Chapter ☆ Thirty-Three

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Rhys fetched himself a glass of water from the kitchen. Then another. Before finally heading upstairs and into the bathroom where Feyre was perched on the side of the tub. He cocked his head to the side slightly. "You bathe fully clothed now? So much has changed in my absence." He shook his head.

She glared over her shoulder. "Not- thank you my mate for drawing me a bath after a month away? So much has changed, indeed."

"I have other ideas about showing my gratitude," he said with a smirk and a wink before he started stripping out of his fighting leathers.

She rolled her eyes and stood, walking over to him. "Let me," she said softly as she stepped in front of him, and helped remove his weapons and leathers.

Rhys let his hands drop to his sides, allowing her to undress him. He hadn't realized how many weapons he had strapped to his person until they all started clattering to the floor as she removed them. He watched her, noticing a bit of a glow about her that hadn't been there when he left. It was like she was glowing, differently from the night she lit up like a lighthouse in a storm.

She glanced up at him from where she stood, unbuttoning the jacket, and smiled slightly. "You're staring, High Lord."

"Is there a new rule you've made that discourages staring at beautiful things?" he inquired, with a quirk of his brow.

She shook her head, the smile still on her face, but her cheeks flushing under his stare. She finally finished with his jacket, moving to remove it from his person, and the scent of him underneath almost called to her. She placed her hands on her chest and breathed in, closing her eyes as he engulfed her senses. It was too long since she had his scent on her...

"You're sniffing, High Lady," Rhys said, mocking her earlier statement. He didn't mind one bit that she was inhaling his scent, inhaling him. He'd done the same thing when he'd first stepped through that threshold.

"Mmm..." she confirmed, unashamed and she lay her head against his chest. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she would be content just to do that for the rest of her immortal existence. This was the best she had felt in the last week... all she's need to do is keep him with it an arms reach for every morning for the rest of her pregnancy and she may get through it.

He wrapped an arm lazily around her waist, holding her close to him. Pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He considered making another snide remark but decided against it. Instead, he picked her up, holding her against his chest, and waded into the large bathtub -- clothes on and all.

"What?! Rhys!" she exclaimed as he picked her up, struggling against him, knowing that he had every intention of dragging her into the tub with all of her clothes on, and there would be nothing she could do to stop him.

Rhys only grinned and chuckled as she fought against him. But he paid it no mind. Their clothes could dry. He finally submerged them and looked down at Feyre with a gleam in his eye and a proud grin on his face.

She glowered at him, dropping wet all over, but couldn't help but grin. It still didn't stop her from splashing water up at his face once she got her hair out of hers

He closed his eyes against the onslaught of water. But his grin remained as he shook his head, hair from his sodden hair flying all over the place, splashing Feyre in the face as well as getting all over the edge of the tub.

She flinched slightly, but laughed. And realized her sweater was retaining a lot of water very fast. She looked up to him with a perked brow and a suggestive smile.

He looked down at her, cocking his head to the side as he observed her perked brow. Then his gaze traveled lower, noticing the curves made more visible by her soaking wet sweater. His grin was feline. "Oh, I do love your choice of wardrobe, Feyre darling," he said as he leaned down to press his lips to hers.

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