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Feyre sighed as she walked up the stairs to her and Rhys’ room.  It was one of her days off from the art studio. Ressina was taking over today with a few volunteers.  Feyre smiled as she thought of the progress many of the children were making, now that they had an outlet for their grief, pain, and suffering.  Their paintings were still difficult to look at sometimes, but she refused to look away. Just like when she had faced the Ouroboros mirror, she didn’t turn away from the ugly.  What the children depicted in their paintings might hurt and be hard to see, but there was beauty within the art, too.

 

Rhys had been in meetings all day and Feyre was getting… impatient.  She could have easily have gone with him. As High Lady, she had every right to be there as well.  But Rhys had insisted that she sleep in this morning, kissing her on the cheek before he walked out the door.  She hadn’t gotten fully back to sleep after that, but dozed comfortably in their huge bed until her stomach started to make its need for food known.

 

Feyre had gone to the kitchen for food, talking for a moment with Elain before she had gone out to her garden.  Cassian was off in the mountains, Azriel was collecting information, and Mor was still off at the Winter Court. Visiting Nesta was out of the question.  Feyre didn’t want a fight. That seemed to be all they did these days. With the studio taken care of, her friends and family all occupied, and her motivation to do paperwork at a minimum, Feyre wasn’t really sure what to do once she had finished eating.

 

She was bored.

 

She walked back into her and Rhys’ room and flopped onto the bed.  Mother above, she loved this bed. She loved even more what Rhys did to her in it.  The other day, she had come home from the art studio covered in paint and smiling. Even with the troublemakers in her class, mostly young ones that loved to splatter their teacher with paint at any opportunity, it had been a fruitful day.

 

Rhys had taken one look at her and at the paint on her clothes and skin, the colors running through her hair from when she had pushed it out of the way with splattered hands, and suddenly, she saw an image of herself through their bond.  She was splayed out on the dining room table at the cabin. Paint was everywhere, and through Rhys’ memory, she could feel how much he loved her, how much he wanted her. It mirrored what he’d felt then.

 

They had barely made it to the bed, but when they had… Mother above, they had almost needed a new one afterwards.

 

Feyre felt herself warm at her core and knew, if she were to dip a hand under her pajama pants, she would be wet.

 

She lifted her arms above her head and stretched luxuriously, feeling muscle after muscle pull and then relax.  Lowering her hands, she took in her palms, with their new tattoos, the mountains and stars of the Night Court. She didn’t regret changing to them from the eyes that had been there before.  She never would. Feyre belonged here, at the Night Court, with Rhys, her family, her friends.  

 

She suddenly remembered Rhys’ words, from back when only an eye had graced her palm. “You could try rubbing it on certain body parts and I might come faster.”

 

At the time, it had probably been a joke.  Now… Feyre was curious just how long her mate would stay in his meeting if she were to take him up on that.

 

Her pajama pants were loose enough that pushing past the waistband was easy.  She was right, she discovered as her fingers brushed against her sex. She was wet, and getting wetter as she remembered other nights she and Rhys had spent together.  

 

That first night in the cabin.

 

In the field tent after the battle in the Summer Court.

 

The night she had told him she wanted to become pregnant.

 

After that particular memory, she hummed, her core warmer than ever.  She did nothing to hide her pleasure, but didn’t project it down the bond either.  She wanted to see how long it would be until Rhys noticed by himself.

 

Not long, it turned out.

 

Feyre darling?

 

Yes, Rhys? she answered.  How a mental voice could sound breathless, she didn’t know, but she’d managed it.

 

I would ask what you’re doing, but I have a good idea.  Getting started without me, love? he asked, and as he did, she felt him caress her mental shield.  She shivered, her fingers becoming more slick.

 

Well, you’re just so busy and I would hate to interrupt important court matters.  You go back to your meeting, I’ll take care of myself .  She let her mind open to him, though, so he could feel her pleasure, how easily her fingers were moving against her clit from the wetness that she had gathered at her entrance.   Mmmmm… how is the meeting going, by the way?

 

“I wouldn’t know,” he said and Feyre’s eyes flew open to see her mate at the foot of their bed.  She must have been more distracted than she had realized to not notice his entrance.

