A Court of Silver Flames (A Court of Thorns and Roses #4) by Sarah J. Maas

“Thank the Mother,” he swore, and she heard metal clicking and leather whispering, and then his tongue caressed her again, past that bundle of nerves, up her stomach, to her breasts, until he was over her.

Cassian moved her further onto the bed. She didn’t care that her legs fell open for him, only cared that he was now naked, and all that rippling muscle and golden skin gleamed above her.

He lowered himself to the cradle of her thighs, and his eyes were so wide she could see the whites around them. He opened his mouth, but she didn’t want to hear the words, didn’t want to know whatever he’d been about to say. She framed his face in her hands and kissed him savagely, her tongue scraping over his teeth as she ground their mouths together.

The broad tip of his cock nudged at her entrance, slipping in the slickness there, and he reached down to guide himself in.

At Cassian’s first prod into her body, fire erupted within her. She panted into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip as he eased himself in. Just an inch.

He halted. He was large enough that the stretching was edged in sweetest pain—large enough that she wondered if she’d be able to fit all of him. He trembled, holding himself barely inside her, as if he were now wondering the same.

His hesitation, his care, melted some ice-cold shard within her. And made her snap free of any restraint.

Nesta gripped his ass, muscles flexing beneath her fingertips, and hauled him into her.

Only another inch. Only another inch, because Cassian braced his arms against the bed, hips pulling against her hold. “I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care.” She ran her tongue over his jaw.

“I do,” he ground out, body straining as she attempted to pull him into her. “Nesta.”

Her fingers dug in again, her very blood and bones crying out for more of him, but he refused to move.

“Nesta. Look at me.”

Fighting the roaring of her body, she obeyed. Heat blazed in his eyes, and something more than that. “Look at me,” Cassian breathed.

Gods spare her, but she did. She couldn’t take her gaze off him. Found herself free-falling into his darkened eyes, his beautiful face.

His hips flexed, and he slid in another inch—then retreated nearly to her edge.

Their breathing synced, and Nesta stilled beneath him, a feeling of utter calm, utter fullness spreading through her as his hips moved again, and he pushed back in, a little farther this time.

Cassian held her gaze through each small thrust, each retreat. He stretched her, filling her inch by inch, and Nesta knew he’d been right to go slow for this first joining.

Retreating and advancing, Cassian filled her. They said nothing, only shared breath, their eyes wide as they gazed at each other.

He pulled outward again, the movement long enough this time that she knew he was nearly all the way in. He halted, his cock barely inside her, and studied her face. A conquering warrior-god. He had called her Lady Death, and he was her sword.

Cassian leaned down to kiss her. And as his tongue slid into her mouth, he thrust home in a mighty, final push.

Nesta moaned as he slammed to the hilt, and the full impact of him hit her, stretched her, and she couldn’t breathe fast enough. Cassian withdrew again, and slammed back into her, propelling their bodies farther onto the bed.

He groaned this time, and the sound was her undoing. She wrapped her legs around his back, careful of his wings, and lifted her hips to meet his. He sank even deeper, and she dug her nails into his shoulders.

Gods—nothing had ever felt so good, so full, so burning with pleasure. Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing.

Cassian set the pace, smooth and deep, and for a moment, it was all Nesta could do to match him stroke for stroke. For a moment, she looked between their bodies to where his cock plunged into her, so thick and long and gleaming with her that she tightened around him, her release already building.

He felt her inner muscles squeeze him harder and growled, “Fuck, Nesta.”

And she liked seeing him undone enough that she did it again, clenching on him just as he seated himself fully. He arched into it, fingers digging into the bed. “Fuck,” he repeated.

It wasn’t enough, though. Wasn’t close to enough. She wanted Cassian roaring, wanted him so lost that he couldn’t remember his own name.

Nesta halted him with a hand on his chest. Just one hand, and he stopped, utterly at her command. If she wanted it to end here, it would.

It softened her enough that she couldn’t quite keep the tremor out of her voice as she said, “I want you deeper.”

Cassian panted, eyes wild, as she crawled out of his arms. As she turned onto her stomach and lifted her backside for him, offering herself.

He made a low sound of need. She arched her hips higher, inviting him to take, to feast.

His restraint shattered. He was on her in an instant, lifting her hips higher as he sheathed himself in a single thrust. Nesta screamed then, a sound of such pleasure she knew it echoed off the mountains, feeling him hit the deepest spot of her.

Cassian pounded into her, a hand moving from her hip to her hair, tugging her head back, baring her throat. She gave herself over to it, to him, and the lack of control was heady, so pleasurable that she could barely stand it. He thrust harder, so deep with this angle that she might have been screaming again, might have been sobbing.

His other hand drifted between her legs, his cock pounding into her, her hair gripped like reins in one hand, her pleasure in his other. She was utterly at his mercy, and he knew it—he was snarling with desire, slamming home so hard his balls slapped against her.