The Embers Never Fade - Black Rose Part 5
Summary: Rhysand and Niamh turn a spark into a flame.
Pairings: Rhysand x OC (Niamh, no physical description but AFAB parts are mentioned)
Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUTTY SMUTTY SMUT MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! A hint of pining, use of mind powers for dirty talk, mention of past SA (not descriptive), fingering/handjob, mild choking, a little cumplay, begging, P in V sex (wrap it before you tap it, y’all), feelings talk, mentions of complex relationship dynamics. Plus Rhysand is a warning on his own.
Word Count: 3223
A/N: This is my first time posting smut that I’ve written, only my second time writing it so please be gentle! Rhys sure isn’t ;)
All joking aside, since this is a new subject for me I appreciate feedback more than usual! Likes, Comments, Reblogs, Notes, anything!
Title is from “Tonight, Tonight” by The Smashing Pumpkins, Banner made by me.
Enjoy!!
Part 3 | Part 4 | Masterlist
It didn’t take long for Niamh to crave Rhysand in all the ways she used to. Fifty years of absence, then nearly three months of avoiding him had indeed made her heart — among other parts — grow fonder.
The High Lord certainly didn’t help matters.
He was sweet. Thoughtful. When they were apart, he’d send her little missives written on scraps of paper about how boring his meetings were and how much he missed her. He brought her seeds for rare plants she could grow in her garden or greenhouse. He’d even suggested some changes she could make to her small home to make it habitable for him — turning the spare bedroom into a walk-in closet and replacing the tub with one large enough for two.
And yet, he hadn’t made any moves to restore their physical relationship. He’d promised he would let her take the lead on that front, and she had to admire his restraint. He hadn’t so much as asked for a kiss on the cheek or to hold her hand while they were on their various dates.
Together they’d spent an afternoon walking through the Rainbow, dipping into any little shops that caught their eye. He’d taken her to the botanical gardens and listened to her lecture him about the different species of plants they encountered. Her first family dinner back they had partnered for charades and wiped the floor with Mor and Cassian while Amren and Azriel had buried themselves in books.
A few times she’d caught him with his hand hovering near her shoulder or the small of her back, but he’d pull the hand away and bury it in his hair or shove it into his pocket when she noticed. She could tell his patience was fraying.
Niamh’s own patience was wearing thin.
Tonight he’d taken her out to dinner at her favorite restaurant along the Sidre. While walking home, their hands kept brushing against each other until she threaded her fingers in between his. She couldn’t miss the self-satisfied smirk on his handsome face as they approached her front door.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve seen you home safe and sound. I suppose I should take my leave.”
He didn’t let go of her hand, instead raising their entwined fingers to place feather-light kisses along her knuckles. The way his violet eyes locked onto hers, radiating care and adoration and confidence, had broken her.
He wouldn’t be leaving her. Not tonight.
Using her free hand, Niamh grabbed the High Lord by the back of the neck and pressed their lips together, their entwined hands squished between their chests so she could feel both of their heartbeats.
The kiss was cathartic, passionate, burning with pent-up hunger. He used his free hand to skate down her shoulders to her hips, pulling her against his body. He turned them, lips reacquainting themselves with each other, and pressed her against the front door of her house.
Niamh groped for the doorknob, opening the door and stumbling backward into the foyer with a girlish giggle. Rhys caught her, a rich laugh emanating from deep in his chest. A second later he was pressing her back to him, his nose brushing along her neck, inhaling her scent and groaning. Distantly, she heard her front door slam shut and lock.
“You smell incredible, Sweetrose,” he said, the deeper tone of his words making her shiver. His hands rested on her hips again, the feeling burning through her. Plush lips pressed themselves into the skin of her shoulder, trailing up her neck and finding the spot that made her melt.
Niamh’s head fell back and she moaned, “Rhys…”
“Mmm, I love it when you moan my name.”
His reply made her arousal spike and she pulled out of his grasp, latching her mouth to his. Ravenous, she shoved her hands into his hair while he pulled the short sleeves of her dress down over her shoulders.
