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“It’s so beautiful,” Gwyn breathed, as she and Nesta turned to survey the sprawling estate before them. Elain and Lucien’s home sat amidst undulating slopes of green—a wide and stunning expanse of natural life that had been tamed into beauty. Up ahead, the gravel path they were standing on met a wide alabaster staircase, which climbed to a sweeping veranda framed with wisteria that hung like grapes on the vine.
Nesta had travelled to the Spring Court enough times in order to visit Elain that she was no longer astounded by its beauty. If anything, Nesta always found the flowers and hedges too groomed for her liking—too pompous and joyous in their making—the purple irises, pale snowdrops and sunny daffodils too complimentary of the other to seem natural. Nesta preferred the wildness of the Night Court—the citrus and salt of Velaris, the pine and snow of Illyria. She loved the glittering canvas of the night sky, the staggering white-peaked mountains, the red-walls of the House of Wind, and the undulating curves of the Sidra as it wound its way through the city to the sea…
Yet, despite Nesta’s preference for another Court, Nesta had always known that Spring suited her sister perfectly. Elain had always belonged where things were in bloom—where life was thriving and the sun reached its buttery rays into an azure sky.
Elain and Lucien hadn’t been there to greet them when Azriel had winnowed her and Gwyn to the iron-wrought gates of the estate half an hour earlier. But rather than heading directly up the gravel path that led to the front of the house, Nesta had steered a wide-eyed Gwyn into the extensive gardens which hugged the left-side of the manor.
And despite the grumbling of her friend’s stomach, Gwyn had allowed Nesta to guide her through the neatly trimmed hedges, the marble statues, a stone bench pointed between a crab apple tree, until they reached the back of the house. After all, it was Gwyn’s first trip to Elain and Lucien’s estate, and Nesta had known that her auburn-haired friend wouldn’t be able to resist drinking in the beauty of the grounds that she’d read so extensively about.
The sun was slotting below the horizon as they walked. It lay claim to dusk with a final burst of colour across the sky, the burnt orange providing a stunning backdrop to the white house and the lilac-coloured wisteria which stretched across its back.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such beauty,” Gwyn remarked, twirling on the spot to take in all of the splendid colours around them. When Nesta failed to reply, Gwyn glanced at her friend through the corner of her eye. “Don’t you think, Nesta?”
Wrinkling her nose, Nesta tried, in vain, not to itch. Already the pollen was coating her skin, winding its way up her nostrils. Blinking rapidly to fight back her watery eyes, Nesta muttered, “It’s a breeding ground for pollen.”
Gwyn dragged her gaze away from a fat bumblebee suckling nectar from the stamen of a yellow rose with red tips, to examine Nesta. What she saw had her raising an eyebrow. “If your allergies are this bad, there’s not much hope for Cassian.”
Cassian would struggle during his entire trip to Spring, Nesta knew that. Her usually jovial husband and mate had grumbled when he’d seen the rose-stamped letter sitting beside Rhys at the dinner table a few weeks back. Had taken a deep drag of wine as Feyre explained that Elain and Lucien had invited the Night Court to celebrate Calanmai with them. It was an on-going show of hospitality between the two courts since Lucien and Elain’s reign, and given that Elain was family, the decision to go hadn’t been a difficult one.
But Cassian had been hesitant. Nesta’s mate, usually so eager for a party, had muttered that he’d scratch his skin off over a three-day trip to spring eternal. Feyre had just laughed, but had ended the evening vowing to send word to the Night Court’s healer for a plentiful supply of anti-histamine tonic.
It had been later that evening, after they’d returned to their wing at the House of Wind, that Nesta had wound her arms around her mate’s neck and murmured, “We don’t have to leave the bedroom, you know.”
Dark, hazel eyes had lifted to hers as she’d settled in his lap. Cassian’s arm had slid around her waist, anchoring her body against his. He’d sat defeatedly on the bed the moment they’d got home, as if he was already thinking about the three-days of suffering that was to come. “We don’t?”
Nesta had shrugged as if she was indifferent, even as a heat washed over her. “You’ll have been away for a week in Illyria. We can show our faces before the ritual, then come straight back to our room.” Nesta leant forward, grazed her lips from her mate’s collarbone all the way to his ear. “I can think of some ways to occupy ourselves.”
Everything in Cassian’s expression tensed as his focus narrowed with understanding. A long, calloused finger lifted Nesta’s chin, until their eyes locked, and Cassian could search her expression. “I see,” he rasped eventually, after Nesta was sure he’d peered into her soul. “And does one of them include me pleasuring you until you shatter on my tongue?”
Cassian’s words speared straight towards their destination, sparks of anticipation firing between Nesta’s legs. Nesta squirmed in his lap and Cassian let out a low groan, his hands falling to her hips to steady her. Or maybe it was to encourage her? Because his hips arched upwards slightly, his body betraying just how desperate he was to relieve an ache.
Ebony hair fell across Cassian’s face as his head dipped towards her. And Nesta didn’t just note the thickening of his scent and the erection pushing into her, but the arousal coursing down their shared bond, two waves sent from a different sea, crashing to meet the other.
When their emotions collided, Cassian let out a low sound that was almost tortured in its making. But the control on his leash didn’t snap. He only worked his hand down from her neck, his fingers trailing a lazy, sensual path over her skin, her collarbone, down her sternum. Slowly—slowly—he parted her loose nightgown until he exposed her breast. The second his fingers circled a nipple Nesta had shuddered, just as he’d known she would. Nesta’s body always ached for Cassian’s touch. She’d thought that being mated might lessen their desire for one another, but Nesta had long realised their connection was not something that would ever be quenched.
“A week is a long time without my cock, you mean,” Cassian drawled, just before he caught her nipple between his teeth.
“Without you,” Nesta had managed to reply—her breath hitching into a soft moan as Cassian laved his tongue over the peak to smooth over the slight pain he’d caused. She felt his soft, satisfied snicker against her skin. His smile was wicked when he drew back. He waited. Stared straight up into her eyes, pulling her under his spell before he raked the pad of his thumb directly over the peak. “ But I ’ ll miss that too.”
