lord jackknifing into you because this surely is heaven.

Feyre leans forward, reaching out to her mate for a sensual kiss. She kneads at one of your breasts while Rhy’s takes one of hers, tweaking her nipple. You’re forced to follow as she shifts forward, lifting your head from the table and following her delicious cunt, wrapping your arms around her waist so she doesn’t go far.

The noises the three of you are making are lewd. The table is shaking with all of the movement, dishes still set at the end of the long table clattering against each other like there’s an earthquake, and there might just be because you feel like you’re about to shatter.

With one arm still tucked across her waist you let your free hand round her ass, and you press your thumb against her hole while you thrust your tongue into her cunt, loving the way that she clenches down on you with a keen of pleasure.

Rhys latches onto her nipple, sucking and teething at the taut flesh greedily. His hands are a bruising grip at your waist and you moan at the fact that you’ll be donning his fingerprints beneath your dress.

Feyre’s nearing the edge, you can tell because she’s leaning back, rocking even faster against your face. You’re nearing your edge too, when Rhys flicks and twists at your swollen nipples, lathing over one with his hot tongue as his other hand slides down to your cunt, fingers slipping through your folds to rub furiously at your clit.

You couldn’t pull your walls up if you tried, and that’s how Rhysand gets into your head so quickly, a purr of pleasure because they’re everywhere, physically and mentally.

See how good the both of you look? He groans, and you know he’s in Feyre’s head too because the noise she makes rattles you to your bones. 

He sends the image from his point of view, a live play-by-play of you and his mate. Feyre rutting against your mouth, her head thrown back in pleasure, mouth hanging open while she teases her breasts.

You can see the way your tits bounce with every single one of Rhysand’s thrusts, up past those to the column of your throat, face buried in your High Lady’s cunt, back arching up off of the table in bliss.

And fuck, with everything now combined, the feeling of them both on you, the sounds their making, Feyre’s taste, and the mental image…it’s nearly too much. You topple over the edge into oblivion, latching onto Feyre’s clit with a moan meant to rattle the entire house, pulling her over the edge with you.

She lets out a sharp cry and then she’s shaking on top of you. You let her take control, riding through her orgasm, grinding harshly on your face as you caress and grab at her soft skin, in a state of euphoria yourself.

You hear Rhys curse. His thrusts become frenzied and he holds you tighter, fucking into you harsher, enjoying the sight and feelings, your tight cunt wrapped around his cock, convulsing with your orgasm, and the blissful emotions Feyre’s sending down the bond.

He doesn’t last much longer, pulling out and getting a hand around himself, milking the cum from his cock as he spurts hot across your abdomen.

You enjoy every second of it, his seed sullying your skin like Feyre’s had your face. There’s no way you’ll make it to dinner on time, you’re going to have to bathe and have your hair redone before even thinking about meeting your friends for the meal, although right now you couldn’t care less, knowing they’ll probably scent it as soon as they enter the house anyway.