Azriel x reader (Rhysand sister)
Summary: Azriel is a huge chatter box around his mate as he tries to tell her how much he loves her, but you love teasing him.
Warnings: soft!azriel, smut!, p in v, dom!azriel, dirty talk (Azriel doesn’t know how to shut up), size kink, choking, use of sex toys (vibrator), pussydrunk!azriel
Authors note: I just love when Azriel is only a chatter box around his mate and to his mate. Love this one shot as well, this was actually the first things I’ve ever wrote in my drafts!
You barely notice how long you’ve been staring at the same line.
The letter to Eris sits half-finished on your desk, ink drying at the tip of your pen as your thoughts drift—again—to shadows, to wings, to the quiet absence that has filled the last two weeks.
You sigh softly, pressing your lips together as you force yourself back to the page.
Two weeks. He said it would only be two weeks.
Your head snaps up before you can stop yourself.
Azriel stands in the doorway, shadows curling lazily around him like they’ve missed you just as much as he has. There’s a soft, almost hesitant smile on his face—like he isn’t entirely sure how you’ll react, like he’s still surprised every time you look at him the way you do.
“You’re back,” you breathe, already pushing your chair back.
You don’t even remember crossing the room—only the warmth of him as you reach him, the familiar, grounding presence that settles something deep in your chest.
Azriel exhales your name like it’s a relief.
His hands find your waist, gentle but certain, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. It’s not rushed, not desperate—just warm and real and him.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You smile, brushing your nose against his. “You took too long.”
A faint flush rises along his cheeks at that, and gods, you love it.
“I—well—I tried to—” he starts, already stumbling, already losing the thread of whatever explanation he’d prepared.
He clears his throat, guiding you back toward your desk before reluctantly letting go and sitting across from you. His wings shift slightly behind him, like they don’t quite know what to do either.
You sit, chin resting in your hand, watching him with soft, adoring eyes.
That only makes it worse.
“I was thinking,” he begins, then immediately falters. “Not—that I don’t usually think, I just—about this weekend—if you’re not busy, I mean, you probably are, but I thought maybe—”
You nod, completely serious. “Go on.”
His shadows flicker, betraying his nerves.
“The cabin,” he says quickly. “We could go to the cabin. Just for a couple days. It’s quieter there and I thought maybe you’d like—well, I mean, you do like it there, you said that once, and we could—there’s the lake and—”
He gestures vaguely, like the rest of his thoughts are just floating somewhere out of reach.
“And?” you prompt gently, eyes soft but sparkling with amusement.
“And we could just… be there,” he finishes, quieter now. “Together.”
Your chest aches in the best way.
He’s still rambling, still trying to fill the silence.
“We don’t have to, though. If you’d rather stay, or if you have work, or if Rhys needs you or—”
“I want to go,” you say simply.
You nod, smiling in that slow, lovesick way that always seems to undo him. “I always want to go anywhere with you.”
Azriel looks like you’ve just handed him the world and he has no idea what to do with it.
“I just thought—maybe we could—there’s a trail near the ridge and I could show you, and the stars are clearer there, and—”
You keep nodding, not interrupting, not rushing him. Just watching him with all the affection in the world as he stumbles through every thought, every idea, every hope he has for the two of you.
It’s endearing. It’s him.
And you wouldn’t change a single second of it.
Just as he’s starting to circle back on himself again, laughter drifts in from the hallway outside—light, teasing, unmistakable.
Azriel’s shadows perk up immediately, slipping under the door like curious whispers.
Another burst of giggling follows.
You raise a brow, glancing toward the door. “We’re being listened to.”
Azriel groans softly, dropping his head into his hands. “Of course we are.”
You laugh, leaning forward slightly. “Should we invite them in?”
His head snaps up, eyes wide. “No.”
That only makes you grin wider.
“You’re sure?” you tease. “I’m sure they’d love to hear more about the lake. And the stars. And the trail near the ridge—”
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he mutters.
“Doing what?” you ask innocently.
His gaze flicks to yours, soft despite the embarrassment. “Flustering me.”
