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danseurdesfleurs · 2 days ago

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Wait… can we do the aphrodisiac one for feysand and dove? If it’s not taken ofc 🍾🫣

-💋anon

I just really felt like writing them last night 💕

Sort of a follow up to this one.

The scent wafting from the crimson, heart-shaped berries in the crystal bowl is mouthwatering. Syrupy juice drips down my fingers as I bite into one, staining my fingertips a glistening, vibrant red. There's a heat to it reminiscent of cinnamon, and it burns in the sweetest way as it slides over my tongue like warm, thick honey. I've never had anything like it before, and the moment I finish the fruit, I want more.

A large, warm hand closes around my wrist before I can grab another, and I feel the solid press of Rhysand's bare body at my back, his free hand gripping my hip as he brings my fingers to his lips.

"Pace yourself, darling," he murmurs, sucking the sweet juice from my skin. "You wouldn't want more than a few of these at one time."

"Why?" I ask, watching breathlessly as the tip of his tongue follows the trail of juice down my wrist. He quirks an eyebrow at me as he kisses a line to the inside of my elbow. When the tip of his nose brushes along the inside of my wrist, I notice the heat beginning to build low in my stomach, warm as crackling embers. It isn't unpleasant, more of a comfortable warmth instead of the raging inferno of the mating frenzy.

I certainly wouldn't mind more of those berries, if this is how one makes me feel.

"Ravennian spiceberries are potent, Dove. Let's say it's a heat that...builds."

"I don't think I'd mind that. It certainly seems like you wouldn't either," I add, pressing back against him just to hear that deep, rumbling growl. A cool ocean breeze rustles the thin, white curtains, dancing over my bare skin as I pluck another berry from the bowl and turn, pushing my husband back onto the green velvet sofa behind us.

Husband. Mate. The second title a blessing, the first a choice more precious to me than any jewel. His choice. Her choice. Mine. They're mine. Not because of some preordained guesswork, but because we chose each other. Over and over and over.

"You're thinking too much," Rhys tells me with an easy smile as I settle onto his lap. My left hand rests on his face, and as I run my thumb over his cheek, my rings catch the golden glow of the sunset at our backs. They're just as stunning as the day they were placed on my finger.

Warm lips press against my palm, drawing my attention back to those sparkling violet eyes I love so much. What a blessing it is to see them shine with no trace of the worry or stress that so frequently haunted the beginning of our relationship.

"I love you." Rhys's hands press against my bare back, pulling me closer as his lips meet mine. My heart flutters at the surge of joy twirling down the bond, and my nail punctures the spiceberry in my fingers, sending a trail of juice down my hand and arm. I laugh into the kiss, reluctantly pulling away to assess the damage. The mess on the couch vanishes before I can blink, but my skin is stained with syrupy juice. "Oops."

"What's all this?" Feyre's sleepy voice carries across the sitting room as she finally emerges from the bedroom. Her golden brown hair falls in waves around her shoulders, mussed with sleep, but her blue eyes are bright with interest as she takes in the state of us.

But I can't tear my eyes from her.

Her nightgown is little more than intricate lacework and sheer black fabric that flows around her ankles, swishing with every step she takes. The bodice emphasizes the generous curve of her breasts, her skin pale in contrast to the fabric that seems to absorb the light. She is a dark, radiant star, even bathed in the rich sunset hues of Ravennia.

My wife.

Rhys is every bit as enthralled. I glance at him for a moment as she makes her way to the sofa, and my heart flutters at the soft grin on his face. The way they love each other is indescribable, a warmth that could span across worlds if it had to. I never tire of seeing it.

"Experimenting, are we?" Feyre asks, a mischievous grin twisting her lips as she settles on the sofa beside us, a hand pressed to the slight curve of her belly. "He wouldn't let me have one while you were in the bath, so I took a nap instead."

"You're insatiable as it is," Rhys teases as she leans in to lick the juice from my wrist. I roll my eyes at the way he tenses beneath me and bring the punctured fruit to her mouth, smearing a little against her bottom lip.

"Just a little won't hurt her or the babies," I murmur as I pop the fruit into his mouth. "What, are you afraid you can't keep up?"

"The both of you must stop calling me old before the babies come." Rhys grumbles, sighing dramatically as his head drops back against the sofa. "The other four have been teasing me about my creaking joints since my last birthday-"

"You poor, six hundred and fifty-three year old High Lord," Feyre coos, licking the juice from her lower lip. I roll my eyes when the rest of it disappears from my skin. "Your mates are so terrible."