Shuddering, Nesta had wound her fingers through her mate’s ebony hair and given the strands a sharp tug. It was an order—to do what she didn’t know. To keep on touching her. To kiss her. To lose themselves in one another until they were nothing but a panting tangle of limbs.
Slowly, Cassian had lifted his head. There had still been a glint of something wicked in his hazel eyes, but there was something else, too. Something calm and gentle that ran down their bond—a tender caress.
It was that love that had Nesta brushing her lips over his. It blindly fuelled her fingers as she fought with the stays and ties of his leathers, as his tongue claimed hers and Nesta became high on the taste of him.
When she’d finally wrapped her fingers around him, all of the mastered control Cassian had been exerting bled away. One tight squeeze had Cassian moaning unashamedly into her mouth. “You are divine,” he’d told her, the raw rasp of his voice a delicious caress as it skittered over her skin.
“And yours,” Nesta had surmised simply, knowing that Cassian needed to hear those words just as much as she wanted to give them. A gasp escaped her as a calloused hand slipped beneath the hem of her nightgown and coaxed her legs apart.
They groaned in unison when Cassian’s fingers slid over the centre of her. “So wet for me, sweetheart. Are you going to touch yourself whilst I’m away? Are you going to play with yourself whilst fantasising about all the things I could do to you?”
As he spoke, Cassian’s fingers swept up to the bundle of nerves at the apex of her legs. He drew a few broad, teasing circles that denied Nesta the contact she needed. Stumbling a moan, Nesta had clutched at Cassian’s hair as if it were a lifeline. Had clasped her other hand tighter around him until Cassian jerked his hips into her fist, grunting with pleasure.
“Are you?” She had volleyed back, somehow managing to speak—to remain coherent as he continued to play with her.
“No.”
It took Nesta a few blinks to process her mate’s words. Pleasure obscured her ability to comprehend—the touch of his fingers on her clit so all-consuming that if arousal was a tangible thing, it would blot out the clouds.
Confused, Nesta unfurled her hand from the hard length of him. “No?” She repeated confusedly.
Because she didn’t understand. Between the two of them, their sexual appetite was off the charts. And they both knew that. It was one of the reasons why they were perfect for one another—and there were many reasons.
But Cassian wasn’t swayed by her confusion. He only captured his wife’s mouth. Once. Twice. “I’m going to torture myself instead,” he confessed, his voice a deep rumble against her lips. “I’d rather wait to be in your tight heat than fisting myself to completion.”
A frown knitted Nesta’s brow, even as delight shot through her. Because Cassian liked to play games and Nesta was always willing. After all, their relationship had begun with challenge: with verbal sparring and a constant tussle for control. But as they slowly grew towards one another, that fight for power had shifted in shape, rearing its beautiful head in the bedroom rather than in other areas of their life.
It had turned out that when Nesta let her guard down, she liked to hand over the reins. She liked to submit.
Even so, Nesta lifted her chin in a gesture that Cassian had nicknamed, I Will Slay My Enemies. “And what about me?”
Cassian’s grin had been wolfish, but there was also a sensual promise in the depths of his hazel irises that told Nesta that this bargain would be worth her while. Nesta supposed it always was when it came to Cassian in the bedroom. He always put her pleasure first. “Let’s make a pact. No release until we see each other again. Anyone who breaks the pact gets… punished.”
And because Nesta refused to balk, she’d only straightened her shoulders in determination. “One week?”
“One week, witch,” Cassian had confirmed before he’d kissed her, as if that sealed the deal.
And that had been that.
Apart from it hadn’t been as easy as Nesta had imagined. She’d thought that keeping busy and training hard would combat her sexual appetite, but Nesta had been wrong. In fact, it had been torturous. Somehow knowing that she couldn’t quench her thirst meant that all Nesta could think about was her mate, his talented fingers, his gifted tongue. She thought of sinking down onto his cock in the middle of training, fantasised about taking him in her mouth whilst she spent time with Feyre, dreamt of him pounding into her at a relentless pace when she was curled up with a book in the evenings…
Nesta had always thought she was a female of control, but one week of abstinence from her mate and finding her own pleasure had rid her of all rational sense. It turned out that Nesta couldn’t stop touching herself. Couldn’t stop thinking of Cassian’s warm body against hers and how her blood was channeled to his. He was her addiction, her everything. And not being able to truly ease the ache between her legs in his absence… it was unbearable. Just as bad as not hearing from her mate for seven days—apart from once, via winnowgram: I hope you haven’t broken our bargain, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see you.
Just the memory of Cassian’s scrawled penmanship had desire coiling through Nesta—thousands
of tiny fists curling over between her legs. Her clit throbbed, her breasts ached, the sensation overriding the itch of the pollen. The night prior, Nesta hadn’t been able to stop what she’d given into every night: riding her pleasure until the very last moment. It seemed the pent up denial of release over a week was still trailing her every move, her every breath—
“Nesta?” Gwyn’s voice pierced through Nesta’s thoughts as suddenly as a sharp blade.
Blinking rapidly, Nesta fought back the embarrassment that wanted to sweep her away to somewhere else. There was no doubt in Nesta’s mind that the sweet perfume of the magnificent rose garden they were standing in wasn’t strong enough to mask the change in her scent, but Gwyn only laughed knowingly and took her by the hand.
Together they ascended the stone steps that opened out onto a broad, sweeping veranda. A table and a set of chairs sat on the left. Atop the table’s surface were two plates and two remaining slices of a lattice cherry pie, which sat in a metal tin scattered with crumbs.
“Why don’t we have a cup of tea whilst we wait for the others?” Gwyn announced, waving first to the table and then to the magical tea trolley, which sat just through the glass doors.
“I’m starving,” Gwyn added unnecessarily when Nesta didn’t immediately reply, her words sounding at the same time her stomach gurgled in protest.
“You don’t say,” Nesta commented drily, as together they seated themselves at the table.