You tilt your head, reaching across the desk to lace your fingers with his.
“Maybe,” you admit, voice warm. “But only because I love seeing you like this.”
His grip tightens around yours.
The noise outside fades as footsteps retreat—whoever had been listening clearly satisfied.
Silence settles again, softer this time.
Azriel exhales, shaking his head slightly, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips now.
You push your chair back, rising slowly, your hand lingering in Azriel’s for just a second longer before you let go.
“I guess we should see what’s so funny,” you murmur.
Azriel stands immediately, like he’s been waiting for the excuse to be close again. The moment you move toward the door, he’s right behind you—his hand settling against the small of your back, warm and steady, guiding without pushing.
You swear you can feel the slight tension in him already.
Feyre and Cassian are standing just outside like two children caught doing something they absolutely shouldn’t be doing—both mid-giggle, both very clearly listening.
Azriel groans softly behind you.
Feyre instantly straightens, her laughter cutting off as she turns and smacks Cassian lightly on the arm. “Stop it.”
Cassian blinks, then looks between the two of you—and slowly, slowly a smirk spreads across his face.
“Ohhh,” he drawls. “So cabin this weekend, huh?”
Azriel’s hand presses more firmly into your back.
“Shut it, Cass,” he mutters.
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
Feyre, far more composed now, lifts her glass of wine and takes a casual sip like she hadn’t just been eavesdropping moments ago. Then she turns to you, extending her free hand.
“Rhys wanted us to come get you for dinner,” she says smoothly.
Azriel leans in slightly, his breath brushing your ear as his grip tightens just a fraction.
“Sure he did,” he whispers.
Cassian just shrugs beside her, completely unbothered, taking a sip from his own glass like this is the most normal situation in the world.
You glance between them—and then, without warning, reach over and pluck Cassian’s wine glass straight out of his hand.
Before stepping forward to slip your hand into Feyre’s, already walking down the hall like you didn’t just commit a crime.
Behind you, there’s a pause.
Cassian looks down at his now-empty hand.
“…what the—” he mutters, blinking. “Are you kidding me?”
A soft chuckle escapes Azriel, low and warm—one of those rare, unguarded sounds that you feel more than hear.
You don’t have to turn to know he’s shaking his head.
But a second later, his footsteps quicken.
And just as you reach the turn in the hallway, his hand finds your back again—like it belongs there—as he effortlessly falls into step beside you.
Dinner is loud in the way it always is—voices overlapping, laughter echoing off the high ceilings, the soft clink of glasses and cutlery filling the spaces in between.
Everyone is wrapped up in their own conversations.
“And the Day Court—” he’s saying, already halfway through a story, shadows flickering faintly at his shoulders. “It was hotter than usual, I think something’s going on with—well, I don’t think, I know, but I couldn’t stay long enough to—”
You hum softly, listening as you eat, completely focused on him.
At some point, without even thinking about it, you lift your fork toward him.
But he leans forward anyway, letting you feed him before continuing like nothing happened.
Across the table, Rhysand watches the entire exchange with a slow, knowing smirk.
Feyre leans slightly toward him, voice quiet but amused. “I always forget how chatty he gets around her.”
Rhys huffs a quiet laugh. “He was worse before they were mated.”
Feyre bites back a giggle, eyes flicking back to the two of you.
Azriel is still talking—hands moving slightly now as he explains something about patrol routes and suspicious movements, completely at ease in a way he rarely is with anyone else.
You just nod along, offering another bite of food when he gets too caught up to notice he hasn’t eaten.
Eventually, his words slow.
And he glances at you, like he’s just realizing how much he’s been talking.
You smile softly. “Finished?”
A faint flush dusts his cheeks. “…for now.”
Then you turn your attention across the table.
Rhys looks up mid-sip, already suspicious. “That tone never means anything good.”
Cassian snorts into his drink.
You rest your chin lightly on your hand, entirely unbothered. “I just wanted to let you know I’ll be gone this weekend.”
Cassian starts giggling immediately.
Nesta, without even looking at him, slaps his chest. “Stop.”
