#sorry he’s naked in the first frame I forgot his bow tie

[fauvny]

I think the Simon fans will like this one

Edit: glad u guys enjoyed this I post Simon stuff with my oc go check it out :3

[magnoliasinbloom]

The Midwife

AO3 :: Previously

XIV

The Seine ran smoothly beneath the Pont Neuf. Jamie and I stood upon it, holding each other’s hands. I was still in my grubby work dress, a homespun cloak on my shoulders to ward off the chill. Jamie was much more handsomely attired, having been provided with a Fraser tartan kilt by his uncle.

Jamie’s uncle had apologized for not being able to procure a suitable dress for me to be wed in, on such short notice. He may not have approved of our hasty union, but he made clear that it had nothing to do with me personally. He had kissed my cheek and embraced me as his niece, and wished us every happiness. He was justifiably worried about our reception at Leoch as a married couple, now for my sake as much as Jamie’s. So with Jared as our witness, we exchanged vows.

“Mo nighean donn, repeat after me.” Jamie pulled a small sgian dubh from his sporran. He hesitated as he turned my arm to expose my wrist, but I nodded encouragingly. He made a small cut, and proceeded to slit his own skin open. Pressing our wrists together, Jared stepped forward to tie them with strip of linen.

Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone, I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, 'til our Life shall be Done.

My heart pounded as I said the words that bound us as husband and wife. Jamie’s gaze upon me made me forget my heartache, all my worries and cares. Gently, he untied our wrists. He pulled the silver ring from my right hand and placed it on my left with a kiss on it. “I’m sorry we canna be wed in a church proper. I wanted to do better by ye,” Jamie said softly.

“I love you, James Fraser. That’s all that matters.” He smiled, and laid his hand on my waist, tugging me closer. The wind off the river was cold, whipping our hair across our faces.

“Sassenach.” His voice was guttural with need as he gripped me with restraint. We kissed, our lips cold but our mouths warm, until we forgot where we were. I finally pulled away from him, breathless.

“You’re mine,” I whispered, my arms around his broad shoulders. Our foreheads touched; we breathed each other’s air, oblivious to the world, until Jared cleared his throat and broke through our reverie.

“Jamie, it’s time.”

The three of us made our way back to Jared’s house in his coach. Jamie and I sat in silence next to each other, holding hands. He squeezed my hand gently as I gripped his arm tightly, nerves racing through me.

To make the handfasting valid, like any other marriage, it must be consummated.

I knew the mechanics, of course. Maman had been thorough in her explanations, and as a midwife, there was little I didn’t know about. But the difference between knowing and doing was vast, a chasm I hadn’t thought about crossing—until I met Jamie.

We arrived at Jared’s beautiful house on Rue Tremoulins; I was assisted out of the carriage by Jamie and ushered past a lineup of servants who were waiting for us. The house was just as lovely on the inside, rich with brocades and glinting carved wood. I held onto Jamie’s hand as we trailed up a curved staircase to the family rooms. Jared walked before us and led us to a room just off the dark hallway.

“James…”

“Uncle, dinna fash. ‘Twill be alright.” Jamie took the wavering candelabra Jared had used to light our path. With a pat on the shoulder, Jared went off, and Jamie stepped inside the room, gesturing for me to enter as well.

The flickering candles illuminated the fine furniture and tapestries on the walls. But what occupied my thoughts first and foremost was the large canopied bed. The room was cold, but Jamie set about lighting a fire in the grate. He was skilled with a flint, and soon flames danced merrily and cast a golden glow across our faces.

We had been completely silent, offering small smiles to each other. Now Jamie approached me, rubbing my arms through the cloak.

“Are ye warm enough, mo nighean donn?”

“I suppose.” My voice quivered, and I hated myself for it. This was Jamie, my husband, my love. I wanted him, wanted this, so much. He must have noticed how nervous I was because he pulled me closer in an embrace.

“What is it, Claire?” Jamie asked.

“’Tis only… I’ve never…” A blush crept up my neck.

“Och lass, if it helps, I’ve never… either.” Jamie gave me a sheepish smile and a similar flush tinted his cheeks.

