In a winter forest, the soft crack of a branch was enough to send a nest of birds fleeing towards the skies. And apparently in a Night Court library a gentle whisper in her ear was just as effective in setting every winged creature in her stomach into motion.

“As the most handsome High Lord,” he continued, fortunately oblivious to those millions of flapping wings, “I need to make sure that the skills of my Inner Circle are properly honed.”

“Well, I just read it,” she said indignantly. And maybe some of that hostility was directed towards herself. More than she’d like to admit. “So consider it honed.”

“Ah, but I’ve been thinking.”

“—well it sounds like that was your first mistake—”

He pressed a long, elegant finger to her lips, but was otherwise unphased by her interruption. Still smiling with an arrogance that only a High Lord could possess.“You may read just fine in the comforts of my home. But, then, that was never the issue, was it? Cauldron forbid you’re ever put into another stressful situation. Where you need to read quickly. And with accuracy.”

Dread boiled in her stomach. In her mind, she saw those stone tablets and levers. Could still remember how the smooth surface had felt against her palm, how she might as well have been wrapping her fingers around Lucien’s neck, for the way she held his fate in her hands.

“So my question is, Feyre, would you still be able to read these sentences if you were distracted?” He raised a brow, leaning in so close so could taste the mint of the tea leaves he’d been drinking just moments before. “Would you be willing to bet someone’s life on it?”

Feyre glared at that parchment, at the stupid ink scrawled over its surface, and tried to think about anything other than how those spikes had felt descending towards her. How the proximity of the scorching metal had burned her face.

“Just tell me what you want from me,” she said finally, refusing to look into his eye.

Rhysand wasn’t having it. His fingers found her chin and pulled, turning her face until his eyes were boring into her own. She hated when he looked at her like this. Feyre knew her shields were up, and yet he was staring at her like he could see straight through to her soul.

“I want you to answer my question. Would you bet someone’s life on it?”

“No,” she snarled, pushing her face closer. Baring her teeth like a wild animal. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,” he said, releasing her. “It means you need to practice.”

“And, what?” He was walking back around her chair now, but she kept her glare trained on his back. Hoping his peaked ears would start burning from the contempt she wished he could feel. “You’re going to chain me up and put me beneath metal spikes?”

Rhys was frowning when he turned around. “We’re going to play a game. A simple one.” He pressed a firm finger to the top of that page, directing her attention back towards the text. “If you can read this page quickly and without stuttering, you’ll get a reward. And if you mess up…” He grinned. “You’ll see what happens.”

“And what’s my reward? Getting to look at your face for five minutes?”

The grin grew wider. More dangerous. “I was thinking I would have you look at something else.”

She swallowed. Tried to pretend that suggestion got lodged in her throat, instead of slipping past like warm silk until it pooled in her stomach. “That sounds more like a punishment.”

“Thanks for the idea,” he crooned, slipping between her chair and the table. “And if that’s your punishment, what would you like your reward to be, hmm?” Rhysand leaned forward, bracing his hands against either arm of her chair. She could smell the wind on him, from wherever he’d been flying that morning. Over the sea, she thought, picking up a hint of salt.

“Would you like to see me on my knees again?” His eyes were burning, and if she stared at them any longer her face would be, too. So she fixed her head towards the corner of the table. A mistake, because a moment later she could feel his lips against her earlobe. “Do you want to know how I’d lick you, Feyre?”

She said nothing. What could she say, that wouldn’t be an outright lie? 

Rhys dropped to the floor before her, so tall he still fell level with her breasts. Feyre didn’t miss the way his eyes wavered there, before flickering up to her face, entirely unashamed.

“Go ahead, Feyre.” He placed a warm hand on her knee. If it was meant to urge her, it was having the opposite effect. “Read the page.”

What would he do, she wondered, if she lit the parchment on fire and refused to participate? His fingers burned her skin, even through the fabric of her loose Night Court trousers. Rhys wouldn’t really make her do anything she didn’t want to do. Not when he had spent so many years under that gods forsaken mountain.

So why was she reaching towards the page? And why were her fingers shaking, like she believed there was actually punishment waiting if she messed up?

… Like she was hoping there would be.

“Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord,” she repeated. 

His hand slid further up her thigh. “Good girl.”