"Cruel females," he agrees, nodding sagely as she smacks his bicep. "Vicious, too."

"Let's not pretend you don't find her violent streak appealing when there's plenty of evidence to the contrary," I murmur, shifting my hips as I feel his cock stiffening beneath me. Rhys hums, resting his hands on my hips as I reach my left hand between us to stroke him, sliding the head of his cock along my sex just to watch the way his eyes lock on the motion.

His tongue flicks against his lower lip as I glide my thumb over his slit, spreading the pearly beads of precome over the flushed tip before sliding my fingers slowly down to the base.

"Tease," he grumbles as Feyre pushes herself up from the sofa. Her fingers tangle in my hair as she tilts my head back, her lips claiming mine in a long, slow kiss. The sweet spiceberry juice lingers on her tongue as it slides alongside my own, and I moan into her mouth as Rhys's hand encompasses mine, guiding my touch with an exaggerated slowness that tells me he wants to savor this.

"I've been aching to touch you all afternoon, my dove," Feyre whispers when we part, and my arm slides around her waist, pulling her closer so I can nuzzle her breasts through the lace bodice of her nightgown. "But you were napping when we returned from our swim-"

"You haven't let that stop you before," I tease, smiling at the flush tinging her cheeks as midnight brush my lips over her nipple. It stiffens beneath the dark lace as I flick my tongue over it, teasing the delicate bud with kitten licks. The scent of her arousal fills the air, as thick and sweet as the scent of the berries in that bowl, but I much prefer the taste of her skin to the fruit. "I always love when you wake me, Feyre."

"You looked peaceful-" her voice falters as I hook my thumb beneath the thin strap and slowly drag the fabric down her shoulder until the lace falls away, revealing the full swell of her breast to the cool breeze. "Dove-"

"Hmmm?" I ask, arching a brow as I pull her nipple between my lips, sucking lightly at the stiff bud as she lets out a low whine. She cradles my head to her breast as I feel her skirt move, Rhys's free hand sliding beneath it to touch her.

"Wicked mates," she gasps as we pull her down between us. I settle back on Rhysand's thighs as he helps her straddle his hips. Together, we guide her onto his cock and she rewards us with a satisfied moan. "Fuck, Rhys-"

"Take what you want, Feyre," he urges, resting his hands against the swell of her belly. Both lace straps of her gown rest against her arms, baring her breasts to my eager mouth as a flush creeps over my skin. Gods, she smells better than she ever has. "Whatever you want."

"Dove, you-"

"I have everything I need," I whisper, glancing up at her. The ache between my thigh surges, and I can feel my need dripping onto Rhys's thigh. "Well, almost everything."

"What do you need, my dove?" Rhys's voice is tight but no less loving as he peers around her arm at me. Lust fogs his violet eyes like a cloud covering the stars, and I smirk at him as I ease myself to the floor, sending an image down the bond of everything I have in mind.

Feyre's dress is gone before I hit my knees, and he eases her back against his chest until her heels are digging into the couch cushion, spreading her legs wide so I can lower my mouth to where they're joined. It isn't long before I feel the light caress of that sweet, dark power between my legs. I don't think we'll be making our dinner reservations tonight after all.

#am I scrolling through your blog #like a psycho #again #yes #obviously #my wife deserves all the attention and praise #because you are talented #I might also be ovulating #i don’t really know #what even is my cycle anymore #honestly #just a horny monster #25/8

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danseurdesfleurs · 3 days ago

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i'll reach you

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danseurdesfleurs · 3 days ago

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my sun and moon🌑☀️

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danseurdesfleurs · 3 days ago

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What do we think about riding Rhysand's thigh in his office?

Needy

~~~

Pairings: Rhysand x f!reader

Warnings: smut, thigh riding, daddy!rhys, dom/sub dynamics, praise kink, pet names (darling, little darling, baby), mentions of p in v

Summary: pwp, you find yourself desperate for rhys while he’s working

Word count: around 1.4k

a/n: we think yes. i’ve had quite a few requests for this so it’s good to finally be answering your guy’s wishes and it’s been a while since i’ve written for rhysie so i hope you enjoy :)

~~~

With Rhysand being High Lord, he’s required to work more than you’d like him to. It’s his responsibility, you understand. Yet, you can’t help but miss him when he’s away from you. Today has been more unbearable than the rest. And it’s only been a couple of hours since he left your side this morning. But all you can think about is Rhys. Every time you close your eyes, you see him, smell him, feel him. You’re restless and needy. The only thing able to cure your hunger is him. Rhys. You can’t take it anymore.

