A Court of Silver Flames
“This,” she breathed, her fingers beginning a slow, steady pump, “is what I do when I think of you every night.”
If she so much as touched him, he’d come. But he growled, “Do it harder.”
She shivered as if his words were a physical touch, and obeyed. They both groaned this time, and he found himself saying, “Please.”
He didn’t know what it meant—only that he needed to touch her.
Nesta smiled at him with feline amusement. “Not yet.”
She drove her hand between her legs again. “I imagine you taking me, over and over again. Rough, like we did before.” He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but stare at her hand, her pleasure-hazed face. “I imagine you less patient than you were the first time, just thrusting into me, all the way.” She echoed her words with a swift plunge of her fingers.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he got out, praying to the Mother and the Cauldron to maintain his sanity.
“You won’t hurt me.” Her other hand teased that bundle of nerves. “I want you unleashed.”
Cassian made a low noise of need.
She huffed a wicked laugh. “Do you want to watch me come? Or do you want to taste it?”
“Taste.” He’d beg on hot coals for one lick of her.
She spread her legs wider. “Then have at me, Cassian.”
His name on her lips was his undoing. He gripped her thighs and spread them wide, and then his mouth was on her, licking her from base to apex in a long, luxurious slide.
She moaned, louder than the first time, and he only grabbed her legs again, hooking them over his shoulders as he buried his face against her.
There was nothing gentle in it, nothing teasing. He feasted with tongue and lips and teeth, and every taste of her made the roaring in his blood rise like a mighty wave within him. Nesta ground against him, toes tickling his wings so much he had to pause for a moment to keep from coming at that mere touch. He’d teach her wingplay later. Because he wanted her to touch his wings, to learn where to stroke while he fucked her so that he’d come hard enough to see stars, to learn what places to stroke even while he wasn’t fucking her so he’d come in her hand, her mouth.
He slid his tongue into her core, release already building under his skin, in his spine. Too soon—he didn’t want to go too soon.
He made himself take a breath. Made himself pull back, pull away. The sight of her on the pillows, naked and open for him, nearly made him come.
But he removed his shirt. His pants.
Only when he was naked, kneeling between her legs, his cock jutting forward, did he say, “Do you want my fingers, my tongue, or my cock, Nesta?” He fisted the last item for her, pumping himself in a slow, nearly painful squeeze. She watched, eyes widening, as if remembering the size of him inside her.
“What of a side-by-side comparison?” she managed to say, but the haughtiness wasn’t in her eyes, not as he pumped himself again, savoring how it made her breath catch.
“Whatever you want. Whatever you need from me.” He knew those were a fool’s words, knew he offered up too much.
But she only looked at his cock. “I want that. Now.”
He muttered a prayer of thanks to the Mother and lay over her, bracing himself on his arms. “Put me inside you.”
When Nesta’s hand wrapped around him, he arched, gritting his teeth. She smiled at that, and pumped him as hard as he’d pumped himself, just this side of pain. Then she fitted him to her drenched entrance.
He didn’t wait this time. Didn’t go tenderly, not when she’d told him she wanted it otherwise.
Cassian plunged into her, driving right to the hilt.
Nesta let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a scream, and he found himself echoing it as all her silken, blazing heat gripped him. She was so perfectly, mind-meltingly tight. As if she’d been made for him, and he’d been made for her.
Cassian drew out in a long slide, and thrust back, seating himself fully. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, the pain of it secondary, the pain of it a pleasure as she marked him.
He withdrew again, lowering his head to watch his cock slide out of her, gleaming with her wetness—and then enter her anew. Every inch into that tight, blazing core of her was paradise and torment, and he needed more, needed to be deeper, needed to crawl so far inside her that there would be no disentangling them.
Her nails sliced through his skin, and the tang of his blood filled the air. He just leaned down to kiss her. She parted for him instantly, and he let her taste herself on his tongue, moving his own in time to his thrusts.
Nesta wrapped her lips around his tongue and sucked on it as she had his cock, and any sane thought faded away. Gathering her to him, Cassian knelt, her legs locking around his waist as he thrust up and up and up into her. She tipped her head back, baring her throat, and he bit down on the center of it, hard enough to leave a mark.
Nesta moved on his cock, and he drove deeper into her. Scraped his teeth over her neck.
She let go of his shoulder to cup her breast, and he nearly climaxed as he found her lifting it up toward him in silent command.
Cassian licked her nipple, and she ground onto him, those delicate inner muscles clenching tight. “Fuck,” he said around her breast. She laughed breathily and did it again.
Then there was only his tongue and teeth at her breast, the near-savage pounding of his cock into her tight warmth, the rhythm of her hips as she met him for each stroke, as if trying to work him even deeper. He dragged his mouth from her breast to bite her neck, her shoulder, sealing their bodies together, fusing them into one being as he thrust deeper still, harder still.
And then her fingers found his wings. The touch wasn’t slicing, but gentle—such a gentle, tentative, wondrous stroke that he roared.
Release barreled into him, and he rammed up into her in such a mighty thrust that she screamed, climaxing with him. She clamped around him, pulsing and milking, and he bucked, frenzied, reduced to this need to be in her, to spill into her, to spill as much of himself as he could.
Nesta rode him until he’d stopped spurting, until her pleasure had her draped over his chest, an arm still outstretched toward his wing.
They clung to each other, and he tried to piece himself back together, to remember what the fuck his name was and where they were.
But there was only her. Only this female in his arms.
And the only name he could remember was hers.
Nesta couldn’t move.
Wrapped around Cassian where he knelt in the center of the bed, his hands still digging into her ass to hold her in place, his cock buried deeply inside her, she didn’t want to move.
She’d never been this way with anyone, where one look from her lover brought her a heartbeat away from release; one look from him and she was taking off her clothes and pleasuring herself in front of him.
She didn’t have it in herself to be embarrassed. Not when it had felt so good, so right.
He was trembling, his wings twitching as his cock at last finished spending itself.
She told herself she shouldn’t enjoy it so much—seeing him undone, feeling his seed inside her, leaking out of her. And the fact that she did had her climbing away at last, moaning softly as she slid off his cock.
She knelt before him, nearly knee to knee. “I still need more.”