That was nearly enough to make her falter. But she knew his games well enough. She knew that hand was trying to throw her off, especially as he began stroking his thumb against her inner thigh in long, deliberate sweeps.

“So handsome, in fact, that any female should feel Cauldron blessed to be in his presence. And it is only because he is so ma-m-mag—”

The fingers stilled for a moment. Then they dug, just enough to pull her attention back to the male watching her. So she could see the triumph painting his lips as he purred, “I believe the word you’re looking for, Feyre darling, is magnanimous.”

“Prick,” she hissed, throwing the paper down. “You put that in there on purpose!”

“Oh?” The chair scraped over the wooden floor as Rhys pulled it closer, until Feyre was forced to spread her legs wider to accommodate for the large body wedged between them. “And I assume if you ever need to, say, read from a spellbook, its authors will have ensured the words are easy to pronounce?”

“Then teach me spell words,” she growled. “Teach me the Old Language. All you’re trying to do here is—”

The words died on her tongue, shriveling like fruit left too long in the sun. Something had slithered over her ankle, then up, shimming beneath her trousers until it was at the seam of her inner thigh. Not Rhysand’s hands, or any other part of his body. It was just denser than air, and cold. A wisp of darkness, of his magic, snaking beneath her underthings.

“Tell me again what I’m here to do, darling?” His brows were raised, and she might have fallen for his indifference if she didn’t notice the way he was studying her face. Even pulling at the bond of their bargain, like he might uncover a reproach deeper than the mask she wore.

That tendril crept closer. A challenge. A dare.

“You’re here to make my life miserable,” she said.

Soft as breath fogging up a glass, she felt that magic brush over the folds of the most intimate part of her body, continuing its ascent up until it swirled around her clit. Her lips parted, and it was an effort to keep from gasping. Rhysand’s eyes never left her face, marking every exhale that spilled from her lungs.

Then he leaned his face closer, until those perfect lips nearly disappeared between her thighs. She told herself she widened them only so she could keep an eye on Rhys as he took an exaggerated inhale. “You don’t smell miserable, Feyre.”

Pain screamed into her nails as she dug them into the wooden armrests, anything in attempt to distract from the pleasure licking up her spine. Rhysand’s magic continued in slow circles, rubbing just enough to make her squirm.

“You smell like you’re enjoying yourself,” he said, smug enough that her cheeks burned with loathing. For him, but quite possibly for herself, as well. “Which is rather magnanimous of me, considering I should be punishing you for messing up.”

“Then punish me.” Those words felt raw as she scraped them out. Maybe it was more anguish than she wanted him to see, and certainly more desperation than she’d ever admit to. Because if it was punishment—if he forced her to enjoy it—then it would be easier for her to pretend she didn’t want this. Want him.

“Start over,” he said instead. His magic pressed down more firmly. She whimpered, and she swore he shivered at the sound. But the authority in his voice didn’t waver. “Pick up that page and read from the beginning.”

She could have been running out that door, back to her rooms. He would have left her alone, pretended this all had never happened.

And still she reached for that paper and started reading, “Rhysand is the mo-oh!”

If she thought he would play fair, the face buried in her lap was a stark reminder that Rhysand never played fair. And why should he? When she was already melting beneath the heat of his mouth, licking her through her clothes.

Her fingers flew to his hair, tangling in the dark locks. She couldn’t even tell if she was trying to push or pull, but she was able to gasp, “I thought you were supposed to be punishing me.”

“I am,” he said, and then he was tugging at the waistband on her trousers. And maybe she was lifting her hips to help him slide them off. “Unless you mean to say you want this, Feyre?”

The air felt so heavy in that moment, as their eyes met and held. She knew what he was doing, what he was offering her. To have what she wanted, without the stain on her soul of admitting it.

It made her a wretch, and a liar, and a traitor. But the coward in her shook her head.

Rhysand’s eyes went dark, even as his grin widened. “Then remember this—you don’t get to come until you beg for it.”

He yanked her by the thighs, hoisting her practically out of the seat as he buried his face into her cunt, licking up her center with no preamble. Feyre couldn’t resist the moan that escaped, and was grateful it was masked by the sound of Rhysand’s own. He delved his tongue inside her, thrusting like he meant to taste every inch. And meanwhile that tendril of night returned to her clit, just gentle enough to make her ache.

Feyre slung her arm over her mouth so she could bite down, trying to smother every obscene sound for the sake of pretense. 