And that’s why you’re now standing in the doorway of his office, a small pout on your lips as you watch him scan the paperwork on his desk. He wears a smug smile, as if knowing you’d come and find him. “Darling,” The term of endearment rolls off his tongue like sweet wine.

You bite your lip, stepping closer. Your bare feet pad across the cold floor as goosebump scatter along your skin in the chill, morning air. “Daddy…” Rhys’s gaze flicks to you, a dark glimmer shining there. You watch the slow roll of his throat as he swallows thickly. You’re playing a cruel game, knowing how that one little word causes Rhys to break so easily. Paired with the pretty nightgown hugging your body, leaving little to the imagination. He’ll be giving into your needs in no time. Rhys never takes his eyes off you as he leans back in his chair with a sigh. He pats a thick thigh, beckoning you over.

You go happily. Sliding into his lap and pressing your face into his shoulder, nuzzling softly. “Missed you,” You mumble, humming when you feel his warm palm cupping your cheek. Rhys tilts your chin up, a small smirk on his mouth, “You poor thing,” He coos, “I left you aching this morning, didn’t I?” His smirk only widens when you pout up at him, nodding your head and settling yourself on his thigh. “But it’s only me who can fix this.” Rhys empathises his words by pressing his thigh against your core. You’ve been wet and throbbing all morning. The sudden friction drags a pained whimper from your throat. You clutch the lapels of Rhys’s jacket tight in your fists, scared that if you let go, the relief will vanish.

“You’re mean,” You whine, grinding yourself down on Rhys’s muscled thigh, moaning softly when he makes no move to stop you. Rhys chuckles, the sound revibrating in your bones. “I’m being mean, huh?” Rhys shifts, the shuffling of paper confirming that he’s returning to work. “You’re getting what you want, little darling. Daddy’s here.” You almost want to groan in frustration, but from the way your clit rocks against his thigh, the only sounds leaving you are desperate whines. Resting your head on his shoulder, you press your lips to his neck. You leave a trail of wet kisses up his throat, trying your best to keep his attention on you. “Need you to help me, daddy…please!”

Rhys allows himself a moment to bask in the feeling of your sweet, soft mouth on his skin. Releasing a deep sigh, his free arm curls around your waist to feel your body as you rock against him. “Be good for me now, darling,” Rhys tells you, hints of a warning tone in his voice, “Use daddy to get yourself off like a big girl and let me finish my work. Then I’ll be all yours. How’s that sound, baby?” You say nothing, simply continuing your assault on his neck, sucking, and nipping. Rhys groans. “By the mothe-, if you can do that for me then daddy’s going to bend you right over this fucking desk and make you scream loud enough for all of Velaris to hear. Don’t you want that, baby?” he sounds strained. You shiver and your cunt clenches at the thought of Rhys taking you on his desk. So, you nod, whimpering into the crook of his neck. “I know you do, darling. That’s my good girl, keep going,” His words are urging you to press your hips down harder and hump his thigh as though you’re in heat. “There you go. Keep rubbing that pretty little pussy on daddy. Get her nice and wet for me.”

“Yes, daddy,” You moan into his neck, submitting so easily to his wishes. You’d to anything to have him close. To feel him against you, inside you. The anticipation is spurring you on. You want to be good girl for him. You want his cock so badly; you couldn’t dare defy him. Nothing compares to the feeling of him sheathed within your tight walls as he makes you see stars.

So, you do as he says. Riding his thigh as that tight feeling begins to wind in your tummy. You’re making a mess of his slacks, arousal seeping through your thin undergarments. The soaked material sticks to your puffy folds, dragging perfectly against your clit with each back and forth roll of your hips over his thigh. Soft whines pass your lips, causing puffs of your shaky, warm breath to fan across his skin. Rhys has to fight back the urge to shiver in pleasure. The High Lord gave up on his work the moment he caught scent of your arousal while you were tiptoeing your way towards his office. The smell went straight to his cock, gods, he is almost as desperate to be inside you as you are. But he can’t let you know that. Rhys wanted to torture you for just a little while long. Get you right where he wants you. So that when he finally thrusts inside your sopping cunt, you’ll be nothing but a pleasure-drunk mess, begging him to fuck you until he physically cannot stand any long. And the gods know, that can take long long time. Rhys lets that image float into your head, breaching the barricades to your mind like it’s the back of his hand. He knows it’s just what you need to push you over the edge.