Gwyn was too busy staring longingly at the pie to throw Nesta a reproachful look. “We should wait for dinner, shouldn’t we?”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Nesta replied slyly and reached for the pie tin.
But Gwyn remained nervous as Nesta slid a slice of pie onto a plate. When she forked a piece of pie into her mouth, Nesta had to bite back a moan. It was so good it was almost sinful—perfectly balanced, the cherries both sweet and tart and… addictive. Quickly, Nesta took another bite. Then another.
“I’ll just have some tea,” Gwyn said slowly, as if she was still torn between caving to her hunger and being polite. Propriety won out, and Nesta watched as Gwyn fetched the tea trolley from inside the house and rolled it over to the table.
“I suppose you need to eat,” Gwyn remarked above the tinkle of china as she placed the tea set onto the table. “Cassian will be here soon and then you ’ ll both disappear off to your room where you ’ ll spend the entire trip in each other ’ s company.”
Liquid the colour of burnt caramel poured from the tea pot’s spout as Gwyn divided it between two china cups. She added a splash of milk and stirred in two spoonfuls of sugar to each one, before pushing a cup towards Nesta.
Nesta took a slow sip, savouring the sweetness that took the edge off the bitterness that came from the tea leaves. “We’re here to celebrate Calanmai,” she reminded her friend.
Gwyn flashed Nesta a devilish grin. “Exactly.”
Surprised by the intent behind her friend’s grin, Nesta lifted an eyebrow. “I think we’ll be expected to leave our room, Gwyn.”
But even as she spoke, Nesta’s mind was conjuring up the feel of the hard lines of her mate’s body as he pressed against her and the silken strands of ebony as she grabbed greedy handfuls... The phantom scratch of stubble against the insides of Nesta’s thighs suddenly felt too real, and that first delicious touch of his tongue between her legs? By the Mother, Cassian loved to taste her. Nesta thought he existed for it sometimes, as if she was something vital and earth-shaking.
“Well, just for tonight then,” Gwyn countered, but there was an impish, knowing look to her expression, as if Nesta was so gone that even her more tactful friend was struggling not to say something.
But Nesta didn’t reply. Silence fell over the two of them and Nesta wasn’t sure how many minutes passed as she ate her pie and they both sipped their tea. All she knew was that it was time enough for the sunset to finally submit to dusk, the sky dusting itself in pastel pinks and purples that stood like brush strokes amongst a background of muted orange.
At one point, Nesta heard what she believed to be the sharp cry of an animal in the extensive woodland that framed the estate, but she wasn’t entirely sure. Didn’t care, really. Nesta was too busy trying not to think of her mate’s very generous sized cock, and how it would feel when it was finally inside of her.
Gwyn finally broke the quiet with a choked noise that Nesta assumed was a laugh.
Fighting the blush that wanted to burn Nesta’s cheeks, she rose her chin, ready to meet whatever teasing her friend threw at her. But Gwyn’s teal eyes dimmed into something serious. She leant forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she moved. “I was hoping to do the same with Azriel,” she whispered.
“I—what?” Nesta stumbled, thrown off course by the continuation of a conversation which felt like a very long time ago. She rubbed her itchy eyes, damning Madja to hell. She’d administered herself a generous dose of the anti-histamine tonic before Azriel had winnowed them to Spring. Either it had yet to take effect, or Nesta was going to be having a word or two with the ancient healer when she got back to Velaris.
It took Nesta a moment to regroup, but then her eyes narrowed into something wicked. She couldn’t catch the feline smile that curved her mouth. Gwyn wasn’t as open about her exploits in the bedroom as she and Emerie were. Not that either of them begrudged Gwyn of that. But for Gwyn to have mentioned it... Well, Nesta suspected it must have been a significant while since she and the Shadowsinger had tumbled between the sheets.
Cheeks burning, Gwyn knocked back her tea as if it was a knuckle of whisky. “ It ’ s not just you that needs an itch scratched, you know.”
Banishing the amusement from her face, Nesta leant back in her chair and watched as Gwyn practically leapt to pour herself another cup. “Good tea?” Nesta asked drily.
Gwyn rolled her eyes. Waved a long fingered hand. “What I mean is that Azriel has been busy.”
“Too busy to have sex with you?” Nesta frowned.
“What I mean,” Gwyn amended, “is that we ’ ve both been busy.” Her voice dropped back into a whisper. “But I have… needs.”
Nesta snorted and set down her fork. “Gwyn, it’s ok to admit you want to have sex with your mate.”
Sex. Just saying it aloud sent a twinge of something shooting through Nesta’s core. And it was pathetic that Nesta had tortured herself to this point… but she wanted sex, pure and simple. She wanted it so badly she suddenly felt as if she couldn’t think straight. Pleasure alighted in her core at the mere thought of it and her clit… it pulsed, as if an invisible force had somehow pressed its finger down with just the right amount of pressure.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat to steady her desire, but it only provided Nesta with more friction. By the Mother, she needed release more than anything. She moved again, and this time the seam of her stockings rubbed right over the place she needed it the most.
Nesta bit down on her lip—hard—the pain stifling a moan that had surged up her throat, desperate to escape.
Thankfully, Gwyn was too distracted to notice. The blush staining her friend’s cheeks had deepened, hiding the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. It was the exact colour of the cherries in the pie. “I know that,” Gwyn began—
“Everyone knows you and Azriel fuck,” Nesta cut in quickly, wrestling hard with her lungs to try and sound normal when all she wanted to do was thrust a hand under her skirts.
In a desperate bid to distract herself, Nesta took a final bite of pie. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she continued around her mouthful.
“I’m not embarrassed about it,” Gwyn protested, but her voice had risen in pitch. “We’re just waiting for the right moment.”
“Well, if Calanmai isn’t the time to have sex, I don’t know when is,” Nesta forced out. It was getting harder to function. A week without Cassian had clearly taken its toll. She needed to get to her room. She needed—
“Oh, this is good,” Gwyn moaned—her friend had finally caved and scooped a forkful of pie straight from the pie and into her mouth.
