There was a noise of disappointment, of need to be filled, when Rhysand pulled his fingers from her. She felt empty and she needed him. But she was soon distracted by watching Rhysand lick his fingers cleaned, her eyes never leaving his mouth. She wanted that mouth on her and between her legs.

She gasped into the kiss, her arms and hands wrapping around his shoulder and neck, keeping him close as she felt him nudge and press against her entrance. She was slick and stretched, ready for him to fill her, to make her his. Feyre moaned into the kiss and shook her head. “Don’t go slow. I need you, Rhysand. I need you to fill me.”