“You haven’t?” After Maman’s explanations and what I knew of the nature of men, I hadn’t expected Jamie to have remained a virgin. He was after all, a very attractive male who could probably charm the very birds from the trees. To have him be as inexperienced as me, was a revelation.

“Truly, no. I suppose neither of us kens what we’re doing. I grew up on a farm, and I know of it, of course, but I expect between a woman and a man, ‘tis rather different, no?” Jamie ruffled up the back of his hair self-consciously.

“Aye, I ken,” I replied, imitating his soft Scots burr and making him laugh; some of the tension broke. A knock at the door interrupted us, and the butler who introduced himself as Magnus, laid a tray with supper on a small side table. He let himself out with a bow, and the door clicked shut behind him with a finality that cast a shiver up my back.

“Let’s have a bite, Sassenach. We’ll no be this well-fed on our travels to Scotland.”

Delicately braised meat and vegetables, along with one of Jared’s most superb wines, made up the meal. I managed no more than a few morsels, nerves making my stomach twist. As Jamie poured the last drops of the bottle, they returned in full force.

“Here, Sassenach.” He patted his knee and I slid over to sit on his lap, draining my glass. He put his arms about my waist, fingers tapping out a quiet beat on the whalebone of my stays. “’Tis easier when we touch, no?”

The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room, except for our breathing. The staccato rhythm of Jamie’s fingers became a caress, and I tried to reciprocate, running my fingers through his red curls.

“I love your hair,” I said nonsensically, admiring the different hues of auburn and roan.

“And I love yours, lass. Like the water in a burn, the way it ruffles down the rocks…” he trailed off, his fingers now on the back of my neck. I leaned in and kissed him, tasting of the sweet wine we had shared.

Jamie returned the kiss enthusiastically, rising from the chair and setting me on my feet. I stood on my toes, striving to reach his mouth. He clasped me to him, hands bunching my dress and shift at my hips.

I broke away from Jamie, gasping for breath. “Perhaps we should go to bed.”

“To bed, or to sleep?” Jamie dropped the fabric of my clothes, also trying to control his breathing.

“Either way, I’m not likely to do it in this dress. Would you…” I placed his hands on my laces, and watched amused as he fumbled trying to untie them. He slipped the cord through the last eyelet, leaving me in my skirt and shift. I kicked off my shoes and stockings, and shimmied out of the skirt, and it lay puddled on the floor at my feet.

I had never been so undressed in front of a man before—and there was still my shift between us. Heat stained my cheeks, and I looked at my feet, embarrassed. Jamie lifted my face with a finger on my chin, and blue met amber.

“Fair’s fair, lass. Help me take off mine as well.”

The kilt and its belt slid down his legs, boots cast aside. Jamie’s shirt reached to mid-thigh, and I could not look away from the way the firelight burnished the curly hair on his thighs to pure gold. It was an odd sight, and although I had seen men completely naked as a healer, those had just been bodies that needed tending. Jamie’s body was a very different thing. Toned with muscle, lithe as a cat, brown in places and milk white in others…

“Before we—I think I should tell ye, the lashes ye healed, they… there are scars on my back.” His voice was shy and hesitant, and I reached out to touch his cheek in encouragement.

In one swift motion, Jamie pulled his shirt over his head. He stood bare before me, his eyes burning intensely. I didn’t dare look down, not quite yet. I trailed my fingertips over the raised bones of his collar, walking around him, touching the roped muscles of his shoulders. The marks on his back rose in ridges, still pink instead of the white of old wounds. Heat coursed through me in flashes of want and need.

Facing Jamie again, he reached over and took the ribbon that held my shift up. He waited until I nodded, and he undid the bow with a tug. The fabric loosened over my shoulders, slipping off. As the material pooled on my feet, I was seconds away from covering myself with my hands and turning away from Jamie, but he sensed it; he removed the pins from my hair so it fell in a mad riot framing my face.

“Ye are so beautiful.” His breathless reassurance made me smile, giving me much-needed confidence, and I stepped closer to him, enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “I want ye so much I can scarcely breathe.”

“Have you never seen a naked woman before?”