But Nesta couldn’t find it in herself to tease Gwyn on her sudden change of heart. Couldn’t because all her focus was on the thrumming of her blood as it pooled in her core. Her spine tingled and her skin suddenly felt too tight, as if it was pulled taut over a tanning rack—
Nesta dropped her fork to her empty plate with a clatter and shot to her feet. The words rushed out of her, as if they were as desperate to escape as Nesta was. “ I ’ m going to wait for Cassian in my room.”
Surprise washed over Gwyn’s face. She frowned up into Nesta’s flustered expression as if she was trying to piece together exactly what was happening. Slowly, she set down her own fork and… blinked—no doubt taken aback by Nesta’s scent which Nesta was sure was hanging over them like a blanket.
Nesta hadn’t thought it possible for Gwyn’s cheeks to deepen in colour, but she watched it happen, utterly mortified.
“Good idea,” Gwyn said eventually, her voice slightly strangled. Then Gwyn ’ s eyes widened in horror, as if she knew what she was going to say next was uncharacteristic of her, but that she was unable to stop it. “ Enjoy the sex,” she blurted out, but Nesta was already gone.
How Nesta made it to her room she wasn’t sure. The crystal glass doors that divided the patio from the house had swung open of their own volition, but Nesta scarcely registered it. She didn’t take in the interior of the house, the black-and-white checkered marble floor, the grand sweeping staircase, the halls of gold and silver… It was all a blur, her vision unfocussed, as if her eyesight had given out only to heighten the mounting, tingling pressure between her legs.
Somehow, Nesta managed to stumble through the polished wooden door of the bedroom she and Cassian stayed in when they came to visit. She didn’t draw a bath like she had planned prior to her visit, nor did she curl up on the mattress with the latest Sellyn Drake novel. Instead, she ripped off her clothes, desperate to rid herself of the material which had been sliding tantalisingly against her skin.
The sheets were cool and crisp when she lay down on the mattress, but they did little to calm the boiling in her blood. Hungry desire rushed through her veins, clambering so desperately for her to crash towards some semblance of release that Nesta could smell the thickening of her own scent.
When Nesta slid a finger directly over her centre, the sensation was so immediate that her back bowed as if she were a puppet and gratification was her master. Her eyes rolled back into her head, her eyelashes swooped downwards so she was cloaked in darkness. A hiss escaped her teeth, the sound like a tempered blade quenched with cold water. And Nesta didn’t need to strain to release as her fingers began to move of their own volition, circling and pressing, faster and faster, because she was already there, as her body hurtled towards something that would fracture her world.
A breathy cry left Nesta’s lips as her fingers pressed down on her clit hard. Her body started to tremor, the shaking racking her body as if she were possessed. And she was possessed, completely wrapped up in a spell of her own making, the pleasure too sweet for Nesta to say no—
Nesta knew she’d struck a deal with Cassian, but that bargain between them had been cast aside the moment that she’d sat down on the patio with Gwyn. It was as if her body had finally given up on waiting and had taken it upon itself to finally submit to what she’d been desperate for all week. And Nesta wanted it. Needed it.
“Oh,” Nesta moaned, her body so primed for release that her fingers slipped through her wetness, struggling to find purchase against the nerve endings that were screaming for her touch. Her spare hand came up to cup her breast, her fingers twisting a nipple in an exact replica of Cassian. “Oh,” she managed again, just as her fingers hit just the right spot.
Release careened towards her, cresting like a wave as it prepared to crash against the shore, gasping—
Fingers closed around Nesta’s wrist just as she began to teeter. Her hand was snatched from between her legs, the movement so sudden that Nesta should have started. But all she did was squeeze her eyes even tighter shut and let out a sob as the delicious heat licking through her core quieted to a buzzing hum.
No, no, please.
Nesta had the awful suspicion that she’d spoken the words aloud, because she felt a glimmer of bemusement and arousal that was not her own.
“This,” a deep voice announced, “was not part of our agreement.”
The scent of pine and musk and fresh air wound towards Nesta, the touch like the satin brush of a ribbon over bare skin. Nesta couldn’t help it; she whined. With her spare hand, she clawed blindly at the large fingers that had closed around her wrist, desperate to be spiralled tighter again, for that coil to wind and wind and wind until the cord snapped.
But Nesta’s mate held on fast, his grip firm but not bruising.
In utter desperation, Nesta canted her hips. Even the soft billow of air she created from the movement was enough to have her choking a moan. It was so good, too good, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t—
“Nesta.” The unwavering command in Cassian’s voice momentarily cut through the desire at her core. And Nesta was certain it was only because Cassian was her mate that her body fought against the cloud of desire that had eclipsed everything else entirely, allowing her to open her eyes.
Cassian swam into view—her beautiful, handsome mate. He was dressed in his fanciest black scaled leathers, his seven siphons gleaming from where they sat atop the back of his hands, his knees, his shoulders, his chest. His unruly black hair was scraped back into a top knot and all Nesta wanted to do was pull at the leather holding it in place so it fell over his face.
Nesta’s stare must have been salacious because his wings flared in anticipation, the membrane a tapestry of umber and the burnt orange you often saw painted across the sky at sunset. Nesta watched her mate’s gaze darken, his pupils pushing out his irises until they were only a slim band of gold.
She couldn’t help it. Nesta writhed under that branded stare as his eyes dragged from her flushed face to her hardened nipples, down, down, down until they snagged between her legs. The expression on Cassian’s face was so intense that it was almost a physical touch. Almost.
A muscle feathered in his jaw. His wings stretched so wide Nesta was sure he’d knock the fae-lamp off the bedside table.
But then Cassian was moving, his body a shadowy blur that made Nesta’s head spin. One swift movement was all it took for Cassian to pin her hands above her head. His nostrils billowed. “Fuck, I can smell how wet you are. Have you missed me, sweetheart?”
“Touch me,” was all Nesta managed to croak in response. She tried to arrange her expression into something fierce, but the desire coursing through her blood won over her penchant for pride. “Please—”
“Please?” Cassian mused. A frown marred his brow. Nesta rarely begged. Not so early on, anyway.
