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"Do you remember," Feyre murmured against his ear, "when you told me your wings were … sensitive?"
Rhys's throat bobbed at the sultry lilt to his mate's voice, his wings rustling ever so slightly against the bedroom wall he was leaning on, Feyre pressed against his front.
"I may recall such an occasion, yes," he responded, the side or his mouth inching upward as he turned to catch his lover's gaze. The heat he found there set his insides ablaze.
"I think." A kiss to his cheek, to his ear, then a nip of her teeth that had him shuddering in anticipation. He was so focused on the desire lacing her words that the light touch to his wing had him gasping a breath of surprise, the sensation going straight to his cock.
"I think it's time we see how sensitive you are, love," she breathed. His low moan was all the confirmation she needed as she lunged for his mouth, nipping, sucking, biting, her arms wrapping around him and dragging him toward the bed. She broke away momentarily, just long enough to shove him back, his knees buckling against the mattress as he splayed on the bed, wings flared out around him.
Leaning up on his forearms, legs hanging over the side, he watched through hazy eyes as Feyre's own lustful gaze raked across his body, starting with the lipstick staining his mouth, inching down to the disheveled shirt, stopping at the cock so clearly begging to break free.
His breath caught as he watched his mate drop to her knees before him.
"You won't be needing these anymore," she drawled, taking her sweet, sweet time unbuttoning his slacks, then dragging them and his underwear down his legs, his cock springing free. She made quick work of discarding them before inching forward, breath ghosting over his cock. He dropped against the bed, savoring the sensations.
A kiss to his right thigh. A kiss to his left. Her mouth — her devastating, beautiful, sensuous mouth — never quite reaching where he so desperately desired.
"Please," he begged, needing to be touched. He felt her smirk through the bond.
"Please, what?" she smiled, fire blazing in her eyes.
"Fuck, Feyre, please.” His hips moved up slightly on their own accord. “Please touch me."
His mate only let out a breathy chuckle. "Oh, Rhys, but I am touching you, aren't I?" she smirked, her hands now on either thigh, grasping so tightly that he would surely form bruises he wouldn't want to heal, her mouth resuming its agonizing game of offering close-but-not-close-enough sensations.
He pleaded with her: "My cock. Please, Feyre, touch my cock," his tone showing just how desperate he was for his mate's attention. A spark of desire shot through their bond, fanning the flames of the desire he was feeling.
"Hmm. I could touch you." He felt the ghost of a touch from her index finger, slowly tracing the vein of his now-leaking cock. He couldn't conceal the moan that escaped him.
"Or," she breathed, rising and leaning over him, arms on either side of him as her lips brushed gently against his ear. "We could have so much more fun seeing if I can make you cum just by touching your wings."
His restraint gone, Rhys opened his eyes and growled as he moved his hands to her hips, flipping them over and centering them on the mattress. He focused his attention on her neck, knowing full well what sensitivities lie there, relishing in the moans Feyre let. Needing to take in her full beauty, he allowed for a quick thought that had his shirt and her dress vanishing, leaving them bare and writhing against one another. His cock brushed against her core, and the wetness he felt made him lose himself — but only for a moment, for he had a pressing need to attend to.
Rhys moved away from her neck, peppering kisses down, down, across each breast before allowing his tongue to graze against her nipples, bringing them to peaks and drawing the most beautiful of sounds from his mate.
He trailed lower and lower still, stopping just above where he knew she wanted him. Unlike Feyre's own game today — a vendetta, it seemed, if he cock had anything to say about it — his was much less sinister.
"If you insist on torturing me, Feyre darling, at least give me the pleasure of devouring you first," he smirked. He gave her only a moment to prepare before attacking her with his mouth, his skilled tongue working her clit in ways she knew only he could.
Feyre moaned, the desire in it going straight to his cock. He couldn't help himself as he ground his hips into the mattress, if only for some relief as he devoured his mate. He worked his tongue, moving a hand toward her center before teasing her gently, his index finger circling slowly where he knew she wanted it. A pause, but only long enough for her to anticipate what was coming next.