“Yes, but no so close,” Jamie smiled, his eyes raking over me with a hunger matched by my own. “And no one that’s mine.” Hesitantly, he touched my breast, kneading it gently. It was as though I felt his touch somewhere lower, tingling; I reciprocated, his pectorals shifting.

Jamie kissed me, his tongue exploring my mouth. His hands roved all over my skin, leaving fire wherever they went. Finally, he lifted me off my feet, his lips still on mine. He laid me on the bed, where I scooted back until I reached the pillows. Jamie climbed onto the bed, sidling next to me. We lay skin to skin, all wandering caresses. Timidly, I touched below his navel, fingers hesitant. Jamie made a soft noise of encouragement (or possibly excitement) and I felt the tip of his member against my fingertips. I glanced, finally, committing all of his wondrous body to memory. His cock was silky smooth, and very warm. Emboldened by the sounds emanating from Jamie’s mouth, I grasped it fully in my hand.

Jamie showed me how to move my hand, up and down, sometimes twisting slowly. His frenzied pants in my ear, I could not have predicted how much I would enjoy making him feel this way. Eventually he gripped my hand and bade me stop.

“Sassenach, wait.” I immediately released him, pressing the lines of my body urgently against his.

“Now?” I asked, my arms around his back and attempting to pull him on top of me. I trembled at the thought of him inside me, joined like infinity.

“No, mo chridhe. Not yet.” Jamie removed my hands from his back and laid them next to my head, our fingers intertwining. He kissed me deeply, thoroughly, and slowly started making his way down my body. He paid attention to my neck, with small nips that elicited sounds I’d never made before. He sucked on my breasts, teasing and licking until my nipples stood out as big as cherries. He released my hands and I immediately tangled them in his curly mop of hair, and Jamie continued his downward trajectory, tickling my ribs until he stopped, grazing my hipbones with his tongue. I squirmed beneath him, my body demanding more with a fierce ache and pulsing between my legs.

“May I touch ye? Here?” Jamie’s fingers grazed the most intimate part of me. My legs seemed to part of their own accord; almost twenty years of propriety were no match for thousands of years of instinct. He slid a finger in slowly, and I could tell I was slick with arousal. He teased and nudged further inside. I heard a low keening sound and then realized it was coming from me.

I put both my hands over my mouth as my back bowed slightly off the bed. Jamie ceased his ministrations and gently pried my hands off my face. “No, Sassenach, I want to hear ye—every sound, every cry, is mine, do ye understand?” His lips on mine swallowed another moan as he parted my thighs further, settling between them. I could feel his hard, swollen member, straining at attention. I ventured another glance downward; I didn’t think that would fit in me.

“Jamie…” I felt his heart pound through his ribcage, beating in unison with mine.

“Tell me if I’m too rough,” he whispered, “or tell me to stop altogether, if ye wish.” He kissed me deeply as he pressed forward, with unerring aim and our bodies joined. I felt a stinging pressure as he advanced, an intruder of sorts that my body resisted. I willed myself to relax, even as Jamie held me close and I felt myself being stretched wide. There was a flash of brief pain and I couldn’t help but whimper a bit. Jamie immediately stopped and soothed me with gentle Gaelic words that I couldn’t understand.

After a moment or two, I pressed my hands to his back as a sign for him to continue, the scars ridged under my fingers. His hips met mine as he buried himself to the hilt, and slowly withdrew, before sliding in again, exquisitely and unhurriedly. I knew this was for my benefit; there was a hidden urgency to his motions, a power held in check, that I imagined would be unleashed once our bodies grew more comfortable with each other.

I met his eyes, and saw nothing in them but tenderness and joy. I trailed my fingernails up his flank, hoping to leave red lines to mark him as mine. Jamie responded by gripping my buttocks and changing the angle of penetration. In an instant I felt a flare of tingling pleasure, despite the discomfort, and again and again, a feeling that slowly increased and I began to understand what all the fuss about lovemaking was about.

“Sassenach… Claire…” Jamie called out my name between breaths. “I… dinna think… I can…”

“Don’t stop,” I said, gripping his backside and striving to get even closer. I felt Jamie shudder, his hips surging against mine as he spilled himself inside me. I watched his face, his eyes screwed shut and mouth agape, until it relaxed and his eyes opened, gazing into mine with love and wonder.