  Not that Rhys seemed to notice, for the way his eyes had fluttered shut. He licked her the way she’d seen people lick honey, like it was something sweet he wanted to savor on his tongue. But when he thrust at just the right spot, she couldn’t resist the way her hips bucked upwards. Body begging for more, more, more even when she couldn’t bring her lips to say it.

Rhysand’s eyes snapped open. So vividly purple against the haze of desire. He pulled his face away, and she tried not to notice the string of saliva that followed, practically begging to keep them connected.

“Does it still feel like a punishment?” His voice was nearly as rough as the caluses on his hands, scraping along her thighs. He chased away the tendril so he could replace it with his thumb, and fixed her with a cool look as he began to apply more pressure. “Because it doesn’t have to, Feyre. It’s not too late to be good for your High Lord.”

Her toes curled as the pleasure built, until it was nearly unbearable to keep it all contained. Her legs were already shaking from the effort to do so.

“If you want mercy, Feyre, say ‘please let me come, High Lord’.”

“Prick,” she said, though it lost its sting when it tapered off into a whimper.

“Ah.” Rhys flicked his fingers against that hooded bundle of nerves, triggering a burst of razor-edged bliss that had her seeing stars. “Don’t be naughty now, Feyre. I might stop being so… what was the word again?”

Bastard, she thought.

“Go on,” he purred, rubbing her oh so perfectly. “Say it.”

She was so close.

“Magn-ma-ah.”

He pulled his fingers away, cutting off that cresting pleasure before she could fall over the edge. “What was that?”

“Rhys,” she gasped, feeling tears spring to her eyes. 

“You know what to say,” he murmured, ducking his face back between her thighs.

He licked her again, slow and merciless. Feyre keened, and he used his free hand to keep her still.

“Please,” she gasped. “Please, High Lord.”

“Good girl,” he breathed, before plunging his tongue back inside her.

The edge came faster this time, spurred by Rhysand’s fingers and tongue working in tandem. Feyre dug her fingers so hard into his scalp she was certain she must have hurt him, but all she could feel was that blinding pleasure as it peaked.

And like pulling the curtains from a room, light came bursting in, haloing her skin as she came around Rhysand’s tongue. He was groaning, and from the look of reverence that crossed his features, and how he knelt on the ground with his eyes shut, she might have thought he was giving prayer. 

When he pulled away, they were both gasping.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Feyre whispered. He laughed and jumped up, running to Feyre and hugged her legs. She picked him up, peppering his face with kisses. "We have to quiet, okay?" Feyre said. "We don't want to wake Daddy up before we are done, right?"

Nyx nodded. "Can we bake now?"

Feyre smiled. "Yes, we can bake now." He threw his arms around Feyres neck, his wings twitching in excitement. His wings always gave his mood away. Cassian was the first to say he'd train that with him but Feyre thought it was adorable.

She winnowed them down to the kitchen, taking a chair with her free hand and putting it front of the counter. Nyx was already eyeing the ingredients that Nuala and Cerridwen left out for them when she put him on the chair. She pulled out the recipe, that Elain and the shadow twins wrote for her, out of her the pocket of her robe. "Alright." Feyre sighed, taking a bowl and placed it in front of Nyx. She let Nyx pour the ingredients in the bowl that she measured. Cracking the eggs she guided Nyx hands with her own. He always watched wide-eyed and seeing his excitement, Feyre prayed that nothing would go wrong. She couldn't cook and she never tried herself at baking. She was grateful for Elain and the twins that they wrote everything down, step for step.

Nyx complained when she started to mix everything together, wanting to do it himself. She used that time to quickly make Nyx a snack, because she knew that his arms would grow tired soon and she'd take over again.

When he told her that he couldn't mix anymore, she pulled back his chair and gave him his snack. From his spot on the chair he watched as Feyre continued.

"We're baking a cake, Mama!" he said excitedly.

"I know, baby. You did so great, I'm proud of you." she replied. She was sure that Nyx would be sick of hearing that, so often she told him. She couldn't keep herself from telling him, she was incredibly proud of her son and she wished her parents would have told her when she was a child. Or a teenager, Feyre thought back to the years where she went to the woods to hunt. She looked at Nyx, who smiled brightly at what she just told him.