She gasped as he entered her, first one finger, then two, stretching her beautifully before curling up to find that spot that would send her over the edge.
Her near-shout was all the indication he needed to know he found just what he was looking for.
"Rhys, Rhys," she chanted, his name a prayer coming from her lips.
He kept working her over, his tongue never leaving his clit, her wetness now coating his mouth.
"Fuck, Rhys, I'm, fu —" she shouted, legs trembling as her insides fluttered around him. The sensations were enough to have precum further drenching the sheets underneath him. Feyre let out sighs of relief as the waves of post-orgasmic bliss washed over her.
He pulled out and away with a smirk, placing a gentle kiss to her core before rising up, inching back up the bed and toward her mouth.
He was moving to kiss her before her eyes opened lazily, then narrowed, stopping him in his tracks. "You. Distracted me," she growled, though he felt the pleasure emanating through their bond. He couldn't help but return it.
"Who, me?" he gasped, a hand moving to his chest. "Never."
He had no time to react before her hands were on him and they were — winnowing? It was quick, with them not far at all, but when he opened his eyes, wide with surprise, he was facing the wall, hands grasping the bed frame, kneeling so his back was on display for his mate.
He felt Feyre's gaze as she raked her eyes over him, such a sight to behold: legs spread, wings fanned out — cock straining desperately in front of him.
"It's your turn, love," she whispered against his ear as he felt her press against his back.
She moved slowly, gently, her right hand gracing the membranous part of his wing with only the shadows of touches, sending jolts of desire down his spine. He was unable to control the precum that leaked from him.
“How does that feel, Rhys?” she drawled, lust lacing her voice.
“F-fuck, Feyre,” he sighed, seemingly incapable of coherent thoughts.
“Use your words, love.” The tease of firmer touches, but not quite what he needed. Close, so close.
Gods above. “Perfect, darling. Fucking perfect.”
Spurred by his encouragement, Feyre moved now with clear intentions. Her gentle grazes turned rougher, the perfect amount of pressure. She stroked the less membranous parts of his wings, almost as if she were playing with his cock — and she may as well have been.
"Feyre," he moaned, his control gone, submitting fully to the wants of his mate as he trembled from the pleasure. So fucking good, so fucking good.
Her devilish strokes continued, and he knew that she was savoring these parts of him that only she was allowed to see. Only her. Only ever her.
She stroked down and toward where the wings connected to his back, the sensations growing stronger, more intense, a live wire straight to his cock.
And he realized, fuck , he realized —
He was. He was going to cum from this. Just from this.
"Feyre —" he broke out, and his mate seemed to come to that conclusion at the same time he did, for she leaned closer still, front firm against his back, and her mouth joined the fray now, too.
Her beautiful, beautiful lips leaned down and pressed tantalizing kisses to wherever she could reach: one wing, the next, the membranes, the spine. His moans were uncontrolled now, completely at the will of his mate.
And then he felt her teeth graze near that connection to his back, and that was it; he was done.
"Feyre!" he shouted, cock shooting off underneath him, splattering his release against the bed frame. He relished in the sought-after release, unable to think as he white-knuckled the frame. His mind went foggy, completely overcome by his staggering orgasm while a shudder ran down his spine.
Only then did he feel her chin on his shoulder, her arms wrapping solidly around his, a reminder of where they were and who he was with. At the will of his mate, his body went boneless as he sagged against her, trusting her to hold him firm while he recovered.
She stroked a hand through his hair, a different kind of touch now, but one that was just as desired. They sat in silence, breaths syncing together as they reveled in the bliss.
At last: "Feyre," he whispered, senses returning at a snail's pace.
She placed a kiss to the top of his head as she slowly maneuvered them so that he was now lying on his side, Feyre cuddled against him, enveloping him in her arms. Home. He was home.
"Hush, love," she breathed against his ear. "That was so good, you did so good. Sleep now, let’s go to sleep."
His eyes were heavy, so much heavier than he realized, and all he could do was mumble in response. So he listened to her, and he nestled his body further against her — his mate, his safe haven — as they both succumbed to the slumber that was dragging them down.