“I’m sorry, mo nighean donn.” He kissed my mouth over and over, our legs untangling as he withdrew. His warm hand lay across my stomach. “Bha mi a 'smaoineachadh gu robh mo chridhe a' dol a bhriseadh.”

“What is that?”

“I said, I thought my heart was going to burst.” Jamie’s hand caressed my face. “Was it alright for ye? Did I hurt ye?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me.” I was somewhat sore, but I supposed that was to be expected for our first time. It wasn’t entirely disagreeable; it was a reminder of what had transpired between us. We were now truly husband and wife.

“I’m sorry ye didn’t—I mean, that I didn’t… well, Sassenach, was it… pleasurable, for ye?”

“A little.” I planted a kiss on his long nose, and held him close. I could feel dampness between my legs, but was too lazy and comfortable to do anything about it. “We’ll just have to practice some more.” I tugged at the eiderdown comforter, wanting to get beneath the covers. After our exertions, the chill of the room had only dissipated slightly with the fire.

Jamie wrapped his arms around me, his body cocooning mine and radiating natural warmth like a small brazier. He brushed my hair aside, placing soft kisses on the nape of my neck. “Tomorrow, Sassenach, we’ll go to l’Hôpital des Anges. I shall speak to Mother Hildegarde, while ye gather yer belongings. I apologize, mo nighean donn, from taking ye away from yer life’s work.”

“I’ll still have it, James Fraser. Wherever you are, that’s were my life will be.” I had not thought I needed to hear it, but having him speak his regrets about upending our previous plans loosened something within, a modicum of peace and reassurance settling in my chest. “About Malva—”

“Dinna be afraid, there’s the two of us now.” Jamie curled his legs behind mine, fitting perfectly like two spoons nestled in a drawer. “I will not let her harm ye, and I live.”

I still worried though, about our imminent journey and how we should be received by his family in Scotland, and about leaving the life I knew behind. But before I realized it, I fell asleep in his arms, lulled by his Gaidhlig whispers and the knowledge that we belonged irrevocably to each other.

[illyriantremors]

Beneath the Stars Chapter 18

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII

AO3 Linkage

Summary: Feyre and Rhys confront Tamlin's secret and admit the depth of their feelings for each other. Smut ensues. NSFW.

Chapter 18

“I - wait, what?”

“Sit in the chair.”

“Feyre?”

I grabbed my chair and dragged it closer in front of the canvas facing the opposite direction and pointed again. “Sit. I need to paint you.” Rhys stared at me like I’d gone mad. “Please, Rhys.”

That did it. Whether it was the near-violent please or the desperate way I said his name, that did it. He sat.

I dug through my supply bag looking for the paints I needed and paused when my hand touched on something small and plastic. I pulled out the flash drive Rhys had slipped in my locker “for inspiration” the note had said.

“I forgot about this,” I said. Rhys didn’t say anything. Only stared as I walked over to the workroom computer and loaded the music. A beautiful symphony came through the speakers overhead. It was somber and quiet - fitting for just such an occasion.

“Do you trust me?” I asked, walking back to Rhys while the music played on and built towards something more.

Rhys never broke eye contact with me once as he found my hand, pulled it to his mouth, and kissed me just above where his sister’s ring sat on my finger. “With all my heart.”

I wiped the tears staining my face away as best I could. He wanted to touch me. I could tell. But I dropped his hand and moved to my desk where the paints were and started mixing.

Black - that was obvious. But I’d need other colors too. Rhys wasn’t a bleak and dark storm clouding over the sky. He was the sky itself and that required colors - lots and lots of colors. When my palette was set, I undid the bow tie at his neck and loosened the first two buttons so that the top of his chest was exposed.

“Feyre, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Trying and failing epically to resist my good lucks and outstanding charm? I told you - if you wanted me naked, all you had-”

“To do was ask, yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Now sit still. I need to concentrate.”

Rhys watched me - not my hands as I lifted the brush to his skin, but my eyes. Watched the way I supposed they narrowed in on every pore, every drop of paint. A cold tickle met his cheek as my brush glossed over him. “Shit,” he said resisting a shudder. “That’s… that’s… kind of nice actually.”