His lips parted from hers and attacked her neck and collarbones and the tops of her breasts, sucking hard and then soothing the skin with his tongue. Obviously he remembered how much she liked being marked up by him.
She remembered a few things of her own as well.
“Fuck, Rhys,” she moaned, pulling on his hair just enough to make it hurt. Rhys growled and nipped the plush top of her breast, she gasped in pleasure. Before she could retaliate, his strong arms wrapped under her ass and lifted her so his face was buried between her breasts. Niamh squealed in surprise.
“What are—”
“Bedroom,” was his only reply, slightly muffled by her tits. Niamh couldn’t help but giggle. Without moving his head, he blindly crossed through her living room and turned down the short hall that led to her bedroom. Depositing her on the bed, Rhys then hooked his hands under her knees and pulled her toward the edge.
Niamh sat up and he knelt on the floor in front of her, large hands stroking down her thighs. When he looked up at her she felt the question around the hedges made of adamant in her mind — the ones she’d constructed against his demadi powers.
Are you sure?
She nodded and lowered the walls — the sensations they shared with each other could be downright earth-shattering — leaning forward to press her forehead against his, eyes closed in the sheer bliss of being able to touch him again.
I want you, Rhys, but only if you’re ready.
She couldn’t help the flash of one of his frequent nightmares that appeared — of red hair, a piercing of blood red nails on his skin — then it was gone. Rhys’s hand gripped the back of her head and pressed his head harder against hers. Her eyes popped open, taking in his closed-eye expression and tracing his cheek with the tips of her fingers.
As she opened her mouth to apologize her mind was flooded with memories of the moments like this they had shared before he was imprisoned — Rhys kissing his way down her body, Niamh doing the same to him, every imaginable position, her fingers tracing his tattoos, the way her brow scrunched as she came — on and on he sent her the endless memories until she was flat against her bed. Whether she’d fallen or he’d guided her down, she didn’t know, nor did she have time to ponder it because the second the memories stopped Rhys rose from the floor and tugged at the skirt of her dress.
She propped herself on her elbows and took in her High Lord, standing tall and proud at the end of her mattress, his trademark smirk across his lips. The darkness of the night settled around him, along with the moonlight coming from the windows. He cut an imposing frame in the small room — she was glad he hadn’t unsheathed his wings lest he knock everything off her dresser and shelves.
His hand tugged at her skirt again, the other working the top button of his own black shirt and Niamh got the message before he had a chance to plant the idea in her mind.
I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
Now take off your clothes before I rip them off.
Eager, High Lord? She teased into his mind and he tore the rest of his shirt off, growling low in his throat.
“You have no idea,” he said, leaning onto the mattress and nipping at her neck. A rush of cold air encircled her entire body. When she looked down, her dress had turned into black mist and was drifting away from her body, now naked before Rhys.
She only had a second to glare at him — You took too long — before his mouth was crashing against hers, his body leading her down onto the bed with his. Her core flooded with heat when his body slipped between her knees, his own arousal pressing against her inner thigh. She reached down and yanked at his belt; she needed him, now.
“Eager, Princess?” he chuckled in her ear, teeth scraping along her earlobe. All she could do was nod, working his zipper and reaching into his pants to reveal his length. When her hand wrapped around his thick cock he groaned, a new wave of arousal making her nearly drip.
“Fuck, Niamh,” he muttered as she squeezed and started pumping him in the way she remembered he loved. Rhys sat up on his knees, tracing his hands along her body and gazing down at her. His eyes were mere rings of violet around dilated pupils, blown out with lust. He looked down at her adoringly, watching her stroking his cock for a moment, then stroked a long line through her folds. She moaned loudly while his fingers worked at her aching sex, spreading her open for him.
“You’re so wet,” he marveled, tilting his head to watch, “And I’ve barely touched you.”
Her hips moved against his digits, seeking friction, and he obliged by slipping a finger in and crooking it, sending a jolt of pleasure ricocheting through her. A second finger joined quickly, slowly pumping in and out of her. She squeezed his fingers with every pass and his breath hitched.