Slowly, Cassian bent at the waist. When his mouth ghosted over hers, Nesta melted, her mouth opening to him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. But Cassian drew back too soon, his brow still furrowed. Contemplatively, he touched his tongue to his own lips and his quizzical expression flipped on its head as a scar-flecked eyebrow shot up in surprise. “What have you eaten, sweetheart?”
But Nesta wasn’t listening. She grabbed at her mate’s hand, coaxing Cassian to cup a full, aching breast.
A low, tortured growl rumbled in Cassian’s throat.
“Touch me,” she ordered again.
“Will that make it better?” Cassian rasped. He pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his mate’s jaw, coaxing Nesta to tip her head back against the pillow. He nuzzled his way down the column of her neck, breathing her in, but Nesta could have sworn he was trembling. As if the scent of her was so heady he was struggling to control himself.
Yet, even so, Cassian gently pressed his mouth over her pulse point, brushed his tongue over it. Bit down gently, holding her life between his teeth just as he dragged the tip of a finger around her nipple.
A strangled moan tore itself from Nesta’s throat, her body arching into his touch, but Cassian withdrew from her entirely.
It felt like a cold, cruel kiss.
Nesta whined in protest. “Touch me,” she ordered again, but Nesta couldn’t expel the torment in her voice. The desperation pounding through her blood, the sound as insistent as a thundering heartbeat.
“And why would I do that?” Cassian mused. A sinful edge laced his words and Nesta almost climaxed at the promise in his voice. It meant he was in the mood for toying with her, and whilst Nesta was desperate for him to fill her, his cock pounding into her until she couldn’t breathe from the sheer pleasure of it, her blood began to boil at the reprimand in his voice. “You broke our deal.”
“Please—” Nesta tried again, too far gone to try and hide how intensely she needed him.
But Cassian only lowered his head again. His breath ghosted the shell of her ear. “I think I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”
Thrill speared through Nesta and her blood roared, her body begging for him. They’d played this game before and Nesta had always revelled in it. Only to Cassian did Nesta willingly submit. If anything, she'd discovered it was her natural role in the bedroom: for her to give up herself entirely to the one fae she trusted more than anyone else.
It was not a courtesy Nesta had extended to bed partners before. Nesta had never felt comfortable being vulnerable. She’d lived a life of hardships, of feeling too much and masking her emotions to protect herself from all of the horrors that Prythian had thrown her. But being vulnerable with Cassian—opening herself up to him entirely as he bent to kiss her—was the most natural thing in the world.
Do whatever you want.
She’d said those words just before Cassian had bedded her for the first time, and nothing had changed since then.
A scar-flecked finger lifted Nesta’s chin in a silent order for her to meet his eyes. “Is that what you want?” he asked softly.
It was a chance for Nesta to bow out of the game Cassian wanted them to play. For her to say no.
But Nesta didn’t want to say no. She wanted Cassian more than anything. Wanted to partake in this chance for her to submit to the sweet agony he was offering her.
When she nodded, Nesta could have sworn gold fired in Cassian’s eyes.
“Say it Nesta.”
“I want you to teach me a lesson.”
Relief rippled across the hard-strain of Cassian’s expression, before his features solidified again.
“Lie across my lap.”
The order was all General and bristling Illyrian male. A relieved moan pulled itself from Nesta’s lungs and she all but scrambled to do as she was told. Usually Nesta thrilled in throwing Cassian a little disobedience—a spark of defiance for him to deal with—but today all she cared about was the scrape of his callouses over her skin. Nesta needed Cassian’s touch, needed him to make her quake and scream as pleasure ripped through her.
“Someone’s eager,” Cassian remarked with a dark chuckle as Nesta lay across his lap, her legs spread across the mattress, her stomach against his knees, her arms clutching at a down-stuffed pillow. But Nesta’s mate’s touch was tender as Cassian tucked her golden brown hair behind an ear. As he bent to lightly press a kiss to her cheek at the same time his hands traversed up the backs of her thighs.
“ Spark me if you want to stop,” Cassian murmured. Stubble scratched torturously against the shell of Nesta’s ear, but she managed the barest of nods to show she’d understood him.
Satisfied, Cassian brushed his mouth over her neck, but then he straightened and a steely authority washed over him. “How close are you?” he demanded.
His palms slid higher as he spoke—until they reached the underside of Nesta’s ass. And Nesta didn’t see the point in lying as she writhed under his touch. She was certain that just a few touches of his fingers on her clit would have her screaming. “Too close,” she gasped.
“Well, let’s see how long you can stay there.”
A soft whine was Nesta’s only sound of protest, but then Cassian’s fingers were right where she needed them, playing her like she was an instrument, the cries coming from her a desperate symphony rising to a crescendo.
“Don’t come, Nesta. Not until I say so.”
Cassian’s authority floated through the pleasure that seized her whole being, her body wound impossibly tight, the tether on her control pulled so taut it could snap.
“Please,” she all but sobbed into her pillow. “Please.”
“I said no.” Cassian’s palm connected with her ass with a resounding smack. His hand was cupped but the reprimand was admonishing, the sound awakening. For a moment, it thrust Nesta out of that heady, pleasurable fog, but then her core was throbbing again, as if it had delighted in the shock and craved more.
When Nesta whimpered Cassian growled softly. “I can feel how turned on you are,” he said, his voice thick and throaty—the words like a long groan drawn out. His hand began to move over her skin, the movement smooth and fluid, up and over her ass, kneading and stroking. They traversed over the red hand mark he had no doubt created, down her thighs to the backs of her knees and up again, until all Nesta could focus on was the heightened sensation created by his touch, the way her blood sang to him, its own sinful siren, trying to call him to her.
The second Cassian’s hand slid back between her legs, Nesta moaned. But it was too brief, his fingers only running through her folds once before his palms were back on her ass again.
Cassian’s hand circled the spot where his palm had connected with her skin. Over and over, teasing and teasing until Nesta couldn’t take the anticipation anymore.