 

“Rhys…” she breathed, reaching out with her free hand towards him.

 

He crawled up the bed and held her hand, kissing the mountains and stars there before he leaned in for a lasting, slow kiss.  Feyre’s fingers didn’t stop working against herself as their mouths moved together. By the time they parted, Feyre was panting, partly from the lack of air, but mostly because she was close.  So close.

 

“Come for me, mate,” Rhys rumbled against her neck, his teeth dragging across her collarbone and that was all it took.  Her back arched, her head thrown back as her body and her breath shuddered. Slowly she settled, then opened her eyes to look up at her mate.

 

“Beautiful,” he whispered, just as she said the same down their bond about him.

 

They smiled at each other, content for a moment to just take in each other, bask in how much love they both saw in the other’s eyes.

 

Feyre let her finger brush against her clit once more, humming, before she withdrew her hand.  Rhys reached for her hand, whether to clean or taste the slick on it, she didn’t know. She shook her head as she moved to face him.

 

“Clothes off,” she said quietly.

 

He didn’t hesitant to obey, not even teasing if she would join him in a state of undress.

 

Gods, her mate was magnificent.  He mirrored her stance, on his knees on the bed, facing her.  She reached out and with her still-wet hand, wrapped it around his cock.

 

“Feyre,” he moaned, his head bowing down, taking in the view of her tattooed hand around him.

 

She pumped up and down, the wetness making it easier to move her hand.  She scooted forward, nudging his face up with her own until their lips met.  He kissed her desperately, like he still couldn’t believe he was able to do this.  To feel this way.

 

She loved him.  Her mate.

 

I love you.  I love you. I love you , he chanted, hands cupping her face, her neck, pulling her closer until it was hard to get a good angle to continue to stroke him.

 

“I love- mph- you too- and I would love it- mmm- if you’d let me pleasure you- dammit, Rhys - properly,” Feyre said between kisses.

 

He pulled back a moment, taking her in.  “Feyre,” and her name sounded like a prayer on his lips, “you could do nothing and I could find pleasure in it.”

 

Her mouth quirked.  “It’s good to know that you’d take me at my laziest.  Now lie back.”

 

Rhys sat against the headboard, his leg outstretched in front of him.  His cock was hard against his stomach. She reached forward, wrapping a hand around him once more, but this time, she leaned in and took him in her mouth.

 

Rhys grunted, his stomach muscles contracting, but he said nothing.  He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and she looked up at him.  The eye contact just made her work harder around him. Rhys’ eyes were shuttered, staring down at her, but blazing with want.

 

Feyre gave him one more lick from base to tip then crawled forward into his lap.  She pulled off her loose sleep shirt as she settled in, and Rhys wasted no time in leaning forward and kissing, nipping, and licking the newly available skin in front of him.  Her hands found their way into his hair and she rolled her hips against him. Rhys groaned, biting a little harder, then kissing the spot in apology.

 

“Rhys,” Feyre said, and instantly, he looked up at her.  She smoothed his hair away from his forehead. “I want you…” she said, smiling softly down at him, her hips making small circles now, her thin pants the only thing keeping them from being joined.  “To take me apart.”

 

He smiled, teeth glinting, the predator coming out as the night he kept reigned back enveloped them.  “As you wish, Feyre darling.”

 

Next moment, she was on her back and her pants were gone.  Rhys allowed her a moment to get her bearings before he leaned down and licked her center.  Again. And again. He licked up any of the slick that had helped her find her pleasure before, then kept going, more pouring from her as he continued.

 

The first time his lips closed around her clit, she came off the bed a little.  His hands, which had been brushing against her breasts and teasing her nipples, wrapped around her thighs.  They anchored her in place as he continued to suck and lick her.

 

Rhys… please, she begged.

 

What, my love? he responded.  She was gratified to hear he wasn’t unaffected from what he was doing to her either.

 

Please, inside me , she said, needing him in her.

 

He fulfilled her wish.  Sort of. Two fingers pressed into her heat, and her back arched.  Or tried to. The hand that wasn’t opening her up was still holding her in place, against the bed.