You shatter in response. Choking out a loud whimper as your climax takes control of every nerve in your body. You shudder in his lap, feeling a new wave of juices leak from your cunt, staining Rhys’s pristine and perfect suit pants with your cum. A dazed smile takes form on your lips as some of the built-up tension from the hours you spent alone finally releases. Yet, you can’t help the growing ache for his cock begin to pulse with excitement. The grinding of your hips slow to pathetic ruts as you ride out those last aftershocks. Your head lifts to look at Rhys when his voice breaks through your heavy breathing, “There you go, darling,” he speaks softly, “Feel better?”

“A little,” You grin happily as Rhys chuckles. He studies your face as his hands slip down to cup the back of your thighs. “What’s that look for?” He squeezes, eliciting a giggle from your throat as it begins to tickle. Your arms slide around his shoulders, hooking at the back of his neck, you can’t help but tangle your fingers in the short hair at his nape. You lean forwards, planting a soft kiss to the tip of his nose before mumbling, “You helped.”

You gasp when Rhys stands, lifting you in his arms. You’re set carefully on his desk before the surprise can really take effect. Rhys retakes his seat with a growl, as if trying to brush off the fact that he gave into your desires. “Well, little darling,” He drawls, slowly dragging the tips of his fingers along and up your thighs until he reaches the waistband of your undergarments. Your breath catches in your throat. “You know I can’t resist this pretty cunt,” he pulls the thin material off your body in a quick motion, teasingly twirling the damp fabric around his finger before he’s stuffing them inside his desk drawer. For later, his smirk tells you.

Large palms returning to your skin, Rhys spreads your thighs apart, strings of your slick thinning between them. He props your feet on the edge of his desk and sits back contently. “Show daddy the mess you’ve made, darling,” He nods towards your hand, guiding you with what to do. You follow his instructions, fingers slipping between your legs…

“Use your fingers. That’s it, baby. Spread those puffy little folds for daddy, good girl. Let me see if you’re wet enough to take daddy’s cock.”

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danseurdesfleurs · 3 days ago

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Under The Mountain

Acotar moodboards

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danseurdesfleurs · 4 days ago

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Afternoon Lethargy

Rowan x reader x Aelin

a/n: trying out the dynamic of short-tempered (Aelin) x calm and grounded (reader) x also hot-tempered (Rowan). Specifically Rowan and Aelin who won’t stop fucking x their relatively low-libido-ed gf who they instantly pounce on the moment she’s interested.

warnings: soft top Rowan(???), oral (reader receiving), light nipple play, fingering, low-libidoed reader, a bit of fluff towards the end

