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

The silken touch had her erupting.

Her climax crashed upon her, out of her, her inner muscles clenching him tight.

Cassian roared, the sound echoing through the room, and he became utterly wild as release found him and he spilled into her with such force that his seed ran down her thighs.

And then his weight fell upon her back, and only an arm that he threw out to brace them kept them from collapsing.

Reeling, Nesta could only breathe, breathe, breathe.

Cassian lay buried in her, and it felt so good, so right, that she wanted him always this deep in her, his seed spilling down her legs, forever.

“Oh, gods,” he whispered against her spine, over the tattoo inked along it. “That was …”

“I know,” she panted. “I know.”

It was as much as she’d confess. As much as she’d let herself admit.

Too good. It had felt too good, and nothing and no one would ever compare to it.

He said, voice shaking, “I’ve made a mess of you.”

She buried her face in the blanket. “I like it.”

Cassian went still, but he gently extracted himself from her in a long, long pull. He dragged his seed with him, and another rush of it tickled down her thighs, dripping on the blanket, as he pulled out fully. She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move.

She felt him kneeling behind her, staring at the ass she still held upward, the view it presented.

“I shouldn’t enjoy seeing that so much,” he growled.

Her breasts tightened. But she asked coyly, “Seeing what?”

“You. Covered in me. That beautiful sex of yours.”

She blushed and lowered her body to the mattress. “No one has ever called it beautiful.”

“It is. It’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

She smiled into the blanket. “Liar.”

“I’m beyond lies right now, Nesta.”

His voice was so rough she looked over a shoulder. Cassian still knelt, and his face … It was utterly devastated, as if she’d taken him apart and left him in ruin. “What is it?” she asked, but he moved off the bed and reached for his fallen clothes.

Nesta twisted, her legs and core drenched in his essence and hers, but he donned his pants, gathering up his shirt and jacket, and the weapons she hadn’t realized he’d carried. When he lifted his head, he threw her a wicked smile. “Just sex, right?”

It was a trap, somehow. She couldn’t discern in what way, but the words were dangerous. She’d meant them, though. Or had wanted to, at least. So Nesta said, “Right.”

His eyes flickered, and he grinned again, aiming for the door. “Thanks for the ride, Nes.” He winked, and was gone.

She stared at the door, puzzling over his exit, so swift that his seed still leaked out of her.

Was it punishment? Had he not enjoyed it? She had the proof of his enjoyment between her legs, but males could find their pleasure and still not deem it good.

Was he trying to demonstrate what she’d done to all those males? Bedded them and then kicked them out?

She’d said just sex, but had thought it might at least come with some … cuddling. A few minutes to enjoy the feel of his body against hers before pride made her order him to leave.

Nesta knelt in the bed, and stared at the door, the silence her only answer.





CHAPTER

38

“You took him to your bed, didn’t you?”

Emerie’s whispered question had Nesta whipping her head toward her, stomach muscles quivering as she held the upward positioning of her curl. Emerie, a mirror image to her left, simply smirked at the shock on Nesta’s face. Gwyn, on Emerie’s other side, was just wide-eyed.

Nesta schooled her features into neutrality and uncurled to the ground, making sure to hold her abdominal muscles tight until her back was flat against the stone once more. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you and Cassian have been exchanging sultry looks all morning.”

Nesta scowled at Emerie. “We have not.”

It was an effort not to look across the ring, to where Cassian was now walking the newest group of priestesses—two this time, Ilana and Lorelei—through foot positioning and balance. Nesta had, in fact, caught him staring her way twice since the lesson had begun two hours ago, but she’d made a point not to engage in lingering eye contact.

“You have,” Gwyn whispered, low enough that Cassian’s Fae hearing wouldn’t pick up her words. Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Well, if you won’t talk about that,” Emerie said with equal quiet, “then at least tell us what happened yesterday—why there was no lesson, and where you were in the afternoon.”

“I was asked to keep it secret,” Nesta said. Her wounds had healed and vanished already, making it easy to do so.

“It has something to do with the Trove,” Gwyn said, those teal eyes noticing too much.

Nesta didn’t reply, and that was answer enough. Emerie knew the basics—as much as Gwyn had been told—and frowned. But she kept her voice whisper-soft. “So you really didn’t sleep with him?”

Nesta did another curl, torso rising to her knees. “I didn’t say that.”

Emerie let out a hmmm.

Nesta’s cheeks flushed. Emerie and Gwyn swapped glances. And it was Gwyn who said, “Was it good?”