Rhys’s gaze sharpens, bouncing between the two of you. “What is going on?”
You roll your eyes at Cassian before answering, completely calm. “Az and I are using the cabin this weekend. It’s been a long two weeks.”
Seems ready to accept it—
“All you’re going to do is fuck,” Cassian mutters under his breath.
Then Feyre chokes on a laugh.
You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “You both have mates. But when it’s me and Az, suddenly sex is a big deal?”
Feyre is openly laughing now, and even Cassian looks far too pleased with himself.
Rhys, on the other hand, immediately looks like he regrets every life choice that led him to this moment.
“I don’t need to know this,” he mutters, shaking his head.
You laugh, leaning back slightly. “Brother, you know Az and I—”
Rhys clamps his hands over his ears. “Nope. Absolutely not. I’m done. Leave. This weekend. Please.”
That only makes you laugh harder.
Beside you, Azriel’s shoulders shake with quiet amusement, his usual restraint slipping just enough to show how entertained he is.
Then, under the table, his hand slides down—
Resting warm and steady against your thigh.
He’s already looking at you.
And together, you both laugh—caught somewhere between exasperation and affection—as the chaos of your family carries on around you.
Warmth wraps around you before you even fully wake—strong arms around your waist, steady and grounding, and the gentle brush of breath against the back of your neck.
You smile before your eyes even open.
You shift in his hold, turning slowly until you’re facing him, still tucked against his chest. Your nose brushes against his, light and affectionate.
He grumbles something in his sleep, instinctively tightening his hold and pulling you closer like he can’t quite let go—not even unconsciously.
You lean in and press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.
His brows twitch, shadows stirring faintly as his eyes blink open, still heavy with sleep. For a second, he just looks at you—soft, warm, completely unguarded.
Then a slow smirk tugs at his lips.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough.
Before you can answer, he leans in, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. His hand drifts along your back, slow and absentminded, fingertips brushing over your bare skin—
The touch sends a shiver through you, especially when his hand grazes the sensitive area where your wings meet your back.
There’s a flicker of satisfaction in his expression as his hand repeats the motion, slower this time.
You press your palm lightly against his chest. “Az…”
He hums, clearly not intending to stop anytime soon.
“I need to pack,” you mutter, though there’s no real bite behind it. “And so do you.”
Azriel groans immediately, like you’ve just personally offended him.
Instead of letting you go, he buries his face into your neck, arms tightening around you as if that alone might keep you in bed.
You giggle, trying to squirm away.
He mumbles something against your skin—low, muffled, completely unintelligible.
You tilt your head, smiling. “What was that, Azzie?”
Then slowly lifts his head, eyes already betraying him as a flush creeps across his cheeks.
“I said,” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze now, “why do you have to pack right now?”
You lean down, brushing your lips against his again—slow, teasing—before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.
“I wanna be alone with my mate,” you murmur. “I haven’t seen him in two weeks.”
“And I wanna—” you pause just long enough to watch the anticipation flicker across his face, “—fuck my mate I haven’t seen in two weeks, all weekend long.”
You laugh softly, clearly enjoying every second of this.
Azriel shakes his head once, like he’s trying to reset himself—
Then suddenly he’s moving.
He throws the covers off, practically launching himself out of bed and grabbing two duffle bags in one swift motion.
“Packing,” he mutters, far too quickly.
You blink, then laugh as he turns back, grabs your hand, and tugs you right out of bed with him.
“No delays,” he says, already halfway across the room, wings shifting with purpose. “We’re leaving as soon as possible.”
You can’t stop laughing as you stumble after him, your mate suddenly very, very motivated.
And somehow even more adorable because of it.
Azriel moves around the room with a kind of focused urgency that makes you smile.
Drawers open, bags unzip, clothes are folded—well, mostly folded—as he starts talking again, words coming easier now that he has something to do with his hands.
“We should probably stop at that little shop in the village,” he says, tossing a shirt into one of the duffle bags. “The one just before the turn up to the cabin. They usually have fresh bread and fruit, and I think I saw they had—uh—cheese last time, and we could make something for lunch when we get there, or even just—”
You nod along, grabbing a few things of your own. “Bread, fruit, cheese… maybe wine?”