“Do it again,” she ordered—begged. And her wild need must have been screaming down their braided tether because Cassian didn’t reprimand her for turning the tables and commanding something of him. Instead, he gave her exactly what she wanted. He grabbed handfuls of her ass in his hands and then he struck her. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. His palm landing in different spots each time, as if Cassian was painting a tapestry red, her skin his masterpiece.
A gasp lodged itself in Nesta’s throat, hitching on impact. Her body careened forward, but before Nesta’s mind could process her smarting skin, one finger was inside of her and another was on her clit.
“Cassian,” Nesta gasped. In vain she tried to strain towards him, her no-doubt scarlet ass tenting upwards—a desperate offering, her lower legs bending as she made to prop herself up on her knees.
A dark laugh sounded, and it felt like velvet wrapped steel as Cassian stopped teasing her to grab at her ankles, his broad, masculine hands binding them without any difficulty. With his spare hand, he pushed her ass back into his lap. It was a silent order to remain still and Nesta made herself obey, a whine drawing out of her lungs at the loss of his fingers between her legs.
“Good?” Cassian asked lightly, but Nesta could feel his arousal wrapping around her and the firm press of his cock as it strained in his pants.
Desperation clawed at her, begging her to rock against him, to rub her body up his trapped length, but she knew that it would only prolong her release.
“Yes,” Nesta panted.
A rough groan rumbled up Cassian’s throat. “Did you think of me all week, sweetheart?”
“The entire time.” Nesta’s gasp of admission was interrupted by a broken, stuttered cry. His fingers were suddenly right where she needed them, his touch feather-light as he circled and stroked and teased. It felt divine—heavenly—and release gathered in Nesta’s veins, ready to strike—
With remarkable speed Cassian’s fingers vanished, only to be replaced by two sharp slaps to the underside of her ass. Nesta choked on air, her mind so scrambled she barely processed the hands that kneaded and stroked and dragged over her skin, over and over before they were on her clit again.
“Please,” she panted, her voice rising in pitch, her body trembling, too primed for release. And she couldn’t stop it this time, didn’t have the willpower to deny her body any longer—
Cassian knew what she was thinking, but he didn’t stop touching her. “Nesta,” he barked, her name a reminder that she wasn’t to come until he said so.
Nesta let out a pained whimper. She tried to be good—to cling to the authority in his voice, to remain grounded—but then Cassian plunged two fingers inside of her and she trembled.
The pleasure was immediate and fracturing and completely mind-blowing. Nesta’s hips struggled against her will, as she battled to stop them from canting against his touch. A few well-timed tilts of her hips would have release ripping through her, but Nesta bit into the pillow instead, the grinding of her teeth a frantic attempt to obey her mate rather than tumble over the edge.
Desperately, Nesta scrabbled to focus on anything but the hand between her legs. The scent of leather. The sound of Cassian’s thundering heartbeat. His laboured breathing, as if it was he on the brink rather than her.
Nesta screwed her eyes tightly shut, hoping the movement would anchor her. Wished Cassian would spank her again, because the shock of it would cut through the orgasm that was ready to claim her.
When Cassian’s fingers finally fell away from her, Nesta almost slumped with relief. An idle palm ran tauntingly across her ass, but Cassian’s voice was not smooth but gruff as he asked, “Did you touch yourself whilst I was gone?”
“Yes,” Nesta breathed immediately, willing to comply. To please him so Cassian would give her the release that was waiting on the sidelines, ready to pounce. Her body was humming with a restless, wild energy that needed to be expelled, like the magic she had once suppressed, pushing it down, down, down until it all became too much.
Nesta had never been this turned on in her entire life. Had never been so consumed with the goal of shattering. Even during her darkest times, when an orgasm was the only thing to shatter through the numbness that had swept her away in the aftermath of the war, Nesta hadn’t needed an orgasm this much.
Cassian took in a sharp breath. It sounded like the wind turning, like rustling pine needles as they were swept across the forest floor.
Nesta’s entire body tensed in anticipation, knowing, somehow, what he was going to ask next. That they were stepping into dangerous territory.
“Did you make yourself come?”
Just as Nesta had anticipated, the timbre of her mate’s voice dipped into something low and hushed. With slow deliberation, Cassian settled a palm across an ass cheek, his fingers splayed in promise.
“No,” Nesta vowed breathlessly, mustering truth into her words, hoping that the sincerity in them would reach down their shared bond, like the rays of dawn erasing the inky night.
A thumb dragged absent-mindedly over Nesta’s skin and Nesta knew that her honesty had wrapped around his heart. “But I need—“
“—to come?” Cassian cut in, finished her plea.
He didn’t give her time to answer. To even open her mouth and take a breath. His hand dove back between her legs, straight to her clit. Expert fingers circled and circled, the precision designed to suspend her in a state of sweet agony: denying her that direct contact that would have her breaking. But Nesta was so far gone that she didn’t need that contact. She inhaled sharply in warning, but her body began to spasm as release began to tingle down her spine—
But then Cassian’s fingers were gone again and the pleasure with it.
“No,” Nesta sobbed, throwing a hand behind her to hit him, to hurt him, but Cassian intercepted her before she could make contact.
“You naughty witch,” Cassian growled, bending her arm at the elbow until it was over her back and out of harm’s way. Each word was punctuated with a slap to a new spot on her backside, as if it was his aim to have her entire ass scarlet by the time he was done. And Nesta didn’t care anymore, she writhed and writhed in his lap until Cassian let out a long, pained snarl.
A large hand weaved into Nesta ’ s hair, tugging a fistful towards him until her body was beautifully arched. Nesta let out a pleased whine that was animalistic in its making. She hadn’t failed to notice how he’d shifted uncomfortably on the mattress, her squirming a much-needed friction against the hard length of him. And knowing the clear effect this had on him—that it wasn’t just Nesta that was enjoying this game they were playing—had a new wave of wetness pooling between her legs.
Cassian pulled in a sharp, shaky breath—as if it took everything in his control not to throw her off him and bury himself deep inside of her.