word count: 3,908

~~~~

4 pm summer sun spills in through the open archways, sheer, double-layered curtains billowing in the wind—creamy white and pale pink fluttering upward.

You laze out across the mattress, burnt-orange cotton soft and clean beneath your cheek, smelling fresh and blossomy. The sun heats the exposed skin of your bare calves, falling in slanting rectangles across the bed and floor, colouring your back in warm tiger stripes.

A fresh breeze blows in, sending a ghost of pleasure up your dewy spine, hair surely growing sticky along your temples, strands curling at your nape from perspiration.

What are Aelin and Rowan up to, at this moment? There’s hardly a doubt in your mind that they’re together, wherever they are. Probably fucking where they’re not supposed to.

You sigh, settling deeper into the firm mattress, stretching out to nose at the pillows, catching a hint of their scents, verbena and pine having you crave an icy drink flavoured with lemon and mint. Have Rowan send chills up the glass, until condensation is gathering like morning dew around your drink.

This kind of heat definitely does something to you. Lazy, stretching summer bringing out a curious indulgence, contemplating sweat-slicked skin and flushed bodies. Fingers that circle in slow patterns, hands that trace pathways for the sake of the journey, not the destination.

You readjust on the bed, forearms crossing beneath your cheek as you peer about the large, empty room. There’s no desire for completion, but…

————

Terrasen’s summers are bearable, but not when he’s kept wrapped within a castle built to maintain heat over winter. Even with all the windows thrown open, these passageways aren’t built to funnel wind, unlike the great temples on the southern continent. There’s little need for ventilation so far North, and yet here they are, being slow-cooked in a cauldron over an open fire.

Rowan calls an icy breeze in from the outside, yet it’s somehow only mildly chill by the time it reaches him, doing little to soothe the heat practically steaming from his head and shoulders. He’s half-tempted to release the ties keeping the collar of his shirt together—has already seen younger Lords surrender to the indignity of the heat despite the inappropriate setting.

His stomach twists, irritation surely doing nothing to help his growing appetite, doing nothing to aid his increasing irritation.

Too many people. Too many people attempting to seek reprieve within the barely-shadowed halls of the palace, instead of journeying to the open gardens and settling beneath the shade of the tress there, where the wind will be circulating the courtyard. Instead too many are concerned for their delicately pale skin, fearing freckles, or a shift in colour.

Utter vanity that’s only serving to further his agitation.

Men and women who are tough enough to serve in court, and yet flag and flail beneath the heat.

When a child’s shriek screams down the hallways, bouncing off stone walls, he’s had enough. It would be irresponsible to continue—he needs time to cool off, before he loses his temper and simply takes off in the middle of a passageway, escaping via the large windows.

Rowan makes a sharp turn, cutting through a maid’s path to stalk up the winding stone staircase that will take him to their shared wing of the castle, which if not cooler will at least be quieter. If he’s lucky, he’ll find one of his mates sprawled across the bed—she has a knack for sensing the most unpleasant weather and has never failed to organise her work around such troubles. It’s uncanny.

The temperature only rises the higher he strides, stray beads of sweat turning to a dampened patch of linen down his back.

It’s too. damn. hot.

The heavy double doors thud at his back, and he’s greeted with the sweetest rush of wind once he steps into their bedchambers. Sweet enough a breath releases from his lungs, tossing his sweeping green cape over one of the bedside chairs. It should mean so little but still he won’t tolerate the disrespect of discarding court robes to the floor to manifest within himself. These are Terrasen’s colours—colours his fireheart has bled for.

A head lifts from the mattress, sunlight catching on the very ends of her hair. A faint smile softens her mouth, amusement mild in her features. “Rowan.”

Her eyes glide over him, surely taking in the heat that’s rolling from his body in waves. Her smile shifts from docile fondness to knowing amusement, and he raises a brow, the stern set of his mouth unyielding beneath her humour.

“I was just thinking about you,” she muses, propping herself up on one arm. “I take it that sweat is one Aelin worked up?”

Rowan can’t help the way his nostrils flare, having not expected the assumption to be stated so bluntly. No one else would speak it so blandly, without a trace of mischief.

“Unfortunately, no,” Rowan replies, icy wind curling around the sheer curtains and snatching them closed. He needs time apart from the sun, at least while he’s here.

Splayed out on the mattress, his mate grumbles faintly, shifting to be back on her stomach, arms stretching up along the bed, fingers lightly scratching at the sheets. “You aren’t at all bothered by the heat?”

A breathy laugh leaves her mouth, legs stretching, toes pointing, before falling back into relaxation. “I was thinking how nice it would be to have a cold glass of water, actually. You’re telling me that is all from a regular day in court?” She asks, nodding at his doubtlessly flushed skin, the damp of his shirt, the sheen on his muscles as he tries to roll the linen sleeves to his forearms, hoping to hurry the cooling of his temperature.

