Rhys paced, checked the time on his phone, and straightened his tux jacket again. Upon seeing the gown, Mor had decided she needed to take Feyre under her wing for the day and get her ready. Then she promised to drop Feyre off at Nox Industries where they would take a limo to the restaurant he had made reservations at. Once dinner was over, they would go to the art gallery and Rhys would happily watch Feyre study far more art. But Mor was notoriously late, something that grated on Rhys' nerves. They weren't late yet, but it was getting seriously close to the time he had told Mor he needed Feyre to meet him.

"You would think he'd wear a hole in the floor that way," he heard Mor's voice chime behind him. He whipped around and stopped breathing as he took in Feyre.

The gown he had selected for her was a floor length, dark blue, crystal encrusted gown with a neckline that brushed her collarbones and full-length sleeves. The modesty of it was almost destroyed by how it clung to every curve and hollow of her body. Her golden brown hair was left down, teased into slight curls, and pinned back with crystal combs. Her blue gray eyes were lined, her lashes darkened and lengthened, and shimmered with just enough color on the lid to bring out their natural light. Her painted pink lips twisted up into a smirk and he suddenly remembered how to breathe again.

"You look delicious, Feyre Darling," he purred as he prowled towards her.

"She's a woman, not a dessert, Cousin," Mor chided but Feyre was blushing slightly.

"You don't look half bad yourself. I almost expected to see you in another tailored black suit," Feyre regained herself.

"Wait until you see what I wear at home. The shock of me in jeans and a t-shirt could kill you," Rhys chuckled. "Shall we go, Feyre Darling? I made us reservations."

"Of course," she beamed up at him. "Thank you, again, Mor, for everything." She took his offered arm and let him steer her out the front of the building right to the waiting limo. "Why haven't I seen jeans and a t-shirt Rhys yet?" She asked when the limo was moving in the right direction.

"Because women would jump me left and right and I'd never get any work done. Even you, Darling, would be powerless to not jump on this," he waved a hand down his body and received what he could only describe as a cackle in return.

"Why the limo tonight? I thought you liked to drive yourself," came the next question.

"I do like to drive myself. However, this night has an event that will require me to have a certain image in place. We need to make an entrance. You alone on my arm would do the trick with how gorgeous you are, but a little extra helps."

"You pretend to be someone else for these things, should I?" She turned to look at him fully and he momentarily stopped breathing again.

"You don't need to do anything," he tried to assure her. His entire family had personas they adopted in public but he couldn't stomach the idea of Feyre doing such a thing. He couldn't imagine stifling her light in any way.

"So, tell me about what to expect tonight," she leaned a little closer to him.

"So many questions tonight," he teased back. She reached out and pinched his leg hard in response. He laughed and began explaining about the people she might come across at the art gallery.
Dinner was excellent as Rhys had expected. They, or rather just him, were recognized on sight and escorted back to a private table where they were waited on with just enough attention that they weren't suffocated with it. After several good bottles of wine and full dinners for both of them where Rhys assured Feyre she could indeed order the steak if she so wanted, but she chose lobster instead, they were back in the limo and on their way to the art gallery.

The magnificent glass building was lit up from the inside with bright lights like a beacon. Anyone important that hadn't been invited to the event would certainly know one was being missed and they were being snubbed for whatever reason. Rhys steered Feyre straight through the front door, presented his invitation to the bouncers at the inner door, and collected a glass of white wine for Feyre and red for himself.

The artist they were viewing used a lot of impressions rather than images and Feyre was quick to keep him looking at the art instead of her by asking what he thought the image was supposed to be. They debated about each one, waiting to read the plaques with the names of the works written on them until after they were completely sure of what they thought it was. Sometimes they were right, other times they were completely wrong and they would laugh as they moved on to the next painting.

Rhys kept Feyre's glass full as they wandered through the gallery, ignoring the others walking about. He only had eyes for her and she pretty much only had eyes for the art, though he did catch her sneaking a glance or two his way. That he could still draw her attention, albeit briefly, from the art made him feel good about his chances with her accepting another date in the future.

The only trouble spot of the evening happened when he left for the fifth time to get Feyre and himself another glass of wine. When he returned to where Feyre had been, she was missing, but he could hear her protesting. He found a place to set both glasses down and rounded the corner to see several of the Vanserra boys pulling her toward a stairwell. It was clear Feyre was trying to break their hold on her, but she likely had no self defense training and there were three of them to just one small her.

"And where would you boys happen to be taking my date," Rhys found his voice going cold far too easily. The Vanserra boys, with the exception of Lucien, had reputations for being rough with females and often without consent of any kind.

"Word on the street is Greene wants her back. He might even have a reward if we return her," one of them stepped out. "And we can have a little fun first. She will be too drugged up to remember if it was us or you who assaulted her."

Rhys didn't remember moving but he had the one speaking out cold against the wall before he could utter another word. The other two stared for all of a moment before they dropped their holds on Feyre and ran. Rhys waited a moment for the rage to subside before he crossed to Feyre and offered his hand to her though he wanted nothing more than to hold her. He needed to let her choose how much contact she wanted after she was grabbed so unpleasantly. She looked down at the hand for a moment, then to the unconscious Vanserra against the wall, and took one step, and then another until she was completely against him. His arms closed around her easily.