“Such a baby sometimes,” I said and continued to apply the color, matting in the black around his jaw and hairline before adding in a dark, smokey purple the same shade as eggplant as it came in to reach the corners of his eyes. It matched perfectly. “Why didn’t you tell me about Tamlin and your sister?”

“Is that what he wanted to talk to you about?”

“Don’t deflect. This isn’t about him.”

Rhys closed his eyes as my brushed moved further down his face drawing little swirls and wisps from below his chin and jaw. His lip shook with every brush.

“I’m not mad,” I said when he wouldn’t say anything, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I dated someone who did terrible things to me, who was a crappy boyfriend while I had him, who said the worst things about you and right now I can’t think of one single instance where you returned that animosity - said anything bad about him to me even if I knew you felt it, especially now that I know you had ample reason to trash him, and I... I don’t know what to make of that.”

The tears returned fresh, this time quiet and thirsty to know.

I continued painting him all over his neck and the tops of his chest. I covered his ears so that they blended into the darkness of his hair, nearly disappearing. I stepped back to examine my handiwork and liked what I saw. His face was a study in blacks and greys, clouded with all the weight a heart could carry.

When he opened his eyes and that little pop of violet stood out, I saw the full picture of him against the stark white of the canvas behind his chair. And I knew how to make him look the way I remembered him in my mind every time I fell asleep at night. It had been the same image of him since the night we’d lain beneath the stars together.

I added fresh blues and violets and even a tiny dab of yellow to my palette and went to the canvas. Rhys fidgeted in his seat to get up, but I reached out to his shoulder and held him down firm.

“Sit. I need to paint. Just sit and talk - about anything.”

Rhys nodded and I withdrew looking at my canvas. I shirked off the cape of my gown so it wouldn’t get caught as I moved about. And then - I started painting.

It wasn’t long before Rhys spoke.

“This was her favorite symphony,” he said, his voice dull and lackluster, devoid all the usual bravado that made Rhys Rhys. I honed in on the music, following the haunting melody as it grew and stretched towards an insatiable climax that filled me with a quiet, subtle hope. I could see why Rhys had chosen it.

“She practiced it for hours and hours on the piano and I would yell at her from my room to shut up because I was tired and trying to sleep. Then when she died, I couldn’t stop listening to it. I tracked down every version of it I could find until I had them all. When Mor moved in, she took all my headphones away. Said it was too horrible to watch.”

A light layer of black, sponged on to give a translucency to the canvas that swept out in a great arch. Dark - but not lost.

“Tamlin and I were friends growing up. Nothing like Cassian or Azriel. But good enough. We ran in the same schools and our families knew each other. I shouldn’t have been so surprised when my sister took an interest. I was more surprised when he returned it.”

Veins of gold, small slivers cracking through the clouds here and there. Just enough promise of hope, the kind you feel when new love strikes.

“Was he good to her?” I asked quietly. A sick question, but I needed to know.

“He was. They didn’t date long given, given… what happened. But he was kind once, much kinder than he is now. Sometimes, I wish he hadn’t changed so much, but then I look at myself and how the accident broke me in two and I wonder if I wouldn’t have become the same thing in his shoes.”

I flinched at the horror behind that admittance, at the grief it had to cost him.

“He asked about you. About talking. He’s sorry for what happened and I think that he means it, but I… would be lying if I said he’s not broken anymore.”

Rhys didn’t reply. I chanced a glance at him and found him sitting with his head in one hand, elbow propped up on his knee in sorrow. A dark, fallen prince.

Layers of blue and purple covered the smoke the way the universe filled with galaxies. So much negative space on the surface, distance between wounds and friends and stories, but when you look closely enough, you can see the soul of a person peeking through, see their colors, see their pain. See right through to their very heart.

I smudged that color of Rhysand everywhere that my fingers could manage. Drops fell onto my dress, but I didn’t care. Nesta could yell at me later. By the time my palate was dry, my arms were covered up to my elbows, the sleeves rolled back, like a tattoo made to mark the occasion.

Standing back, a pair of great wings peered out at me through the thick of night I’d painted for Rhys. And when I stepped back even further to move Rhys into the frame, sagging into his hands and knees and all, it was even more magnificent to behold. Triumphant and broken at the same time.