Shortly after, Nuala entered the kitchen. Nyx told her about the cake as Feyre poured the batter into a form. Nuala listened, smiling as he told her everything. Keeping every little detail in.

Feyre looked at the clock. Even if everything went as planned, they were a little behind the time Feyre had planned. She felt Rhys stirring through the bond. It wouldn't be long until he was awake.

"I can take care of that." Nuala said. Feyre nodded, they were as good as done. It was just about baking now and Nuala was about to make breakfast, so she was in the kitchen either way. "Thank you." Feyre said, picking Nyx up again.

"No!" Nyx squirmed.

"Do you not want to wake up Daddy?" Feyre asked. As he frowned up at her, she held back a smirk. She knew waking up Rhys was more important to Nyx than the cake. It was their tradition. Feyre and Nyx woke Rhys up on his birthday and Rhys and Nyx woke up Feyre on her birthday.

They went up again and Feyre already got Nyx ready for the day. She stayed with him as he brushed his teeth and then she brushed his hair and dressed him. He looked adorable in a shirt that was similar to what Rhys was usually wearing.

When she felt Rhys waking up, Feyre went to their bedroom door. "Ready?" she asked Nyx.

"Yes!" he said, already jumping up and down in participation. She opened the door and Nyx was racing inside, climbing on the bed and throwing himself on Rhys.

Rhys made an oof sound and then Nyx yelled "Happy Birthday, Daddy!" her mate chuckled and hugged Nyx. Feyre smiled as she watched her boys. Rhys cuddling Nyx and Nyx babbling and laughing and repeating "Happy Birthday!"

Feyre joined them, sitting on her side of the bed and watching them. Rhys looked up at her, smiling. "Good morning, Feyre darling."

Feyre grinned as she leaned down. "Happy Birthday, my love." she whispered and kissed him. Nyx deemed it too long and squeezed his hand between their faces, breaking them apart. Rhys chuckled when he saw Nyx's frown. Nyx leaned into Feyre and she pulled him on her lap. Rhys took the chance to sit up, leaning against the beds headboard.

"Do you want to give it daddy now?" Feyre whispered to Nyx.

"Yes!" he said. Rhys raised an eyebrow in question. Feyre grinned and pulled a piece of paper out of the pocket realm. She gave it Nyx who excitedly gave it Rhys. Nyx had painted his hands and pressed them on the paper a few days ago. He was so happy about the result that he decided it was the gift he wanted to give his father on his birthday. After he painted a rainbow on the paper and Feyre helped him write "Happy Birthday" Nyx gave Feyre the picture to keep it until today.

Rhys smile grew wider as he looked at it. Nyx giggled but suddenly he turned serious. Tugging on Feyres robe. "What is it?" she asked.

"Mama." he said.

"What?" she asked.

"Mama." he repeated, putting a hand on her cheek. Feyre leaned down and he whispered in her ear "The cake."

The cake. Shit. The cake. Fuck. She sat Nyx on Rhys's lap and jumped up. "I'll be back in a minute." she said and hurried out. Ran barefoot down the stairs, to the kitchen. She pushed open the door and almost collided with Nuala. "Sorry." Feyre breathed. "I forgot the cake-" Nuala was here. Of course. She was here and looked after the cake. How could Feyre forget? But it wasn't Nuala who worked on the cake, it was Elain.

Elain who smiled at her. "I'm sorry but I already made the cream. Don't worry I won't be decorating that's your and Nyx' job, I just thought Nyx may lose his patience while smoothing the frosting. It takes a little while."

Feyre let out a relieved breath and hugged her sister. She was surprised for a moment but quickly hugged her back. "Thank you." Feyre said. "I completely forgot until Nyx just reminded me."

Elain giggled. "It's not the first time."

Feyre laughed. "That was one time."

"You burnt soup!" Elain laughed.

Feyre rolled her eyes but echoed her laugh. "And it was the last time I burnt food."

"Today was almost the second time." she said, a smirk on her face.

Feyre snorted. "Shut up." she said, turning around to go to her mate and son again. "Thank you, Lainey."

Elain rolled her eyes at the name but smiled and said. "You're welcome, Fey."

Feyre winnowed into her bedroom again. Rhys and Nyx were laughing when she entered. They both looked up at her at the same time. "Breakfast!" she said, nodding at Nyx. He grinned and crawled to her. She helped him climb from the bed and he took her hand. "Come, daddy!" he said.

