Tastier than Ice cream || Rhys

It had already been a rough day for Rhys. Having to take care of Asch's needs, learning more from Lady Grandma, coming up with battle plans, and lastly making sure Ava hadn't been figured out. Every task had piled onto the next, weighing on him until his shoulders felt heavy and his thoughts started to blur at the edges. So when he stepped back into his room and saw you there—quiet, waiting, warm—his heart softened instantly. All the exhaustion, all the chaos, all the pressure became something he could finally set down for a moment. Just seeing you made the entire day feel worth it.

You both had been dating before he went to Earth, your relationship strong enough to survive secrets, distance, and the worry that came with not knowing when he’d return. You covered for him, protected him, filled the spaces he left behind so no one would question where he’d gone. And when he finally came back, the first thing he searched for was you—and of course, you were right there.

You were getting ready for bed now, the soft light from the lamp painting warm tones across your skin. Rhys didn’t even bother pretending he wasn’t desperate for contact; he wrapped his arms around you from behind and pulled you back into his chest. “I missed you,” he murmured, voice low and sincere, before letting his lips trail down your shoulder. He paused, glancing up for permission, and when you gave even the smallest hint of approval, he didn’t waste a second moving both of you onto the bed.

It didn’t take long before he was on his knees between your legs, gently coaxing them open. Was it his first time attempting to eat you out? Yes. Did that make him nervous? Absolutely. But it didn’t sway him in the slightest—if anything, his determination sparked brighter. There was a first time for everything, and he wanted this one to be good for you.

He lifted your legs and rested them carefully over his shoulders, adjusting you with a tenderness that made your pulse flutter. You could tell how nervous he was by the way his hands hesitated, how his breath shook a little each time he leaned closer. He wasn’t just aroused—though that was obvious in the way his pupils were blown and his cheeks slightly flushed—he was scared of hurting you. Especially with the tiny fangs he tried so hard to keep out of the way. He took extra care, kissing softly, testing pressure, making sure the tips never brushed your skin too sharply. He wanted you to feel good, not worried.

And then—he got his first taste. His whole body froze for a second before he lifted his head with a stunned expression, eyes wide, lips glistening. “You taste almost as good as ice cream,” he said, and then grinned softly, “maybe even better.” His voice held genuine wonder, like he couldn’t believe something could taste like that.

When he dipped back down, he was more confident, slipping his hands around your waist and gripping gently—anchoring himself, holding you in place but still being careful with the sharpness of his teeth. Every movement was deliberate, slow at first, as he kept taking it easy to make sure he didn’t hurt you. But the steady warmth of his mouth and the cautious, almost reverent way he explored you made it clear he was already sinking deeper into the moment, savoring every second he spent between your thighs.