Rhys looked up and I narrowed in on that spec of violet in his eyes, holding onto it like a star sent from Heaven itself to look after me. If I were honest with myself, I’d been staring at those eyes since the moment I’d first met him.

“Stay still,” I whispered. I wiped my hands clean and got a camera out, one of the really nice ones the studio loaned us while we worked, and careful not to get any paint on the lense, I took several pictures of Rhys. The entirety of the backdrop in focus, how the wings changed from different angles not all of them natural, closeups of his face - especially that face.

“You still never answered my question,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me about Tamlin and your sister? I know you trust me. I don’t doubt that. Knowing wouldn’t have changed anything between you and I, only him. So why didn’t you say anything?”

I watched Rhys’s chest swell beneath his tux and hold for a long, lingering moment before it collapsed again. Somewhere between his first words and his last, I set the camera aside and moved closer to him taking a towel along with me. Close enough to touch him again.

“I didn’t say anything because you’d just broken up with Tamlin,” he said, his voice raw. “And I’m not the sort of guy to just jump all over a woman right after a breakup as if she were nothing more than a relationship status for me to occupy. You’re more than that. And,” he stood up, stepping closer. “You loved him. Even though I felt like there was something between us and I couldn’t stop myself from being near you, from wanting you for every second you would spare for me, I wasn’t going to make an ass out of myself by assuming that love you’d had meant so little to you that you’d suddenly want to be with me, especially when I’d given you no reason to.”

“But you did,” I said, my voice grown thick and I grabbed his wrist on instinct, needing the contact. “You gave me ample reason to want you.”

I reached up, dragged my fingers across the paint and indulged in the feel of it smearing through his hair one last time before I began to clean him up with the rag. The touch almost seemed to pain him.

“How are you so wonderful right now? Feyre…”

A tear fell past his guard streaking the paint on his cheek so that it muddied and greyed.

“Do you remember when I told you there was a hole inside of me and I didn’t think I could see the way out of it anymore?”

“Mhm.”

“Well I was wrong. I thought I couldn’t see a way out, but the truth is that I was so miserable and so twisted inside of myself that I went straight to the way out without even realizing what it was.”

Rhys’s brow creased at me in silent question, begging for my explanation that I was heartbroken to think he couldn’t already see.

“You,” I breathed and I smiled as soon as I said it because I was holding the answer in my hands, and oh how he was beautiful and flawed and unendingly necessary to my life now.

“When Tamlin broke up with me and goodness, Nesta had just rung me out to dry, I broke.” It was an effort to say it aloud, but I pushed out every word through the tears blinding me. “I wanted to give everything up and I had no idea where to turn. I was at the bottom of the hole and all I thought I saw was darkness, but I was wrong. I felt more alone than I ever had, but then I was driving myself to your house - to you. You were the one good thing I could think of that hadn’t turned away on me, the only good feeling left in my heart and I clung to it like glue, followed it until I was on your doorstep and you were holding me.

“Rhys - you were my way out. You were my light in the dark. That’s why I love you. You showed me how to live again.” I grabbed both sides of his face firmly, most of it not clear of paint save for the bits around his hairline and the tops of his chest, and held him to me. “Please don’t ever think that you gave me no reason to love you. You gave me a million. And even if I can’t -”

I never got to finish my statement. Rhys’s lips came crashing down on mine no longer able to resist the temptation. And he tasted - oh how he tasted. Like citrus and sea and life all at once.

His lips were soft, moist as they tenderly felt my own, working in a slow haze that burned with a heat we’d both been holding off on for too long. And that heat quickly grew as my tongue cut through my lips and begged him to open for me. I was met with a groan as his lips parted and our arms collided to wrap around each other, to taste and feel and explore everything we could find as he dragged me down onto his lap.

Though our faces remained clean, I could feel the paint transferring between us as I dragged my fingers through his hair, rubbed my stained dress against his chest and jacket. But I didn’t care, couldn’t care. I wanted all of his touches - dirtied and blemished and perfect as they were.