“You need to start giving us warnings ahead of time,” Rowan mutters, walking over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress as he attempts to secure his sleeves in place, irritation having him struggle with the finicky cuff-links keeping the tailored fabric in place.

He can feel her attention as his patience slips away, and just before he’s about to rip the gifted accessories clean off, her fingers tentatively wrap his wrist. He grits his jaw, but blows out a harsh breath, letting her fingers work the metal free.

“Why not remove your shirt entirely? No one would bat an eye at a naked male chest.” She discards one cuff-link to the mattress, opening her palm to have a go at his other. “You might as well take advantage of the option,” she reasons.

“I’m king of this court.” His tongue still fumbles over that title every now and then. “It would be improper to dress practically.” He’s making no attempts to suppress his agitation—it’s obvious in the bite of his words.

“No one’s going to see up here,” she murmurs, dropping the second cuff-link to the bed, sitting upright and settling her legs either side of his, her arms wrapping his waist so her front is to his back. “We’re in private, Rowan.”

Her fingers trail across his belt, grazing the hem where his shirt is tucked into these frustratingly insulated corduroy trousers. His skin heat further, pulse spiking. He’ll need to see Aelin soon—hopefully she’ll be in a similar mood of heat-induced frustration, and have a matching idea of what would be a satisfactory solution.

She presses a kiss to the top of his left shoulder, as high as she can reach despite the two of them being sat. Rowan swallows, snatching his attention to the linen of his sleeves, successfully shoving them up and out of the way. He reaches to pull loose the ties of his collar, and she rests her cheek against his back, hands clasping around his waist, legs crossing in his lap.

He pushes out a sharp sigh, head dipping as he pulls in a fresh breeze, fluttering the curtains open again but he doesn’t have the energy to feel any irritation, at last soothed by the chill. At his back, she shifts a little closer, disliking the cool, but he doesn’t have the heart to ask her to move despite actively countering his attempts to cool off.

It’s so rare she touches him like this. Either of them.

There are kisses here and there—though rarely on the mouth—and trailing fingers playing with fabric, but she still tends to sleep on her own. Will furrow her brows or purse her mouth if either are too handsy with her. And they’ve never pushed any further when she hasn’t wanted.

Her hum pulls Rowan out of his thoughts, almost missing the heat at his back as she reclines into the mattress. He shifts, glancing at her in his periphery. She’s settled on her side, one arm folded at her front while the other extends off the mattress, palm dangling over the edge with peacefully shut eyes, basking in the slats of sunlight than have snuck between the curtains.

He recalls the exploratory trail of her fingers, the press of lips to his neck, the heat of her body at his back.

Carefully, moving as though approaching a small, wild creature, Rowan lays a hand on her hip, thumb stroking above the silky band of her skirts, tracing the curve of bone.

She hums once more, pressing against the sheets, her expression one of contentment.

Attempting not to let his tension show, he applies a light pressure to her hip, and watches with disbelief as she follows, rolling onto her back so his fingers are atop the bare skin of her abdomen, her loose shirt having crept up around her waist.

Anticipation twists in his middle, already reaching for Aelin, fighting to keep the tremor out of his fingers as they splay across her skin.

————

A contented noise hums in your throat as you stretch out beneath his touch.

It seems he caught on to your interest, and is also in the mood for…something.

The curtains flutter open, an icy breeze guiding them further apart to return the sun to your skin and a faint smile softens your mouth as the heat spills over your stomach.

His fingertips are ticklishly rough as they splay across your skin, collecting together into an arrow as they slowly inch higher, and you peek your eyes open to peer at him—try and gauge his mood.

Pine green irises sear into your own, intensity burning in his gaze, and you flush, spine lifting from the mattress, lips parting a fraction.

“Rowan,” you mumble, smiling a little, “you’re putting that heat you were complaining about into me.”

“Shame,” he murmurs, but you get the sense he’s not focused on conversation right now. Those piercing eyes of his dip to where his hand is going, then back to you. “You should remove your shirt.” He says, “to keep you cool.”

You peer at him, amused. “Think you can do it for me?”

You see the moment it clicks for him—what’s happening.

And with Rowan being as stoic as he is, you consider it a treat.

His fingers dare to graze higher, dipping beneath your top, the fabric catching on his knuckles, being taken with him as his digits run the length of your sternum.

Your eyes slide shut, lips parting, easing shallow breaths in and out while he watches, intent.

His thumb shifts, and your lungs stutter as he grazes your nipple, liking the feel. Your back arches, angling yourself to incline into his touch.

The mattress dips, and your pulse spikes as breath abrades the soft skin of your throat—hips shifting, legs parting.

