This document is Chapter 55 from A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas, a pivotal and intimate chapter in which the protagonist Feyre finally confesses her love to Rhysand and accepts him as her mate, marking the emotional and romantic culmination of their relationship throughout the novel; the chapter depicts their physical union, which is intertwined with the acceptance of their magical mating bond, and is followed by tender, vulnerable conversation in which both characters share when they first fell in love, discuss their future together — including options for a formal mating ceremony — and briefly address the looming threat of war, the return of the queens, and the question of children, with Feyre expressing her desire to live freely and adventurously with Rhys before taking on greater responsibilities, and Rhys responding with unconditional patience and devotion.
CHAPTER
55
I watched him consume every spoonful, his eyes darting between where I
stood and the soup.
When he was done, he set down his spoon.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he said at last.
“I was going to tell you what I’d decided the moment I saw you on the
threshold.”
Rhys twisted in his seat toward me. “And now?”
Aware of every breath, every movement, I sat in his lap. His hands
gently braced my hips as I studied his face. “And now I want you to
know, Rhysand, that I love you. I want you to know … ” His lips
trembled, and I brushed away the tear that escaped down his cheek. “I
want you to know,” I whispered, “that I am broken and healing, but
every piece of my heart belongs to you. And I am honored—honored to
be your mate.”
His arms wrapped around me and he pressed his forehead to my
shoulder, his body shaking. I stroked a hand through his silken hair.
“I love you,” I said again. I hadn’t dared say the words in my head.
“And I’d endure every second of it over again so I could find you. And if
war comes, we’ll face it. Together. I won’t let them take me from you.
And I won’t let them take you from me, either.”
Rhys looked up, his face gleaming with tears. He went still as I leaned
in, kissing away one tear. Then the other. As he had once kissed away
mine.
When my lips were wet and salty with them, I pulled back far enough
to see his eyes. “You’re mine,” I breathed.
His body shuddered with what might have been a sob, but his lips
found my own.
It was gentle—soft. The kiss he might have given me if we’d been
granted time and peace to meet across our two separate worlds. To court
each other. I slid my arms around his shoulders, opening my mouth to
him, and his tongue slipped in, caressing my own. Mate—my mate.
He hardened against me, and I groaned into his mouth.
The sound snapped whatever leash he’d had on himself, and Rhysand
scooped me up in a smooth movement before laying me flat on the table
—amongst and on top of all the paints.
He deepened the kiss, and I wrapped my legs around his back,
hooking him closer. He tore his lips from my mouth to my neck, where
he dragged his teeth and tongue down my skin as his hands slid under
my sweater and went up, up, to cup my breasts. I arched into the touch,
and lifted my arms as he peeled away my sweater in one easy motion.
Rhys pulled back to survey me, my body naked from the waist up.
Paint soaked into my hair, my arms. But all I could think of was his
mouth as it lowered to my breast and sucked, his tongue flicking against
my nipple.
I plunged my fingers into his hair, and he braced a hand beside my
head—smack atop a palette of paint. He let out a low laugh, and I
watched, breathless, as he took that hand and traced a circle around my
breast, then lower, until he painted a downward arrow beneath my belly
button.
“Lest you forget where this is going to end,” he said.
I snarled at him, a silent order, and he laughed again, his mouth
finding my other breast. He ground his hips against me, teasing—teasing
me so horribly that I had to touch him, had to just feel more of him.
There was paint all over my hands, my arms, but I didn’t care as I
grabbed at his clothes. He shifted enough to let me remove them,
weapons and leather thudding to the ground, revealing that beautiful
tattooed body, the powerful muscles and wings now peeking above them.
My mate—my mate.
His mouth crashed into mine, his bare skin so warm against my own,
and I gripped his face, smearing paint there, too. Smearing it in his hair,
until great streaks of blue and red and green ran through it. His hands
found my waist, and I bucked my hips off the table to help him remove
my socks, my leggings.
Rhys pulled back again, and I let out a bark of protest—that choked
off into a gasp as he gripped my thighs and yanked me to the edge of the
table, through paints and brushes and cups of water, hooked my legs over
his shoulders to rest on either side of those beautiful wings, and knelt
before me.
Knelt on those stars and mountains inked on his knees. He would bow
for no one and nothing—
But his mate. His equal.
The first lick of Rhysand’s tongue set me on fire.
I want you splayed out on the table like my own personal feast.
He growled his approval at my moan, my taste, and unleashed himself
on me entirely.
A hand pinning my hips to the table, he worked me in great sweeping
strokes. And when his tongue slid inside me, I reached up to grip the
edge of the table, to grip the edge of the world that I was very near to
falling off.
He licked and kissed his way to the apex of my thighs, just as his
fingers replaced where his mouth had been, pumping inside me as he
sucked, his teeth scraping ever so slightly—
I bowed off the table as my climax shattered through me, splintering
my consciousness into a million pieces. He kept licking me, fingers still
moving. “Rhys,” I rasped.
Now. I wanted him now.
But he remained kneeling, feasting on me, that hand pinning me to the
table.
I went over the edge again. And only when I was trembling, half
sobbing, limp with pleasure, did Rhys rise from the floor.
He looked me over, naked, covered in paint, his own face and body
smeared with it, and give me a slow, satisfied male smile. “You’re mine,”
he snarled, and hefted me up into his arms.
I wanted the wall—I wanted him to just take me against the wall, but
he carried me into the room I’d been using and set me down on the bed
with heartbreaking gentleness.
Wholly naked, I watched as he unbuttoned his pants, and the
considerable length of him sprang free. My mouth went dry at the sight
of it. I wanted him, wanted every glorious inch of him in me, wanted to
claw at him until our souls were forged together.
He didn’t say anything as he came over me, wings tucked in tight.
He’d never gone to bed with a female while his wings were out. But I
was his mate. He would yield only for me.
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