"Did they drug you?" He asked softly. "A needle anywhere, a drink they gave you, anything they put over your mouth?"

"No, nothing," she replied, "yet."

"Then let's go back to where we were," he put an arm around her waist and steered her out of the back hallway. She wrapped an arm around his waist as well, likely for assurance more than affection. He steered her to grab a fresh glass of wine and then back to the paintings.

"Rhysand Nox, I presume?" A young man's voice carried over to him a few paintings later. "I only guess by the appearance and the way people are trying to avoid you." He turned to see a young man with dark skin, turquoise eyes, and nearly white hair. Tarquin Summer, the newest CEO of Summer Hospitalities.

"Mr. Summer, how may I help you?" Rhys gave him a smile. The young man had been looking into Velaris at one point but not as a threat. He seemed to have been studying the structure of the businesses and how Velaris helped them.

"I was actually hoping to meet the fetching young lady at your side. Her insight into art has been quite intriguing," Tarquin turned to Feyre and offered her a hand. She gave him a pleasant smile and took his hand for a quick squeeze.

"Feyre Archeron," she gave her name. "You have an interest in art?"

"Greene's girl?" He asked looking to Rhys with a raised eyebrow.

"My own person," she replied tartly, retreating a step into Rhys.

"Feyre belongs to no one but herself," Rhys informed Tarquin.

"I'm sorry. There are rumors going around about what he did to you. I'm sorry you were mistreated," Tarquin gave a small bow of his head. "I have an interest in all things beautiful and I'm always on the lookout for art for my resorts. Though, to be honest," he gave a shy smile, "I prefer to buy from lesser known artists than this. Support those who struggle to get noticed."

"A noble cause," Feyre admitted. "You might try looking at the community art classes that are offered around Prythian. They are usually full of budding artists. I know one man that paints beautiful cityscapes at every single one."

"You sound like you attend the art classes," Tarquin glanced at Rhys before stepping closer. "Do you paint?"

"Some, not often. Mr. Nox keeps me busy with my work," she turned back to Rhys to hook her arm through his.

Rhys smiled at her attempt to avoid Tarquin's flirting, however subtle it was. That she painted was new information to him but after seeing her at the museum and all night with the works, he could see how it all was likely fueled by a passion for painting herself. At some point he would need to get her to tell him all about her art, maybe beg to see a piece or two.

"I've heard you've been working at Nox Industries. I didn't realize you two worked so closely," Tarquin took only a small step back. "You know," he reached into his pocket, "here's my card. If you ever want to sell any of your work, give me a call." Feyre took the card. "And thank you for the advice. I will look into those classes." Then Tarquin left them but Rhys could feel his eyes and more than that following them for the rest of the evening.

It was late by the time he steered Feyre back out to the limo. He helped her into the back and then turned to face the driver. "We are going to drop Miss Archeron off first. Her address," he offered a card he had written the address on to the driver.

"Very good, Mr. Nox," the driver nodded and Rhys went to join Feyre in the back of the limo.

As the limo started to move, Rhys gave Feyre a look over while she stared out the window. Her eyes were glazed just a little and she swayed slightly until she turned to smile up at him with the most dazzling smile he had ever seen.

"I had a great time," she admitted.

"I'm glad I could treat you," he shifted a little closer. All he truly was hoping for was that she would lay her head against his shoulder for the duration of the ride and perhaps he would be able to steal a kiss at her door. But Feyre had other plans, it seemed.

She surged forward and pressed her soft lips against his. Rhys wrapped an arm around her waist as she opened her mouth and let out a contented sigh. His self control went out the window and his tongue darted out to meet hers. A soft moan from her had him tightening his grip around her and deepening the kiss even more.

He wasn't sure who moved first or if it was something mutual between them but some part of him realized Feyre was on his lap, straddling him, while his hands were exploring her back and tangling in her hair. She ground against him and he couldn't help the groans escaping him at how she was turning him on. He needed to get that gown off of her, he needed to get her down on the floor and just take her, he needed to hear her screaming his name.

A knock on the window next to his head snapped his attention away from Feyre and he realized they were stopped. The clock located up near the front of the limo showed him nearly twenty minutes had passed though he couldn't place where any of the time had gone. There had only been Feyre, his blood boiling in his veins, and the way her body was pressed against his to make his pants unbearably tight. Rhys glanced out the window and frowned. They were not outside of Feyre's apartment building. He had never been there to recognize it, but he did recognize his own townhouse. Feyre's glazed eyes followed to the window and he cursed to himself. He didn't want her thinking he had planned to take her to his place.

"I asked him to take you home first," Rhys tried to tell her.

"This is where you live?" She asked after a moment, her eyes swinging back to his face. He nodded, not willing to trust himself. It was simple compared to how most people of his wealth and power lived. It wasn't some large mansion on the edge of the city or an expensive penthouse condo. It was a townhouse on a quiet, residential street. It was a larger townhouse with four bedrooms, five bathrooms, and a rooftop garden he spent most of his home time in, but it was still fairly simple. "It looks nice," came her reply.

