( there's something about the visual, fucking feyre from behind while her wings spool out, that makes rhysand growl with satisfaction. mate, mate, his perfect mate — her little wings that need some work, but he doesn't have a spare braincell laying around to think they're anything but flawless. black swaths of fabric across her pale skin, like the night cutting hard lines across the swell of the moon. it makes him fuck her harder, teeth sinking down deep into his lower lip until he tastes the copper twang of blood.
a reasonable person would likely not be fucking his mate like some sort of ravenous beast the second she arrives, but rhys has never been reasonable, especially not when it comes to feyre. he has something to prove, some bottomless truth he has to splatter inside her, sew into the fabric of her muscles until she believes him when he says i love you and you're mine and forever, forever, forever.
Prettiest wings I've seen, he coos, slowing his grind to lay a warm palm over the sensitive skin, dragging his hand down the leathery membrane. unthinkingly, his wings peel out of his back to match her, framing the two of them in a private bubble. You're so good. )
Lay back.
( she doesn't have to support herself — he puts pressure on her back until her arms give out, until her cheek is mushed into the mattress and rhysand remains the start and end of her pleasure, cradling it with knowing hands. he fucks her in earnest, slamming his body to hers, one hand drawing lacy patterns on her wing, while his other arm winds around her waist, finding her clit. )
You're going to come. And then you're going to tell me where you want it.
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a reasonable person would likely not be fucking his mate like some sort of ravenous beast the second she arrives, but rhys has never been reasonable, especially not when it comes to feyre. he has something to prove, some bottomless truth he has to splatter inside her, sew into the fabric of her muscles until she believes him when he says i love you and you're mine and forever, forever, forever.
Prettiest wings I've seen, he coos, slowing his grind to lay a warm palm over the sensitive skin, dragging his hand down the leathery membrane. unthinkingly, his wings peel out of his back to match her, framing the two of them in a private bubble. You're so good. )
Lay back.
( she doesn't have to support herself — he puts pressure on her back until her arms give out, until her cheek is mushed into the mattress and rhysand remains the start and end of her pleasure, cradling it with knowing hands. he fucks her in earnest, slamming his body to hers, one hand drawing lacy patterns on her wing, while his other arm winds around her waist, finding her clit. )
You're going to come. And then you're going to tell me where you want it.