He glances at you. “Definitely wine.”
You grin, muttering a few more things under your breath as you mentally build the list.
Behind you, Azriel goes a little quieter.
You don’t think much of it—until you notice he’s just… standing there.
He’s holding a small handful of your underwear.
Then—very deliberately—he does not put it in the bag.
“Azriel,” you say, trying—and failing—to sound serious. “Where is my underwear?”
He looks up at you, completely unrepentant.
Leans in just enough to press a soft, quick kiss to your lips.
“You won’t need any this weekend,” he murmurs.
You laugh, shaking your head, warmth blooming in your chest at how bold he’s suddenly being.
A knock sounds at the door.
Azriel sighs under his breath before heading over and pulling it open—
Only to find Feyre and Nesta standing there.
Both with very knowing expressions.
They walk in without waiting for permission, and you immediately narrow your eyes just a fraction. “Why do you both look like that?”
Feyre says nothing, just smiling as she holds out a small gift bag toward you.
You take it slowly. “…thank you?”
Confusion laces your voice as you peek inside, fingers already moving to open it—
Both of them say it at the same time.
They’re staring at you wide-eyed.
You carefully close the bag again, holding it like it might explode, before turning and handing it to Azriel.
He takes it, brows furrowed in confusion as he sets it down.
Nesta crosses her arms. “You’ll want to open it this weekend.”
Feyre nods, barely containing her grin. “Yes. We definitely believe it will be useful.”
You and Azriel share a glance.
His expression is somewhere between confused and suspicious.
You, on the other hand, are already fighting a smile.
“Well,” you say slowly, “thank you. I’ll… let you know.”
Nesta smirks. “We’ll ask about it next girls’ night.”
You laugh, nodding. “Of course you will.”
Beside you, Azriel looks between all three of you like he’s missed something important—again.
He always does when it comes to those nights.
Feyre gives you one last knowing look before turning toward the door, Nesta following.
But just before the door shuts, Nesta pauses.
Then the door clicks closed.
You slowly turn your head toward Azriel.
He’s already looking at you.
“…what,” he says carefully, “was that?”
Your smile turns just a little too innocent.
“You’ll find out this weekend.”
Once everything is finally packed, you take a moment to step away from Azriel, letting him finish his bath while you check in with Amren.
She’s lounging on her usual spot on the sofa, eyes sharp but distant, clearly half-listening to your instructions. “Make sure the library’s locked, the contracts are filed, and the wine cellar is… standard,” you mutter, running through the list.
Amren hums, not even looking at you. “Mm-hmm. Yes. I know. You’ve done this enough times; I’ll manage.”
You raise an eyebrow, pressing a little further, “Anything else you need me to—”
A noise down the hall catches your attention. Azriel appears at the end of the corridor, carrying both duffle bags with that slight, shy curve to his smile.
Amren freezes mid-gesture, her hand raised in your direction. She mutters your name, voice soft but sharp. “…Go. I already know what to do. Now… go fuck your impatient mate.”
Your cheeks heat, and you glance back at her. Amren simply shrugs, nodding once, as if this is the most logical course of action.
You turn fully toward Azriel. He’s looking at you, shadows flickering faintly as he waits, that small blush dusting his cheeks, a smile just for you.
You bite back a laugh and mutter, “Thank you.”
He just nods, shifting the weight of the bags slightly, still smiling.
Your hand reaches for his, fingers threading together naturally. “Ready, my love?” you murmur, voice low and teasing.
Azriel’s blush deepens, and he squeezes your hand lightly. “Always.”
Then, with a gentle, shared inhale, you both vanish in a soft shimmer of light—the world shifting and twisting around you as you winnow together.
Moments later, the cabin rises around you, quiet and secluded. The air smells of pine and the faint smoke of the hearth, the sunlight streaming through the windows painting the room gold.
Azriel lowers the bags gently, letting go of your hand just long enough to brush a kiss against your temple. “We’re finally here,” he murmurs.