He groaned as he stood up. "I'm coming." Feyre took a quick peek out of the window. It was raining. Then her eyes went back to Rhys, who slightly limped. His knee hurt.

"I'm fine." he said when he reached them, kissing Feyres cheek.

"I know you are." Feyre said.

As they walked in the dining room, most of their family was already there. Except Azriel, who followed soon after. Even if Rhys told them that it wasn't necessary, they all hugged him, Cassian picking Rhys up while at it, which made Nyx laugh. Though Amren stayed at her spot and said "Happy Birthday, boy."

The rest of the day was just being around the family. It was nice seeing Rhys so relaxed and Nyx had the time of his life playing with his aunts and uncles. Especially when Cassian started throwing him in the air and catching him. Nyx thought it was hilarious, though Feyres heart stopped everytime he was in the air. But everytime he threw Nyx up, Nyx wings twitched as if he'd try to fly. Rhys looked extremely proud every time that happened. They started teaching him the basics not that long ago and he made great progress.

It wasn't until noon Feyre finally could get ready and dress herself. Making herself presentable.

In the afternoon she sneaked away with Nyx, decorating the cake, finishing it. She let Nyx do it and after she lit the candles, Cassian came in and carried the cake, as Feyre picked up Nyx and held the door open for Cassian.

Rhys smiled when they put the cake down. "Wish!" Nyx said and they all laughed. It took a few seconds until Rhys leaned forward and blew out the candles, then his eyes wandered to Nyx and Feyre. Nyx clapped happily.

Feyre cuddled in beside Rhys, laying her head on his shoulder as Nyx told him about how he made the cake.

I am incredibly grateful to have you. You and Nyx. I love you. He said down the bond.

It was then that their mating bond snapped into place, and the beast had stirred, as if in dissent. Like it wanted to prove her wrong, prove that there was nothing worth considering inside his bleak and hollow chest.

Rhysand had never wanted so fiercely as he had on that veranda, feeling the beast thrash against its cage. Telling him to take Feyre and flee. To claim her, regardless of what she had to say in the matter.

It was why he fled, and it was why he didn’t dare see her for three months.

-

The second time, it had been scratching at the walls for the entire week leading up to Feyre’s wedding day.

Mine, it would whisper into the darkness. When there was nobody but Rhysand to listen.

It raged at the idea that Feyre would be married to someone else. And for that entire week, every time he’d seen flashes of naked golden skin through the bond, he’d been promptly sick over a porcelain bowl.

His skin felt itchy and forgein, only moments away from bursting into the cruel Lord of Nightmares that the rest of the world thought him to be. And who's to say what would have become of him if Feyre did marry Tamlin.

But fortunately that day, he’d heard her begging through the bond.

Help me, help me, help me.

The moment he’d arrived in Spring, in a crash of thunder and a clamor of screams, the beast had looked at Feyre and gone quiet. Content in knowing that she was being taken home.

Mine, it had said, but nothing more.

-

The beast itched every moment Rhysand spent around Feyre, breathing in her scent without tasting it. He felt restless. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. But it stayed in its cage.

Until Keir had said to Feyre in the Court of Nightmares, “You’ll get what’s coming to you, whore.”

Then the beast had snarled. Rhys had felt the shape of it, forming talons around his fingers, manifesting wings at his back. He’d wanted to tear Keir apart with his bare hands for threatening his mate. But the Hewn City was the one place, above all, where Rhys couldn’t let his control slip.

So he’d harnessed that rage until it was something colder, more refined. And Rhysand had smiled as he shattered every bone in Keir’s arm, listening to the beast purr with approval.

-

The fourth time, the beast very nearly escaped.

And Rhysand couldn’t say for certain that it hadn’t.

Hybern’s ravens had broken into the library in the House of Wind. The safe haven that he had created not just for the priestesses, but for himself. The fact that they invaded his home and had threatened the safety of his citizens would have been enough to make him vengeful. But they had threatened his mate.

He had choked on the scent of her fear when he found her fleeing the dark shelves of the library. Rhysand had never known bloodlust like what he’d felt in the pits of that library. His fingers had turned to razor sharp talons, and he’d used them to ribbon their skin like a blade through water. The beast had hummed.

