"Rhys," he murmured, breath catching at her little bite. His fingers pumped a steady rhythm, easy and building without any tease he was going to draw away. "Rhys will take care of you, Feyre. Rhys is yours."

Gods, she was so much! Wet, willing, the scent of her was driving him mad. He longed to drink her down, play with her until her begging was screaming and the tears that would leak would be from naked want and nothing else. He pressed his thumb to her clit, groaning at the welcoming, demanding throb, and circled over it in time with his fingers in her, guiding that coaxing that first orgasm to life. It was so good like this that he couldn't help the tiny rocking motions that had his engorged cock slipping deliciously in that crease of her thigh, offering a poor mimickry of what he was planning to do.

"You're driving me crazy," Rhys groaned out, the shift in his fingers quickening. "You're so good, I could come on your leg just... like... this..."

Thank the Mother he wasn't in rut in the same time: this could be so much worse than it was--and so much better, his Alpha growled.