You smile, leaning into him, already feeling the weight of two weeks melt away. “Finally,” you whisper back, just for the two of you.
Dinner plates are cleared, the last of the bread crumbs swept into the trash, and Azriel hums softly as he finishes the dishes. The warm water splashes lightly against the bowls, shadows flickering across the walls from the fireplace, and you settle into the couch with your book, curling a blanket around your legs.
He slides out from the kitchen, drying his hands, and before you can react, he’s kneeling behind you, warm and insistent. His lips brush down the nape of your neck, and you giggle, tilting your head as his hands settle gently on your shoulders.
“Mmm, you’re too easy,” he murmurs, voice low.
You swat his shoulder playfully, still giggling. “Shut up, shadow boy.”
Then, as his gaze drifts, it lands on the small gift bag Nesta and Feyre had left on the desk earlier. His expression stiffens, and he leans forward slightly, frowning.
“Open it,” he mutters, voice quiet but firm, shadows twitching at his fingertips.
You glance down at him, eyebrows raised. He’s staring at the bag as though it’s somehow insulting him personally. The intensity of his gaze makes your lips twitch.
You can’t help it—you giggle softly. “Oh, you’re offended now?”
Before he can answer, you scoop up the bag, holding it away from his line of sight, and carefully tear it open.
Azriel’s eyes widen as he catches glimpses of what’s inside—his jaw tightening slightly, shadows flaring faintly around him as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.
Your eyes widen as well at the contents, then you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.
And then… you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up, low and amused, at both the gift and Azriel’s reaction.
He leans back slightly, expression unreadable for a moment, then a slow, crooked smile tugs at his lips as he mutters, “You are impossible.”
You grin, looking down at the gift, already imagining the weekend ahead. “And you love it.”
He just huffs, letting out a soft chuckle, and leans in again, pressing a kiss to your temple as he murmurs, “You’re lucky I do.”
You grin, pulling the sleek, black vibrator from the bag. Its surface is smooth, humming faintly with a quiet, magical energy. Azriel’s growl is immediate, a low, possessive rumble that vibrates against your temple as he leans down, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck.
“Those meddling friends of ours,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat in it. His hands slide down your back, brushing the sensitive, hidden bases of your wings.
You gasp, a sharp, delicious shock of pleasure arcing through you, and moan softly. The sound makes him groan directly into your ear, his breath hot. “Gods,” he whispers, the word strained. “I wanna use that on you. Right now.”
You turn your head, catching his lips in a quick, heated kiss. “Please, Az,” you breathe against his mouth, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Want you to use me.”
A dark, wicked smirk curls his lips. “Yeah?” he murmurs, his hands already moving. “Want me to use my little mate?”
You nod, your breath hitching as his grip turns firm. In one smooth, effortless motion, he manhandles you, turning you and laying you back against the plush cushions of the couch. Your book tumbles forgotten to the floor. He kneels between your legs, his shadows swirling with palpable anticipation.
His hands go to the waistband of your pants. There’s a soft rip of fabric, and then cool air kisses your skin. You arch up, helping him pull your shirt over your head, leaving you bare before him. He doesn’t wait. He lowers his head between your thighs, his tongue finding your core in one long, lavish stroke.
You cry out, your hands flying to his silken hair. He moans against you, the vibration making your hips jerk. As he licks and sucks with devastating focus, a tendril of shadow darts to the discarded box, slices it open with phantom precision, and delivers the vibrator to their master’s waiting hand.
Azriel lifts his head, his chin glistening. He kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he flicks the device on. The low, steady hum fills the space between you. He rolls the buzzing tip over your nipple, and you arch off the couch with a loud, ragged moan.
He kisses you again, swallowing the sound. “Gods, my love,” he breathes against your lips. “So loud for me.” He drags the vibrator down your body, a slow, torturous path over your stomach, until he finally settles it right against your clit.
The sensation is intense, immediate. You whine, bucking against his hand. “Higher… please, Az, need it higher.”