-

Then in the second War with Hybern, Rhysand had become one with the beast entirely.

-

And it had been a good while since he’d last felt the beast tugging at its chains.

There had been occasional moments that piqued its interest, but its attention had always been passive. Happy to observe when it was called to lend a talon, curled up contentedly whenever Rhys was bathed in the scent of his mate.

Feyre had always been the one to rouse it, afterall.

“Please,” Rhysand gasped.

A silken laugh was his answer.

“Feyre.”

“You know what to say.” She smiled at him, the mischief in it so fitting for his Court—their Court. He swore as she slowly ran her tongue under the underside of his cock. Her Court.

His breath was in a race to escape, fleeing his lungs faster than he could grasp for air. “Please,” he said again, hissing as she scraped her nails along his thighs. It wasn’t the pleasure that drove him mad—though as she hollowed her cheeks and took him into her mouth, it very well could have been.

Rhysand barked out another curse, bucking his hips before he could stop himself. The chains around his wrists and ankles rattled in reprimand. Feyre pulled away with a pout on her wet, glistening lips.

He could have died for how badly he wanted to taste them. How much it destroyed him to see that trail of saliva connecting her perfect mouth to the head of his cock. Her arousal was so thick in the air he was practically drowning in it.

Chains rattled again. These ones darker, more ancient. More powerful.

“Let me touch you,” he begged.

A soft hand closed around his shaft, and she held his eyes as she slowly pumped her fist over the length of him. He was practically keening, squirming under that desire to touch, to claim, to taste. It was wrong—so, so wrong. To smell her arousal and not be buried in it, be it his tongue or his fingers or his cock.

She was torturing him with their own mating bond and she knew it.

“Let me—”

“No.”

The authority in her voice was so deliciously sharp. He groaned.

Feyre continued her cruel exploration of his body, running her thumb over his flushed head to spread the arousal beading there. Rhys ached. He was so hard it was painful, but it was the desire that truly ambushed him.

It clawed through his veins, until he was panting, until he was whimpering, until he was releasing a cage he’d long thought empty.

“Oh?” Feyre released his cock to examine the scales crawling over his stomach, unspooling faster than he could contain it. By the time he’d noticed, Feyre had already glided a finger over the ridged skin.

The beast’s collar snapped.

Rhysand snarled, which only made her giggle.

“You wouldn’t be losing control now, would you, Rhysand darling?” Feyre leaned down to swipe her tongue languidly against the head of his purpling cock. The growl in his throat was unbidden, as were the talons manifesting over his fingers. The feathers he could feel unfurling around his neck.

“I’ve never—” he grunted as she swirled her tongue playfully, lifting her eyebrows to prompt him to continue. He thrashed against the chains instinctively. “Feyre, I’ve never—”

“Fucked someone as the beast?” She was staring at his cock so hungrily. “You didn’t tell me this changed, as well.”

And fuck, Rhysand didn’t know whether to be proud or embarrassed. His cock was bigger like this, but in a way he wasn’t certain was inviting. It had turned the color of a moonless night, was now scaled and bulbous. He’d been worried something so beastly looking would intimidate a female.

But Feyre wasn’t just any female. And if he couldn’t see his mate’s hunger in her stunning eyes, he could smell it. Rhys pulled against the restraints again.

“I don’t just want to fuck you,” he said roughly, still drying to fight the last dregs of the beast. Before it took control entirely. He could hear its growl in his voice. “I want to…”

“Go on,” she purred, climbing up his chest.

Nails scraped over his rough, onyx skin. He arched off the bed instinctively, trying to get closer to her touch, fighting to get close enough to take.

“I want to breed you,” he warned. Feyre’s eyes darkened with lust. And he wanted so, so badly to break out of his bonds and flip her over the bed. She buried her fingers in his feathers, and Rhysand practically gnashed his teeth at the feral pleasure. “I want to fill you up until you’re carrying my—”

Anything the beast had to add was smothered by Feyre casually placing her cunt over his mouth. If he had more sense, he’d have laughed at her ingenious way of shutting him up. But Rhysand was too consumed by the taste of her to do more than growl his satisfaction.

He hated that he couldn’t hold her. When Feyre sat on his face, he liked to have his arms wrapped around her thighs, crushing her to his mouth while he played with her clit. It always won him the most exquisite whines.