“Do you like it when I tell you off?” he asked roughly, pulling on her hair for emphasis.
“Yes,” Nesta moaned immediately and Cassian’s pleased growl rumbled like rolling thunder.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes,” Nesta echoed.
“Yes what?” Cassian demanded.
“Yes please, amore.”
A gentle ache fluttered down their bond at Nesta’s use of Illyrian. Fingers brushed her cheek, the touch featherlight and loving—a brief pause in their roleplaying.
“Good girl,” Cassian praised gruffly and the hand on her cheek slid down to cup her neck, coaxing her head to the side so her eyes met his blazing ones. “You’re being such a good girl, Nesta.”
The heat in Cassian’s gaze was magnetic and even after his gaze dragged back down her body, Nesta couldn’t stop staring at the simmering need that had seized his entire features—a simmering need that turned molten as he slid two fingers inside of her.
A string of curses left Cassian’s mouth when he discovered that she’d grown even wetter. The hand on her neck came to her backside again. He grabbed a handful of her ass, smacked his palm to the already swollen skin. “Fuck,” he snarled, “your ass is so pink, Nesta. I’m going to bend you over the bed so I can look at it whilst I fuck you.”
“Now,” Nesta managed to breathe out. “Fuck me now.”
“Is that what you want?” Cassian asked, his hand inching down again, his finger rolling straight over her clit. “Or do you want me to make you come?”
Gasping for air, Nesta struggled against the pleasure that fired through her. “Fuck me,” she begged, because all her body was capable of was gearing her towards blessed relief and she needed him inside of her when he did it. “Now.”
Cassian didn’t admonish her for ordering him about. Instead, he stood with a snarl, practically throwing her until she was bent over the mattress, her ass was in the air, her stomach flush against the sheets.
“Stay like that or I’ll spank you again,” Cassian commanded, just as Nesta started to turn her head to look at him.
A moan was Nesta’s only sound of protest, but she did as she was told because she needed him inside her with a ferocity she’d never felt before, not even when they were newly mated. So, she waited, her every sense heightened to the point that the sound of creaking leather and the rustling of clothing was enough to have her nerve ends firing in delicious anticipation.
The clatter of Cassian’s siphons as he discarded them on the bedside table had Nesta loosing a shiver. Goosebumps ran the length of her body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. She felt the ghosting heat of Cassian’s body as he came up behind her, felt his large muscular legs nudging hers to widen.
She did as he bid and bit her lip, waiting for him to thrust into her in one divine stroke, but Cassian only bowed to brush his lips over the knots in her spine—the gentleness of it heart-wrenching.
Slowly, Cassian straightened and Nesta only had time to pull in a hopeful breath before he was pushing inside of her—every thick godly inch of him stretching her until Nesta thought she might be cleaved apart from the gratification that wasn’t quite enough. Shamelessly, Nesta let out a moan, her body clenching involuntarily as it tried to milk him. Her clit throbbed, begging for attention, for any friction that would finally allow her to break.
Cassian let out a tortured groan, but he didn’t pull out. He only pressed into that ache inside of Nesta that she was sure could never be sated. “Is that good?”
“So good,” Nesta gasped, unabashed—shameless in her confession. She opened her mouth again, ready to beg for him to move, but it was as if Cassian had felt her need coursing down their bond—the desperation behind it—because slowly he began to move.
His pace was controlled rather than unhurried, as if he was making a conscious effort to make things last. For a while, the only sound was their breath as it sawed out of them, the crackle of sheets, Nesta’s soft muffled moans as Cassian pressed deep, the occasional slap as Cassian planted much welcome handprints across her skin.
But Nesta needed a faster, deeper tempo. Needed him plunging against that aching spot over and over again whilst he played with her. She tried to be patient, even though it felt as if her body was fracturing under the denial, but eventually the agony of it became too much.
When Nesta dared to inch a hand underneath her stomach and down between her legs, Cassian’s snarl whipped around the room.
“Don’t you dare,” he snapped, catching her hand and pulling it behind her so it rested on her back. His other hand flew out to admonish the underside of her right ass cheek, but his voice was desperate this time rather than controlling. “And just when you’d started to be a good girl for me.”
He punctuated his last word with a hard thrust that would have sent Nesta careening across the mattress if it wasn’t for Cassian’s iron-clad hold on her hips.
“I want to see you,” Nesta gasped around the pleasure ricocheting around her body—sparking behind her eyelids. “Please Cassian. Amore—”
It was the magic word. Cassian pulled out with such speed Nesta barely comprehended what was happening. A palm clapped twice over her centre. The touch light yet startling enough to have Nesta emitting a startled moan as shock-laced pleasure needled through her. She was so taken aback that she didn’t protest as Cassian flipped her onto her back in one swift movement.
Then he was falling over her, his mouth hot, his tongue tangling with hers. He tasted like Cassian—like fire and steel—and Nesta clawed at his back, pulling him closer. A relieved sob flew out of her as they finally met skin-on-skin and Nesta threw her legs around his hips, dug her heels into his backside just as he slid back inside her, all the way to the hilt.
Together they cried out. Then again. Again. As Cassian hammered home and Nesta was swept away with him.
“Cassian,” she gasped. “Please make me come.”
Cassian had deliberately angled his hips so his pelvis failed to brush against her swollen clit, but now he fastened their bodies closer together. The warmth of his skin was everything, the scent of him like home. Nesta tangled her hands in her mate’s hair, dragged her lips from his to pleadingly search his expression.
“Please,” Nesta all but sobbed, because she couldn’t—she couldn’t do this anymore. She needed the blessed relief that came with orgasm, needed to be swept away because it was agony being denied something she needed to desperately. “ I can ’ t.”
And Cassian must have sensed that she was at breaking point, because his voice changed and a ruby light stretched down their shared tether to twine with her silver one. “Ok,” he murmured and Nesta caught the love shining in the depths of his eyes as he bent his head to kiss her.
