Fifteen.
Rhysand x reader
a/n: writing with a headache + fatigue. This might be a rough one 🫠
warnings: cockwarming; grinding(?); post-orgasm fluff/teasing; caffeine is canon?
word count: 762
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You shift closer to him, naked and straddling his lap, wrapped beneath a cosy, cotton blanket to keep out the relative chill of his office.
Rhys reclines in his chair, the mechanisms clicking to redistribute your shared weight as the back tilts to compensate, allowing you to drape further against him.
Ugh. If only he wasn’t wearing so many clothes…
A broad palm lifts to the crown of your head, lightly stroking your hair. You clutch the blanket tighter, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, taking a deep drag of his scent. Cedar. Jasmine. Citrus.
Something sweet mixed with the briny salt of the early-morning air.
Refreshing, and outdoorsy. The perfect balance to the cosy cocoon you’ve found yourself in.
Rhysand grazes his lips to you, and you practically melt beneath his affection, hot palms pawing at his shirt, trailing down the muscled planes of his stomach until your fingers reach bare skin. Hot, bare skin that has a trail of hair dusting his abdomen, leading further until it disappears beneath you. Inside of you.
You roll your hips against him, shivering as the head of his cock pushes against that spot with a delicious pressure. Pressure that has your thighs trembling, nipples hardening as fabric scrapes against them.
“Rhys…” you mumble, resting your cheek on his shoulder, “how much longer?”
“Not long,” he replies, stroking the crown of your head. Violet eyes glance to the clock mounted upon the wall, the long and short hands almost as erect as he is.
Almost.
A shiver runs up your spine and you shift again, revelling in those brief tingles of pleasure. Toeing the line between stimulation and soothing warmth.
“Darling,” Rhys chides fondly, pressing more kisses to the crown of your head. Soft, and lingering. “Not long,” he repeats, “you’re the one who interrupted me, remember. If you’d have been patient we’d be in bed already.”
“Mmmm…you shouldn’t have made me wait all day,” you mumble against him, nipping up along the column of his throat. His ears twitch, then one arm comes down to curve beneath your ass, tilting you forward on top of him.
Your mouth pops open from the pressure and the angle, hips bucking of their own accord as his cock pushes repeatedly against that part. Rubbing…stimulating… Your clit rubs over the firm push of his pelvis, and that familiar itch begs to be satisfied.
It’s not as intense as the first one; this orgasm is soothing, and relieving—a fluttering flood of pleasure that simmers in your chest and thighs.
“Mhmm. That’s it…” Rhys encourages, murmured into the quiet. “Knew you still had one left in you.” His arm releases you, allowing you to settle back into his lap, cock still lodged inside though no longer as deep. “How does that feel, darling?” He whispers, hips gently bucking to ease you down from the high. “Feels better, doesn’t it? All tired out now.”
“Uh-huh…’bout ready to fall asleep on you…”
“That right?” He asks.
You think you manage a nod.
“Answer me,” he chuckles, and you pinch his side lightly in retaliation. No way you’re going to engage with him when you’re like this. He’s always seeking moments to gently tease you.
Admittedly it gets a smile from you.
A soft, buttery pit in your belly.
“Right, I’m sorry,” he laughs, hand stroking across your back. “I’ll get to the end of this chapter, then I’ll take you to bed. Sound good?”
“‘Bout damn time…” You shift, managing to sit vaguely upright to meet his eyes. You don’t miss how they take their time roving down your front, bare to his gaze. “You should be much more tired than you’re, Rhys. Does your magic work ‘s a caffeine substitute?”
“Big words for my tired darling,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I am tired. Very tired. But work needs to be done.”
You grumble, eyes sliding shut as you settle back into the crook of his neck, hips gently rolling atop his own, giving a slight squeeze. “You need to be done.” You huff a laugh as his pulse spikes beneath your mouth. “…Preferably by me.”
“You’re halfway to bed already,” he grumbles, “what’re you going to manage?”
“Ugh. You. And me. In bed. Resting.”
The High Lord chuckles faintly, satisfied with your performative irritation. “Soon. I promise,” he whispers, kissing your head again. Lingering for a few extra moments. “I’ll carry you through, so go ahead and get a head start on that rest for me.”
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