Rhys’s head dropped back and exposed the long line from his throat down to his throbbing cock and Niamh couldn’t resist — she ran her free hand from the base of his cock over his chiseled stomach, between his stunning pecs with swirling tattoos, and let her hand rest at the base of his neck, squeezing lightly.
Rhys gasped out a breath, then found her bundle of nerves and pressed, making her cry out. His free hand came to cup one of her breasts, then he bent and flicked his tongue across her sensitive nipple, all while his fingers still worked their magic inside her. She felt her climax approaching.
“Please, Rhys,” she begged. “I need you.”
Before she finished her sentence he shoved her hand off his purple-headed dick and lined himself up against her entrance. Raising the fingers that had been inside her a moment ago, he held eye contact with her as he licked them clean. She whimpered at the obscene sight and the feeling of him pressing insistently against her wet hole.
He tore his eyes away from hers and looked down at where they were almost joined. Rhys loved watching his cock disappear into her.
So pretty for me, he said into her mind as he slid inside inch by inch, letting her adjust around him. Feel so fucking good. Fuck, I missed you. Not gonna last long…
Me neither, she replied, then out loud she breathed, “Fuck me, Rhys.”
It started slow, allowing for each of them to find their long-lost rhythms, him dragging along her inner walls and her arching against him to drive him deeper, deeper, with every thrust. Once they found it, which didn’t take long, Rhys picked up his pace and it was all Niamh could do but cling to him, nails digging into the muscles of his back and heels pressing into his ass as she moved with him.
His thrusts were deep and brutal and fast, each one sparking waves of flame that tore through her as he hit the spot deep within her that made her see stars. Between the stars and the flame, she wailed with almost overwhelming pleasure.
This was healing.
This was homecoming.
This was reunion.
“‘M gonna cum, love,” he grunted, hand seeking out her clit again. “Cum for me, cum for me.”
She clenched, their labored breathing and his dirty words throttling her toward release. His thumb circled her clit once, twice more, and she was thrown into ecstasy.
Her thighs trembled and her throat went hoarse as he plunged into her again and again, his own pace faltering just as her orgasm was sputtering out. As his release coated her walls, he pressed their foreheads together again, sending her nothing but affection and love and gratitude before sliding out of her which made them both shudder.
He lay back for a moment and they stared up at the canopy of her bed, criss-crossed by a climbing pothos plant. She looked over at him, his stunning profile in sharp relief against the moonlit window. Mother above, he was gorgeous. His eyes were closed, a satisfied smile curving his perfect lips. His ink-black hair was disheveled and a flush crept over his perfect cheekbones, hands resting on his stomach. Satisfaction rolled off of him, invading her own mind for a moment.
Was she satisfied? Sexually, yes, very much yes, but in other aspects? She didn’t know. Niamh didn’t know what came next for them or what this “pelvic reunion” — as he’d jokingly called it — meant for their relationship, or if it even meant anything at all.
They were grown-ass High Fae, however, and the ambiguity between them was frustrating. Niamh couldn’t let herself fully trust his actions. Doubt consistently crept into any sweet moment they shared, like now as they reclined in post-coital bliss.
She shifted to lay on her side, facing away from him. He was quick to fill in the space behind her, wrapping one arm over her waist and the other under her head to act as a pillow. For a moment she allowed herself to savor his closeness, how his sculpted form felt pressed up against her naked back.
If she’d learned anything from her sessions with Hypatia it was that it was always better to ask for what one needed. She needed to know.
“What are we doing, Rhys?”
“Cuddling,” He responded casually as he brushed light kisses along her bare shoulder. The hand of the arm under her head came up and played with a strand of her hair.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Sweetrose?”
“We slept together and you have a mate,” she whispered.
“Ah, that.” She felt him shrug against her back, “The bond hasn’t been accepted, she doesn’t even know what it is. And she still hates me. We have time, Niamh, trust me.”