“Hold on, sweetheart,” he rasped against her lips when he lifted his mouth from hers. And then he was rocking, his movements purposeful, his hips tilting to brush her clit with every downwards thrust. It only took a few seconds. The release didn’t have to build within Nesta because it had already been at its crescendo from the moment Cassian had walked into the room and found her splayed on the bed.
“Come for me, witch,” Cassian rasped.
And that was all it took. Nesta did as she was told, her body obeying without question. It had been biting at the bit for too long, had been thrashing and sobbing with every smack of his palm across her skin, with every thrust of his cock inside of her.
Release leapt at Nesta, crashing into her with a ferocity that it robbed her of sound and breath. She felt as if a force had ripped from her, her body spasming into the mattress as if she was possessed. But Cassian continued to provide the friction she needed, rode out her orgasm for her, until she was limp against the mattress.
“Ok?” Cassian croaked, his instincts leaping to check she was sated even as his hips continued to move.
Nesta was spineless, her bones all but melted away, but she saw the way her mate’s chest heaved, felt the way his hips snapped out of their careful rhythm, his body taking control, driving him towards his own release in an unwritten rhythm.
“Fuck, Nesta,” Cassian gasped, hauling himself up onto his hands as his wings began to spread.
It took all Nesta’s effort to reach out a hand, but Cassian knew what she wanted. A wing bent towards her, as if she was its queen and it was her subject.
One touch of her fingers across the leathery membrane was all it took to hurtle Cassian over the edge. He roared, his hips jerking as he spilled into her, his fingers digging so tightly into her hips that Nesta knew there would be bruised imprints the colour of ink.
Finally, Cassian swore to the Mother. Collapsed onto his elbows, swathing her body with his as he rolled them to the side.
“I missed you,” Cassian declared into her ear. He raked his fingers through the hair that had come free from her braids as he slanted his mouth over hers. It was a kiss infused with love and longing and the relief that came with being reunited.
“I missed you,” Nesta mirrored, an iron band clamping tightly around her chest at his words. Her heart let out a painful thump as she remembered how terribly she’d coped in his absence. How she’d thrown herself into life so she didn’t notice the gaping holes where he should have been.
“How do you feel?”
Cassian’s voice had Nesta lifting her eyes to meet his.
“Like I want you again,” Nesta admitted, because it was true. Already her that ache was building again, climbing like teetering bricks stacked haphazardly on top of the other.
“I’m not surprised, sweetheart. You taste like aphrodisiac.”
Nesta blinked. She’d thought her desperation for release had come from a week of abstinence, but… then she thought of how good the pie had tasted. How one bite had fogged her mind so thoroughly that she’d run from the patio to their bedroom. “ I ate some cherry pie…” she started. She drew away from him so she could look him in the eye. “When did you realise?”
“Just now,” Cassian admitted. “If I hadn’t been so blinded by lust for you when I walked into the room, I think I’d have put two and two together a lot sooner.” A rough laugh burst from Cassian’s throat. “I don’t know whether to kill whoever laced that pie or thank them,” he confessed, but the amusement on his expression was haunted with concern.
Gently, he touched her cheek. “You feel ok?”
But Nesta nodded. Because she was fine. Well, she was horny as hell, but that wasn’t a bad thing. She and Cassian often whiled away an entire night between the sheets when he returned from a long trip away, and this thrumming between her legs… it was just an added incentive to ensure they didn’t leave the bedroom.
Heat bloomed through Nesta’s core at the thought of what they might do next. Release might have momentarily satisfied Nesta but the fervour in her blood had already started to clamber, that vibration in her body building…
Threading her fingers through her mate’s hair, Nesta hitched her leg up higher over her Cassian’s hip so she could press her mouth to his.
“Apart from wanting you to fuck me again?” Nesta asked against his lips.
She took his hand, coaxing it down until it was between her folds.
Cassian groaned when he felt how wet she was. “Apart from that,” he said huskily, as his fingers began to play.
“I’m fine,” Nesta moaned into his mouth.
It took Cassian less than a minute to unravel her, his fingers precise and sure against her clit, rubbing her just the way he’d learnt she liked it.
Nesta didn’t close her eyes when she came. Made herself stare at him as he watched her come undone—her gift to him, her continued vulnerability as she pulsed around his fingers, his thumb expertly rubbing the bundle of nerves at the apex of her legs.
When the waves rippling through her rescinded, Nesta buried her head into Cassian’s neck. Licked and kissed the dried sweat from his skin, nipped and sucked his pulse into her mouth.
A coarse moan vibrated down the column of Cassian’s throat as Nesta raked her teeth down his skin. Yet, rather than rolling her over and burying himself inside of her as Nesta thought he would, Cassian coaxed her to look at him.
Expression sombre, Cassian’s calloused palms slid down her waist and over the slope of her red ass. “Did I go too far?”
A wing curved around their bodies, encasing them in a tent of sunset oranges and reds.
A noise of disbelief bubbled out of her, and Nesta shook her head slightly, a sly smile tugging at her lips.
“I liked it,” she confessed smokily into his ear. Her core tightened as she remembered exactly what they’d just done. The way Cassian had taken complete control of her and she’d revelled in it. Already she wanted him to fuck her again. Needed to feel the length of him inside of her. Or his fingers. Or his tongue. “I always like it.”
Heat flared in Cassian’s eyes, the gold in his irises burning bright. Against her leg, Nesta felt his cock twitch, the heavy weight of him a vow of what was to come.
Yet… her mate made no move on her. “The aphrodisiac won’t wear off until tomorrow. Who else ate the pie?”
Sudden realisation dawned on Nesta. Her lips parted briefly in shock but then she was biting her lip to stop a smirk. “Gwyn.”
Cassian barked a rough laugh, but Nesta’s attention was pulled away by the fingers that had slid from her ass to the underside of her thigh. They drew torturous patterns on her skin that had her wanting to squirm. “ Then I imagine that Azriel and Gwyn are in for a fun night.”
Nesta wrapped her fingers around her mate’s already hard cock. Watched the way Cassian sucked in a sharp breath as she slid her hand upwards. “So are we.”