But now Feyre gripped his head, taking full control in grinding her face against him. Rhysand took what he could get, licking desperately. Like he knew he’d never eat another meal again. His entire body hummed in pleasure, tasting that sweet and salty musk, saying, this is right. This is good. This is where I belong.

She stroked her hand through his feathers, murmuring good boy in a voice so fittingly sweet.

“I’m going to ride you,” she said, as honeyed as her arousal. “And if you’re good and stay still until I come, I’ll take you out of these chains so you can breed me.”

A shudder cascaded down his spine, rippling over his feathers and scales.

“Deal?”

Rhysand grunted in response, still savoring her cunt with every eager stroke of his tongue.

When she lifted off of him, he growled in protest. Feyre tutted. “You agreed to be good.”

She didn’t wait for further protest before she aligned herself over his cock and sunk onto it. All the air punched out of his lungs. She was so tight like this. Clenching almost painfully around the beast’s cock as he stretched her. Rhysand’s head fell back, and his body practically shook with the effort not to thrust upwards. Even the beast, feral as he was, detested the idea of hurting her.

“Fey-ruh,” he panted. The metal of his chains creaked as he dug his talons into them. She was still slowly working herself onto his cock, moving in torturously slow circles as she accommodated to his size.

“Why haven’t we done this sooner?” She asked, just as breathless. Rhys shut his eyes once he was fully seated, just choking off a roar that surely would have alerted the entire city. But then she began lifting her hips, grinding against him so that her clit rubbed against his pelvis.

She moaned, and he decided he simultaneously loved and hated everything about this. Feyre was exquisite. Face flushed with pleasure, lips parted, backed arched to show off her beautiful breasts. He could drink in the sight and never grow tired. But at the same time he was so damn jealous of his own body. That she was the one pleasuring herself and not him.

Rhysand was starting to feel restless. He wanted so desperately to give. He could be touching that clit right now, spiraling her into pleasure faster than her slow, excruciating ascent.

But then again, that was her aim.

The taunting smile said it all, but so did her diminishing pace.

Feyre paused, leaning down until her breasts were pressed against his chest. He savored the heat of her body, and knew from her small gasp that she must have enjoyed the scrape of scales against her nipples.

She pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. “What if I just laid like this the rest of the night?” She teased. “Just kept you warm inside me?”

It would be wonderful. But only after he’d fucked her senseless.

“Cruel,” he rasped. He groaned as she clenched around him, clearly pleased with her effect.

“I can feel you shaking,” she whispered, skimming her hands over his biceps. “Is that how hard you’re trying not to lose control?”

Rhys gritted his teeth rather than answer.

But his mate was a determined creature. She pressed their noses together, so that he could feel the heat of his breath.

“Go ahead, Rhys.”

He obeyed instantly, snapping his hips upwards. Feyre gasped, and that was all it took. He began rutting in abandon, caring only about drawing that reaction from his mate. Every small gasp of pleasure, every moan that was his doing. He reveled in it.

Until she was gasping his name, a chant of encouragement. “Rhysand—Rhys, Rhys, Rh-ah!”

Euphoria fluttered down the bond as his mate’s walls began spasming around him. He groaned in a mix of relief and pleasure, the beast inside practically preening at having satisfied his mate. But still prowling. Still hungry.

Feyre lifted herself off his chest so she could untie his binds.

Freedom.

His mate gasped as he grabbed her, flipping her onto her stomach so he could enter her from behind in a single thrust. His body trembled at the loud moan that earned him.

“Gonna fill you up,” he was gasping, thrusting his hips into her with an urgency that had Feyre’s moans slurring into each other. Until all he knew was his mates cries and the sound of wet, slapping skin. “Need to keep you bred full.”

“Yes,” she was saying, muffled in the bedsheets and half lost to the wails of pleasure.

“So pretty,” he said, reaching for her hair. He pulled, not wanting anything to impeded the sounds she was making. “You’re going to look so pretty with a swollen stomach.”

“Rhys.”

“Is this what you want Feyre? To get fucked and bred by a beast?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, yes, yes, ye—”

“Come,” he snarled. “Be a good girl and come on the beast’s cock.”

He could feel her walls fluttering again, could feel his own balls tightening. “You’re mine,” he reminded her, before slamming to the hilt. She screamed as they came together, and his cocked throbbed in relief as he spilled inside his mate.