He chuckles, a dark, sweet sound, and nuzzles your neck. “So greedy.” He turns the setting up. The increased vibration makes you see stars. You arch wildly, a broken moan torn from your throat as he chooses that moment to slip a finger inside you, then a second, crooking them perfectly.
“Let me come, Az. Please, I need to,” you beg, your voice trembling.
“You need it, baby?” he purrs, adding a third finger, stretching you beautifully. The fullness, combined with the relentless buzzing on your clit, is too much. “Then come,” he commands softly, his lips brushing your ear. “Come for me, my sweet little mate.”
You shatter with a sharp cry, your body convulsing around his fingers, waves of pleasure crashing through you. He doesn’t give you a second to breathe. As you’re still trembling through the aftershocks, he hands the vibrator off to his shadows and rises to his feet, stripping his own clothes with hurried, efficient movements.
You moan, dazed, as the shadows take over. One holds the vibrator back against your oversensitive clit, while others, cool and silken, begin to stroke along your inner thighs, your stomach, the undersides of your breasts—everywhere, all at once. It’s overwhelming, a cascade of sensation.
Then Azriel is back, sheathing himself inside you in one deep, claiming thrust. You gasp, the stretch intense, perfect. He turns the vibrator in the shadow’s grip up to its highest setting and presses it firmly against you once more.
“Fuck,” he groans, beginning to move, his thrusts deep and measured, perfectly synced with the maddening buzz. “So good. You take me so well. Such a good mate for me.”
Your legs begin to shake uncontrollably. The dual assault—his cock filling you, the vibrator pushing you relentlessly higher, the shadows caressing every other inch of you—is too much, and not enough. You’re hurtling toward another peak.
“Come, baby,” he grunts, his forehead pressed to yours, his amber eyes burning into you. “Come for your mate.”
You do, screaming his name as your climax rips through you, even more powerful than the first. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps moving, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, as the shadows continue their relentless, teasing touches, overstimulating you into a sobbing, pleading mess.
“One more,” Azriel groans, his own control fraying. “Give me one more.”
“Can’t, Az,” you sob, your body feeling like a live wire. “I can’t…”
He grips your chin, forcing your tear-filled eyes to meet his. “Yes, you can.”
You shake your head as he lifts one leg over his shoulder and he leans down, “you have your word, love.”
You shake your head weakly, overwhelmed. “Want you… need my mate to come with me.”
Your trembling hand reaches back, your fingers finding the sensitive, membranous edge of his wing.
A ragged, shattered roar is torn from his throat as his release erupts, hot and endless, deep inside you. The feel of him pulsing within you, the possessive claim of it, triggers your own body one final, impossible time. You don’t just come—you gush around him, a hot flood of release that soaks his cock and the couch beneath you, the force of it milking his own orgasm until he’s spent and shuddering, collapsing over you with his full weight.
For a long time, the only sounds are your combined, ragged breaths and the quiet hum of the vibrator, which a shadow finally, politely, turns off and sets aside.
Azriel eventually lifts his head, his eyes hazy with satiated bliss. He looks at the mess, at your utterly wrecked, blissful expression, and a slow, deeply satisfied smile spreads across his face.
“Told you,” he murmurs, his voice rough, as he brushes a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead. “You could give me one more.”
You giggle softly, the sound light and warm in the quiet of the cabin. Leaning in, you press a quick, teasing kiss to his lips before pulling back just enough to murmur, “Sleep… I need sleep.”
Azriel’s gaze softens instantly. Without a word, he drifts closer, the shadows around him still, calm. One strong hand drapes a cool sheet over you, tucking it snugly around your shoulders, while his lips find your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss.
“Yes… you do,” he murmurs against your skin, voice husky and tender. “Love.”
You sigh, melting into him, letting the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his presence lull you into that perfect, peaceful sleep you’ve been craving for two weeks.
You wake not to sunlight, but to sensation—a warm, wet, blissfully insistent pressure between your thighs. A soft, muffled moan escapes you before you’re even fully conscious. As awareness filters in, so do the words.