"It is," he admitted. "I'll get the driver to take you home." Rhys started to reach for the button to roll down the window but Feyre stopped him with a hand over his.

"Wait," she moved until she was flush against him. "The night doesn't have to end here, does it?" Her mouth moved to his jawline and he couldn't help the groan that escaped him. Feyre was going to be the death of him. This constant battle between what was right and what his body wanted- what she was making his body want, was going to stress his body to the point it would just give up and spare him the decision. He almost hoped it would, but then Feyre trailed a hand down his chest, his stomach, and lower to his inner thigh just barely brushing by where he was still half hard from her grinding against him.

"Fey-ruh," he begged. "I'm trying to do as you asked. I'm trying to be respectful of your wishes," he forced out as her tongue and teeth started to assault his ear.

"What if," she whispered between her ministrations, "I have other wishes that I think might be more worth your time?"

"Feyre, I can't. You've been drinking," he moved her off of him. "You've been drinking and I don't want you to regret a single thing about being with me." The effort it took to even force the words from his mouth, to realize he was turning her down, was the hardest thing he had ever done. But Feyre's eyes were bright as she looked him over once, then twice. Then a small smile lit her face and she reached over, opened the door, and proceeded to climb over his lap to get out.

"Are you coming?" She asked with a glance over her shoulder.

The breath caught in his chest as he stumbled out after her. He only stopped to look at the driver hoping for an explanation. He simply held out his phone and on the screen was a message from his own brother, Azriel, instructing the driver to not bring Feyre home.

"I thought since you two were so entangled, she might rather stay here than the hotel that was suggested," the driver murmured. Rhys only nodded, thanked the man, and tipped him well before following up to where Feyre waited outside of his front door.

He unlocked the door, disarmed the alarms as Feyre looked around the foyer, and then he relocked the door and reset the alarm before offering Feyre a hand. She took it and came to him willingly and started tugging on his bowtie until it was loose, and then started to unbutton his shirt.

"Feyre," he gripped her hands. "Are you sure you want this?"

"The limo is gone now," she informed him.

"I have a guest room you can stay in," he promised. "We don't need to do anything."

"I'm not drunk, Rhys," she turned her face up to his. "Will you kiss me again?"

Rhys searched her face, searched her eyes, and thought a prayer to the Mother that Feyre wouldn't regret a single moment as he lowered his mouth to hers. Instantly she opened her mouth to his and that was his undoing. He pulled her up the stairs, shedding his tux jacket, his shoes, Feyre's shoes, and the combs in Feyre's hair as they stopped to lean against the railings of the stairs, the walls, several closed doors, and finally against the door to his bedroom. He found the doorknob and turned it, causing them to stumble into his room.

Feyre broke away from him for a moment, her eyes taking in the details of the room. The king sized bed with its black comforter and black, satin pillows, the wardrobe against one wall, the desk and armchair that looked out over he courtyard below, and the doors that led to his bathroom and his closet. Then slowly, she reached back and Rhys stopped breathing as he heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down. It took all of a moment for the gown to slide down her arms and body until it pooled on the ground, exposing her skin and the blue scraps of lace that covered her chest and center. She turned, offering him a view of her beautiful backside where the lace was barely visible, and walked to the bed. Her hands came back once more and she unhooked her bra and let that fall to the floor as well.

Rhys remembered how to breathe as she turned towards him and sat on the bed. His mouth went dry at the sight of her bare breasts, the flat planes of her stomach, and the way she spread her legs ever so slightly in invitation. His legs moved of their own accord until he was standing in front of her, his legs between hers.

"You're too clothed," she whispered.

"Maybe we should fix that," he replied, feeling his normal swagger abandon him.

Feyre's fingers found the buttons of his shirt and she very slowly and methodically unbuttoned every single one until his shirt was gone. Then she turned her attention to his pants. Her fingers brushed against his hardness as she unbuttoned his waistband and slid the pants to the floor, leaving him in his boxers and his socks.

"Better," she murmured giving him an appreciative once over. She pulled her legs up until she could kneel on the side of the bed and rose up to start kissing him once more. Her breasts pressed against his chest and he was almost to the point he couldn't think anymore. Almost.

"Feyre," he broke away from her one last time. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you, Rhys," she told him with a soft smile. "I want you on me, kissing me, inside of me." He growled and pinned her back against the bed in an instant. She writhed underneath of him and pressed up against him. Rhys pinned her hands above her head and let his mouth start to roam every place he had wanted to kiss, to taste, to feel. She moaned beneath him. And only when he had thoroughly explored her with his mouth did he strip them both of their final undergarments.

Rhys knew, there would be a time to go hard and fast. There would be a time to give into his boiling blood and the heat that had overtaken him in the limo. There would be time to pin Feyre to the nearest surface and take her while she screamed in pleasure. But this wasn't that time. This was the time to go soft and slow. To drag out both of their pleasures as he worshiped her body until both of them were too exhausted to do more than pull the covers around them before falling asleep entangled in each other.