Guilt welled within her.
“So…what?” Niamh nudged him away from her and got out of bed, yanking on the silk robe that was tossed over the back of her vanity chair. She tied it off with a sharp snap of fabric. “I’m just someone to fuck until Feyre realizes she’s your mate?”
“It’s not like that,” he started, reaching over the space she had just occupied, beckoning her back into bed with him. “Come back to bed.”
“But it feels like that!” She noticed his fist clench in her sage-colored sheet at her words. “It’s all I can ever be to you now, a place holder while you-”
He interrupted her this time, vaulting off the bed with impressive speed and gripping onto her upper arms. He hunched over to look her in the eye, intensity radiating from him in powerful waves. “You are not a place holder. I love you! I have loved you for hundreds of years, despite everything that should’ve kept us apart. You have always had my heart, my very soul, Niamh.”
The adamant hedges around her mind were still down and he took advantage of that, sending her wave after wave of love. It swept through her mind and made it nearly impossible for her to remain rational. She clung to the life raft full of questions she had, arguments to be made. Slowly, she put her walls back up.
“You speak of everything that should’ve kept us apart while ignoring the biggest thing that will for sure come between us.” Niamh pulled out of his grasp and put some space between them, “Even if she doesn’t know, even if she hasn’t accepted it, you’re mated, and I can’t see a way around that.”
She turned around and wrapped her arms around herself, missing his presence even though he was mere steps away.
Over the last few weeks she read more about mating bonds. Everything she read said basically the same thing; mating bonds were rare and sacred. No magic could break it, and denying one would most certainly drive one or both parties mad. Part of her wished that Rhys would move on and forget about her, focus his love on his mate so it would hurt less when they were torn apart by the bond.
“Do you think if I could help how I felt about you that I would be here?” She heard him approach, felt the warmth of his bare body through the silk of her robe when he came to stand behind her, not touching her. “My parents were mates, equals, and they fucking hated each other. I seem to recall a certain Spring Court High Lord and his Lady who also weren’t too fond of one another?”
He was right — she hated that he was right. A Mating Bond, however unbreakable, did not mean the mates would be happy together. Her own parents had given her a grim look at what an unhappy mating looked like; her father, an abusive rageful tyrant, and her mother, a shrinking violet too afraid of her husband’s wrath to defend her children against him.
She turned and leaned her butt against her vanity, arms still crossed and looking up into his violet eyes that brimmed with concern and a touch of fear.
“Don’t you love her?” Niamh asked, not sure which answer she preferred. He’d told her he loved his mate — Feyre, she remembered — when they’d reconciled over tea.
Slowly, Rhys nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “I do love her. I also love you, and like you said love isn’t finite,” he explained, closing the distance between them, tilting her chin up with a finger so she had to look him in the eye. “The Cauldron gave me a mate, yes, but thoughts of you, Niamh, got me through every damn day in that prison and most of the days since my return. I love you. I will never stop loving you, even if Feyre accepts the bond.”
“I…I know. But this whole nebulous, complicated thing is difficult. Knowing that you’re going to have something permanent and special and I’ll be alone…it hurts.”
He tilted his head like a confused puppy, “You don’t think we’re permanent?”
“Bonds are intense, powerful magic. Who’s to say that you won’t forget all about me once she accepts?” Niamh shrugged, annoyance with herself rising. Why couldn’t she just accept that Rhys loved her and be happy?
The answer was obvious. She would get hurt, and she’d rather have it be her fault than his. It was easier that way, cleaner. But she felt her desire to keep fighting against herself waning, her impulse to seize the moment with Rhys eclipsing it.
Rhys reached out his hands to her, his sculpted muscles moving under his golden skin as he did. She unfolded her arms and put her hands in his.
“I don’t know what will happen, Niamh, but I need you to believe that I will always come back to you. You will never lose me again, I swear. On my life, my position as High Lord, on fucking Velaris itself.”
His sincerity overwhelmed her. And finally — finally — she let herself believe him.