“Mmm… so perfect… fuck, just like honey and starlight… gods, I could write sonnets… no, ballads… epic fucking ballads about this right here…”
Azriel. His voice is a low, worshipful murmur, vibrating directly against your most sensitive flesh. You arch off the mattress with a gasp, your hands flying down to tangle in his silken hair.
He lifts his head just enough to look up the line of your body, his hazel eyes dark and hazy with devotion. A faint, disappointed whine escapes him. “I was hoping I could make you come before you woke up,” he pouts, his lips glistening.
You’re momentarily stunned by his shameless, sleepy bluntness, but he doesn’t give you time to process it. He dives back in with renewed fervor, his tongue laving broad, slow strokes that make your toes curl. Then his free hand comes up, his palm settling against your throat, not squeezing, just holding—a firm, possessive claim. The pressure makes you gasp, and he moans against you, the sound thrumming through your core.
“Tastes like heaven,” he mumbles, his words slightly slurred by his task. “My own personal heaven. Could stay here for days… weeks… fuck the Court, just give me this…”
You’re reduced to a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him. His shadows join the symphony of sensation, two cool, silken tendrils brushing over your peaked nipples, another gently sweeping your hair back from your damp forehead.
“So responsive,” he chatters, punctuating his words with a suck that makes you cry out. “Every little touch… gods, you’re perfect.” He slips two fingers inside you, curling them expertly. A groan rattles his chest. “So tight. I would think after last night you wouldn’t be, but no… still so perfect and tight for me… like you were made just to take me…”
“Azriel,” you sob, his name a broken prayer.
He looks up at the sound, a wicked, smug smirk gracing his beautiful mouth. He crawls up your body, not breaking the intimate connection of his fingers moving inside you, and captures your lips in a deep, searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and addictive.
“Want to make you come, baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, his breath hot. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue.”
You can only nod frantically, your hips rolling to meet the thrust of his fingers. He adds a third, stretching you beautifully, and you moan into his mouth.
“Think I could fit my whole hand in here, baby,” he muses, his tone conversational even as his eyes blaze with lust. “Just… work you open until you’re screaming. Fuck, the thought…”
You whimper, overwhelmed by the image, by the feel of him.
He kisses you again, softer this time. “Another time for that,” he promises, like he’s noting it down on a mental list. “Today… today is for this.”
He slides back down your body, resuming his place between your thighs with a contented sigh, as if he’s returned to his favorite spot in the world. His fingers continue their slow, deep rhythm inside you, his tongue circling your clit with devastating precision.
“Come on, my love,” he encourages, his voice a husky vibration against your skin. His shadows stroke your sides, your breasts, adding to the exquisite torture. “Come on my tongue. Wanna taste you… wanna drink you down… let me have it, baby…”
The combination of his relentless mouth, his filling fingers, his possessive hand on your throat, and the whispered, filthy praise is too much. Your climax crashes over you without warning, a silent, breathless explosion that seizes every muscle in your body. You convulse around his fingers, a hot rush of release spilling against his tongue.
He groans, deep and satisfied, lapping at you gently through the aftershocks until you’re squirming from over-sensitivity. Finally, he releases your throat, slowly slips his fingers from your pulsing core, and presses a final, tender kiss to your inner thigh.
He pulls the rumpled sheets back up over your trembling body, tucking them around your shoulders with surprising gentleness. He brushes a kiss to your sweat-damp temple.
“Get some more sleep, my beautiful mate,” he murmurs, his voice now a soft, sleepy rumble. All the earlier chatter has melted into pure tenderness. “You have the whole weekend to catch up on two weeks of missed rest.”
You manage a weak, sated smirk, reaching up to curl a hand behind his neck. You bring him down for a slow, deep kiss, tasting yourself and him and pure morning bliss.
“Mmm,” he hums against your lips, smiling. “Best breakfast I’ve ever had.” He settles beside you, pulling you into the curve of his body, and within moments, his breathing evens out into sleep, one hand resting possessively on your hip.
And wrapped in his warmth, surrounded by the faint, lingering scent of your shared pleasure, you drift back into a deep, dreamless sleep.