Those touches swept across my neck and into where Nesta had placed the delicate pins keeping the deep blond strands of my hair in place. He pulled them out one by one, chucking them onto the floor when he was finished with them and my hair fell down in waves for his fingers to swim through.

I snapped when his lips left to travel down my jaw and back, back, back to my ear when he nibbled gently on me. I snatched at his waist trying frantically to yank his shirt free and moaned my victory when my hands succeeded, finding the smooth hard expanse of his abs that I further stained with the blues and purples and golds of my earlier handiwork.

“Feyre,” he said into me - my ear, my skin, my entire person.

“Take me home,” I replied automatically. The kisses along my neck stopped so Rhys could look at me seriously.

“Are you sure?”

My reply was to kiss him enthusiastically without question, without restraint. Rhys laughed and scooped me up into his arms marching for the door. “As milady requests.”

Home - I was going home.

We didn’t tell anyone we were leaving. We simply left, no backwards glances. The dance was winding down as it was, handfuls of students trickling through the galleries towards the doors lingering here and there at paintings that caught their eye.

My heart fluttered when I spotted Cassian’s car in the parking lot and realized we had no way home. And then a jingle met my ears.

Rhys held up his keys. “You’re not seriously suggesting we strand them here?” I asked.

“Mor and I had to come by early to go over last minute set-up with the owners. Cass picked us up when we were done so we could all drive together, which means…”

The headlights of his car flashed as Rhys hit the unlock button on his key set. I grinned wildly and ran.

We sped along towards home and I couldn’t stop touching him. Everywhere my fingers trailed along his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch, or where my lips kissed at his ear forcing him to grip the steering wheel harder so he could concentrate - I wanted more, more, more. I was desperate just to feel him.

And it made me realize just how horrible devoid of this kind of intimacy I’d been, not just with Tamlin, but with… anyone. My life had been empty for long time, maybe even before mom had left. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this free, this wild, this much myself - if I’d ever felt like this at all.

“Is your dad home?” I said between kisses. I could feel the muscles in his neck flexing with every touch, trying to keep control.

“He’s… he’s… shit, Feyre - what happened to wanting me to keep my eyes on the road when I drive?.” But the smile that broke over his face said he wanted anything but for me to stop. “He’s out of town on business this weekend. We’ll have the house to ourselves - save for Mor.”

“Mmm,” I purred against his skin. “She sleeps upstairs. That’s okay. I have a feeling she’ll be a while anyway.” My hand ran once up his crotch enjoying the hardness I found there beneath his pants. I licked up the side of Rhys’s neck in response.

“That’s it,” Rhys snapped. The car came to a rough stop in front of his house. He cut the engine and grabbed me. Pounced, was really more like it. He undid both our seat belts and then his body came over me pressing me into the leather seats as he kissed me hungrily, tore his hands my chest to get to the zipper of my dress.

Steam started fogging up the windows in a white sheen we couldn’t see through. It was cold out tonight. Before I wound up with my very own Titanic moment, I pulled Rhys back and urged him, “Inside. Now.”

His lip quivered in amusement. “You do realize what you just -”

“NOW.”

He carried me down the steps to his room - the basement. His room was simpler than I expected, but I would inspect that later. Right now, clothes took precedence over furniture.

“Feyre, Feyre, Feyre,” he murmured at my lips. I grabbed his shirt and pulled and pulled until the buttons had all popped free one by one and I was able to see that glorious chest of his. He was bare save for an intoxicating strip of dark hair on his abdomen that disappeared below his waistline.

“Wait here,” he murmured and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom of his room. I heard the sound of water running and when Rhys came back, his hair was sopping wet, water running down from it over his neck and chest all of which was now completely clean of my paint.

He brought a damp towel with him and gingerly took each of my hands, taking time to clean my skin so that I was in the clear as well. The urgency I’d felt before leaked out of me as Rhys took care of me. I could have stood there forever letting him knead the muscles, taking all of that horrible tension I couldn’t stop carrying out of me.

When he was done, I watched the towel fly back towards its home in the bathroom. And then those violet eyes were on me again.

“Age before beauty,” I teased, beginning to shrug the jacket and then the shirt off him. Rhys grabbed the fabric as I went and tossed it hard to the floor, eyeing me ravenously the entire time.