 

Rhys , she complained, even if the complaint was weak.  His fingers were better than nothing, especially when he used them so well.

 

Feyre?  Is there something you needed?

 

She didn’t respond.  Not with words. Feyre just sent a series of images to him.  Him moving in her, plunging in and out. How her belly would look when she was finally pregnant with his child.  The little boy the Bone Carver had shown her. Their son.

 

Playing dirty today, are we? he asked.  There was heat in his eyes still, but also a look of wonder at the thought that all that she had showed him could be his one day.

 

I need you.  My mate.  She looked down her body at him, wanting to look him in the eye, to see him lose control.   You are mine.  I am yours. Now, Rhys.  Please.

 

After that, he didn’t hesitate.  Sliding up her body, he kissed her reverently before lining up his erection to her entrance and slowly, torturously slowly, pushing in.  She arched her back, trying to get more of him inside her, but he merely held down her hips once more.

 

“Rhys…” she warned, narrowing her eyes at him.

 

His mouth just quirked in a smile, his pace not getting any faster as he slide fully inside her.  Feyre hummed at the sensation. The feeling of being full of him, of her mate… She would never tire of it.

 

“You wanted me to take you apart,” Rhys reminded her.

 

She opened her eyes, not realizing that she had closed them in bliss until she was looking up at her mate’s face.  “Yes”, she replied, some irritation coming through her tone. “But I would appreciate if you would do it sometime this century .”

 

Rhys smirked, his hips starting to slowly circle.  “Wouldn’t that be something? Marathon sex for a hundred years.  No wars, no meetings, no work. Just being lost in your body. Mother above, that’s the dream.”

 

Feyre grinned up at him.  “Maybe some other time.”

 

And flipped them so that she was on top.  The sudden change of angle pushed him even further into her, making both of them moan.

 

“You took too long, my love, so I guess it’s going to be me who takes you apart,” Feyre said.  She hesitated a moment, though, making sure that this was okay.  This position had history for Rhys. Dark history that made Feyre want to claw something, be the one to tear out Amarantha’s throat.

 

But Rhys just shifted, getting his wings comfortable underneath him, and then looked up at her, a challenging look in his eye.

 

“Whenever you’re ready, my dear Feyre.  I’m waiting,” he said, his eyes full of stars and his mouth stretched in a smile.

 

Arrogant asshole.

 

She reached behind him and tweaked the membrane of one of his wings, making him jump and squeak.

 

They stared at each other for a moment, then Rhys said, “Now, that was totally involuntary on my part and a dirty trick on yours.”

 

Feyre quirked an eyebrow, suppressing her ill-timed laughter.  “I never said I was fighting fair.”

 

She raised herself slowly up his erection, until just the tip remained.  Then, simultaneously, she plunged downwards and raked a fingernail against a vein of his wing.  It was a place she knew from memorizing his body so many times was highly sensitive.

 

Rhys arched off the bed.  He looked stunned at the amount of sensation he’d just felt in a single moment, and seemed to mentally collect himself.  She did it again, this time targeting where his wings met in the middle of his back. He huffed out a breath, as if she had taken his breath away.  Then he sat up, his arms encircling her, pulling her against him as she moved her hips against his. They moved together like that, chest to chest, breath hitching simultaneously as they met again and again.

 

They rolled so Rhys was once again on top, pushing into her again and again, Feyre’s hips rising up to meet his.

 

Feyre’s body began to glow as she felt herself get closer to her peak.  From the night now swirling around them, Rhys wasn’t far behind.

 

“Rhys…” Feyre said brokenly, reaching up to stroke his face, doing the same to his mental barrier as well.

 

He turned his head to kiss her palm, the ink of her stars and mountains, and reached down to brush against her clit.  A few passes and she was lost. She felt him join her in completion before the aftershocks had fully left her body.

 

Rhys collapsed next to her on the bed and immediately, she snuggled against him, his night enveloping her glow.  His arm and wing came around her, pulling her even more securely next to his body.

 

Night Triumphant and Star Eternal, twined together, never to be truly separated.