Rowan’s mouth isn’t like Aelin’s—butter soft, and gentle as feathers. His lips are often splintered, chapped from his time outdoors without any balm to protect against the harsh cold of the upper skies. His lips scratch—scratch like the callouses on their palms—and it sends pleasure zinging up your spine.

“What are you feeling?” He rasps, breath tickling a spot just below your ear and you tilt to one side, making room for him. You hum, but it’s a higher pitch than usual—a sweet sound that gets caught in your throat. “Resigned,” you murmur, fingers lifting from the bed to graze their backs against his clothed stomach, “curious.” You clasp the fabric of his shirt between your digits, and Rowan pulls back to look at you with clear heat in his eyes as you tug the material free from beneath the confines of his trousers. “Like I want to feel you touching me.”

His throat rolls.

Pine green eyes piercing into you.

You hold his gaze, flushing as the seconds go on and time passes, just like that.

He leans forward, brushing his lips atop your own, then presses a light kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Lie still,” he whispers, “I’ll see you through it.”

A smile tugs at the edges of your mouth, and you settle into the bed, allowing your head to comfortably fall to one side. Trusting him to touch in a way that will feel good.

————

Rowan peers down her body, fingers collecting together to trail from her sternum, passing her ribs, over the soft curve of her stomach, slowing the further he reaches so she can feel what he’s doing.

He wets his lips, digits brushing the waistband of her skirts, teasingly—to who?—stroking back and forth, slowly tracing the border, relishing in the gentle push that has his fingers slipping beneath her clothes, running down over the band of cotton clinging to her hips.

Her breathing deepens, and he leans down to press dry kisses to her ribs, taking pleasure in the beat of her heart as he runs his fingers up and down her clothed centre. Please, let him be able to taste her.

A chill breeze skates through the room, sending her skirts fluttering up over her shins, toppling over the peak of her bent knees and she inhales, shivering at the sensation. The breeze lifts higher, pushing her shirt up further, Rowan’s mouth latching over her right nipple the moment he’s able, applying a light pressure to her clit.

He’s rewarded with her hands exploring the muscles of his back, creeping up his spine until fingers are threading through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. It’s something he knows she loves from Aelin; it’s a sight to behold when she’s splayed between Aelin’s legs, a book perched on her spine as she dozes on the Queen’s chest, Aelin’s nails raking through hair while she practically purrs.

Rowan’s fingers slip beneath her underwear, and a sigh leaves her lips, hips tilting as his digits part the hair flourishing between her legs, finding her centre hot and—wet.

Once he’s pushed between the lips of her labia, that’s sweet slick beginning to drip from her.

Honey from a honeycomb. Pollen from the Kingsflame.

He can’t help his hunger—he coats himself in as much of her arousal as he can, then buries his fingers inside, slipping in with ease. She takes a deep inhale, and squeezes him with her cunt, pleasure pulsing around his digits.

He flicks his tongue over her nipple, and her grip on his hair tightens. “Rowan…”

Rowan’s eyes nearly roll. If he doesn’t get to set his mouth on her…

The warrior’s ears twitch, hurried footsteps approaching from ground level, swiftly climbing the circling stairwell, taking no time to muffle her paces. That’ll be Aelin.

Taking care not to startle his mate on the bed, Rowan shifts down the mattress, his fingers still inside her as he eases her legs further apart, skirts pooling around her hips.

From here the arousal saturating her underwear is obvious, and heat twists in his middle, giving himself no time to readjust his trousers before settling between her thighs. Her eyes remain closed, sun streaming across her bare stomach, head cushioned by the pillows.

Still, he trails kisses along the inner part of her knee, removing his fingers as he trails down her thighs, nipping at the skin. No grumbles are heard, and she parts her legs further of her own accord.

Rowan doesn’t waste time, leaning forward and latching his mouth over her centre, tongue wetting the cotton, eyes nearly rolling as he breathes in her scent. So long has passed he’d almost forgotten what it was like. The scent of her interest.

He flattens the surface of his tongue over her, licking upwards until he passes her clit, pressing a kiss down. His fingers slip beneath the cloth at her hips, teeth clasping at the hem across her abdomen.

She shudders, and Rowan prays she wants this as bad as he does.

————

Tingling heat is simmering in your lower stomach, tiny wings fluttering between your legs as Rowan hooks his fingers around your underwear, and you manage to lift your hips enough for him to pull the material free. Baring you to the fresh air and sun.

“Rowan…” You breathe, palm flattened over your heart, feeling its erratic pulse beneath your skin. Your toes curl, and you wait, containing the air to your lungs, still waiting—wanting and waiting, waiting and wanting, and-

His mouth closes over your cunt, two fingers easing their way back inside and Rowan snatches away the sound the slips from your throat, whisking it to his ears so he can dine of your noises of pleasure. Those fingers incline inside of you and you gasp, finding they rub against a spot that-