“If you insist,” he said. He took a step back from me and the shock from losing his touch was enough to make me realize what he was doing - what we were on the brink of doing.

And then... I was left with Rhys standing before me in nothing but his boxers, a beautiful shade of crimson red, with a considerable bulge tenting them in the front.

His body was magnificent, carved out of earth and rock and darkness. His muscles flexed, worked against me as he pulled me into him, his arms wrapping around me until he found that zipper on the back of my dress again and had pulled it down, down, down. I pulled out of my sleeves and the dress fell like a river along my body towards the floor where it pooled into a lake at my feet.

A sharp sensation forced a cry out of me as Rhys’s teeth nipped at my shoulder and I realized his was dragging my bra straps down with them. The heat between our stomachs where we connected sent my body spiraling and I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed all of him, for not a single part of us to no longer be connected for not one second more.

I undid the clasp on my bra and sent it flying heaven knew where. My underwear followed and just as Rhys’s lips parted to say something suggestive, I yanked his boxers down, taking his cock as I did and pushing us back onto the bed where I straddled him.

Rhys cursed as he toppled down and I stroked him. My body rocked over him slightly in time with my motions and Rhys’s eyes trailed over me - the curve of my hips over his own, the fullness of my breasts, the way my neck grew thick with sweat just from watching him writhe on the bed…

My hand gripped him hard, rising slowly up to the head of him where my thumb ran slowly over the tip. I saw Rhys’s back arch off the bed ever so slightly before he shot up. His hands dug into my hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling me towards him fervently, but not so much that it hurt. I moaned into his mouth and that had him flipping me onto my back.

Our bodies pressed flush against one another, heat radiating in all the little pockets where we molded together. The tightness between my legs was becoming unbearable. Rhys felt it as he smuggled between us to dip his finger between me and found a considerable wetness waiting.

“Do it,” I said thinking only of relieving the unbearable heat in my core. “Rhys…” My voice was barely more than a pitiful moan.

He opened the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a small square package which he ripped open with his teeth, taking care not to damage the condom inside. He sat back on the bed and watched me as I watched him, rolling that condom down his cock slowly, one agonizing inch at a time…

“Feyre,” he said lying back down with me. He took my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist as he positioned himself at my entrance. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, please,” I said greedily, pulling against his chest to nudge his hips further up. He grinned wickedly and then he was sliding inside me with intolerable gentleness. And the thick, immense feel of him that greeted the heat in my core sent me past the boiling point. My lips parted in a silent gasp as my fingernails dug in carefully at his back. Rhys mimed a sharp, silent whistle of approval.

He brought one of my legs up at his side, bent at the knee, and held it there against his hip as he made the first thrust. My toes curled with each new movement and we began singing that song between us, the one as old as the stars.

An electric feel pulsed inside me each time our hips collided. He held me with delicate tenderness, that I felt myself drowning in it as he kissed me, as he touched me, and as I touched him everywhere my fingers could go. My free leg wrapped around his lower back to bring him in closer and it sent Rhys’s pace on me into a fast rhythm I could have lived and died to.

“Rhys,” I said as the burning in me built to a crescendo. He saw me on the edge and pressed his hand into my lower back to help my hips up. The slight shift in angles made me clench around him and the primal, guttural noise that ached out of him sent me spiraling.

I came on him and there wasn’t a cry left in me to communicate how exquisite he made me feel. My voice simply cracked, a sharp needle of sound splitting the night in two while Rhys worked into my climax.

“I love you,” I said, gripping him fiercely. His body constricted, clinging to me everywhere, and all I could hear him manage to get out as he came inside me was the fractured, “I love… I love… I love…” of a ruined, ravished man.

His head collapsed onto my chest when we decided at last we were finished. We let our bodies lay there for some time in a shaking, quivering mess before tucking ourselves underneath the sheets.

“I see what you mean,” I said as I snuggled into him.

“About what?”

“If I had known this what you meant would happen if you’d started kissing me - when you said you’d never stop? I’d have kissed you all the way back at Lucien’s party.”

The deep roar of laughter in Rhys’s chest as my head lay over him was music to my ears.

xx