Heat flushes your skin and now he’s taken your clit between his lips, suctioning gently, tongue teasing in leisurely circles and your heart is pounding. Can feel the heartbeat between your legs.

“Rowan… I’m…” You pant, breathless. You test a glance down at him.

Pine green eyes latch on instantly, and your breath is stolen as he takes a slow lick of your cunt, fingers curling persistently against that spot. “So soon?” Rowan asks. It would be teasing, but his voice is too hoarse to be mocking, and instead has your hips inclining.

His mouth quirks, eyes glittering with male satisfaction.

A huff of breath leaves your nose, a faint smile on your mouth. “I guess you’re just that good to me, Rowan.”

The sound of his pleasure rumbles through his chest and his forearm bands across your hips to pin you in place, pushing his fingers deeper.

Your eyes nearly roll, and there’s that scent in the air—his scent.

“Ro-…” Your breath catches, spine arching off the mattress, panting hard as tension simmers through your thighs—that out-of-control feeling one experiences in free-fall.

You moan as the orgasm flourishes through your cunt, eyes fluttering as he stokes your pleasure with his tongue and those wicked, wicked fingers of his. Your stomach tenses, hips stuttering beneath his hold and a cool breeze kisses your brow, circling your nipples, coasting down your stomach as the high slowly begins to fade. Leaving you sweltering and flushed on the bed.

Rowan eases the pressure of his fingers, reverting to slow, soothing licks of your clit and it’s all you can do to keep conscious—you can still feel that pleasure in the tips of your toes; woven into your thighs that will be weakened and wobbly the rest of the evening.

Doors click, and Aelin sweeps in across your chambers.

Your brows furrow, forcing yourself upright from the bed despite Rowan’s grumble of displeasure.

“What are you…? You’re supposed to be in a meeting, Aelin.” You point out, incredulity parting your lips as you stare at her. Then more of it clicks and you shoot a glare at Rowan, “You told her, didn’t you?”

“It’s fine.” Aelin counters, waving her hand dismissively. “They’ll understand. The Queen has important business to attend to.”

“What reasoning did you give?” You ask, raising a brow, dragging more pillows over to cushion your back as you settle down. Rowan makes to remove his fingers from your cunt and a wave of loss twists through your middle, feeling empty.

Aelin shakes her head, the sun beaming on her golden hair—she’s a light in and of herself, stood like this. Fingers fall to her shirt, lifting it up and over her head before tossing it to the floor, shimmying out of her fitted trousers before you’ve even processed what’s unfolding. By the time you’ve acknowledged her mostly naked body she’s already crawling onto the bed, those piercing turquoise and gold eyes heavy and hungry as they rake across your body.

“Is there room for one more?” She asks, hands either side of you, hair cascading down over her shoulders to tickle your chest.

Surprised laughter jets from your lungs, so caught off guard. Her expression is serious and it only serves to heighten your amusement. “Gods, Aelin. Rowan’s barely finished with me, I can’t do another round.”

“I’ll be gentle,” she assures, her voice lowering to that sweet purr—the tone she uses when she wants something. “We can work together; you’ll feel like you’re flying.”

“Mhmm.” You’re not falling for it. “I’m not like the two of you. Let me rest.”

Aelin isn’t deterred, and the mattress dips as Rowan settles beside you, curtains once more drawn. Turquoise eyes flick across your features, and her throat rolls. Head tilting. “You could use a wash, couldn’t you?”

Your brows narrow playfully, “what’s that supposed to mean, Aelin?”

“It means…” Her hand lifts from the bed, fingers ticklishly wandering down your sternum, “maybe I could help?”

Rowan shifts, and his scent wraps around you, his palm settling bare over your hip. Fingers press into your skin, before falling lower, his arm draped over your stomach. “Uh-huh. And by ‘help’ you mean?”

She gives you a look of innocence. As if she doesn’t understand your skepticism. “Rowan’s made a mess of you, hasn’t he?” She asks, daring to run her fingers beneath the curve of your breast, skimming across your nipple, swiping back and forth with her thumb. “I could clean you up,” she whispers.

“You’re a menace,” you counter, but that’s heat stirring between your legs.

Rowan noses the length of your throat, lips grazing a spot just shy of your ear—when did he get so close? And when did his fingers start stroking over your inner thigh?

Aelin pinches your nipple, and you gasp.

Rowan’s fingers press at your clit, and you slap his hand away.

You huff. “I’m sure the two of you can satisfy one another, if you’re so desperate.”

Rowan grumbles, bringing a smile to your lips as he retreats from the bed, skulking to the washroom—no doubt in attempts to disguise his scent before returning outdoors.

Aelin peers at you, and you raise a brow. She huffs, but touches the tip of her nose to your own, and your smile softens. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, fingers cupping her shoulders, “I don’t have the energy.”

Her lashes flutter and the sunlight dances in her hair as she shakes her head. “You’ve nothing to apologise for.”

“Mhmm I’ll make sure to seek you out if it happens again,” you whisper, lifting your head to push a kiss to her lips.

A wicked smile curves her mouth, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Promise?”

You roll your eyes. “Promise,” you laugh.

~~~~

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