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

She was crying, and she didn’t know why—only that she never wanted it to end, this binding between them, the feeling of him moving so deep in her that she wanted him imprinted beneath her skin. His tears dripped onto her face, and she reached up to brush them away. He leaned his head into her hand, nuzzling her palm.

“Say it,” Cassian whispered against her skin.

She knew what he meant. Somehow, she knew what he meant.

Nesta waited until he’d thrust again, driving as deep into her as he’d ever gone, and whispered, “You’re mine.”

He groaned, thrusting hard.

She whispered, “And I am yours.” Those golden threads between their very souls shone with the words, as if they formed a harp strummed by a heavenly hand.

For it was music between their souls. Always had been. And his voice was her favorite melody.

“Nesta.” She heard the plea in her name. He was close, and wanted her to go with him. Wanted to tumble into ecstasy together. It was important to him, for some reason, that for this joining, this moment, they went as one.

Cassian lowered his head to her breast, teeth clamping around her nipple as his tongue flicked against it.

It was all Nesta needed to spur her toward climax. She moaned, and he did it again, timing his tongue to the hard thrust of his cock. Again, again.

The golden threads shimmered and sang, and she couldn’t take it, the music between their souls, the feel of his body on her and in her, and—

Release blasted through her, obliterating every last bit of that inner wall, razing mountains and forests, wiping the world clean with light and pleasure, stars crashing down from the heavens in a never-ending rain.

Cassian roared as he came, and the sound was the summons of a hunt, a symphony, a single clear horn playing as dawn broke over the world.

There was only this moment, this thing shared between them, and it lasted for an eternity. Time was of no consequence. Time had always stood still around him, around them.

He spilled and spilled himself into her, longer than ever before, as if he’d been holding himself back all the times before now, as if he had let his own inner wall come crumbling down.

Forever, forever, forever.

The word was echoed in their every breath, every pounding of their hearts, so in sync that they seemed to beat as one.

Then silence fell, exquisite and serene, and Cassian remained buried in her, staring down at her with wonder and joy in his face.

Nesta reached up to kiss him.

One kiss led to another and another, and hunger rose like the tide within her, between them. And then Cassian was moving in her again, faster and harder, and time ceased to exist once more.

Hours later, days and weeks and months and millennia later, when they were both finally spent, when their souls had cleaved together entirely, Cassian pulled out of her and collapsed against the bed.

Nesta could hardly remember words. But she found them when she whispered into the darkness, “Stay with me.”

A shudder rocked through him, but he only smiled as he tucked her into his side.

And warm and safe and home at last in Cassian’s arms, Nesta slept.





CHAPTER

59

Nesta opened her eyes.

She knew she was warm and content, though it took her a moment to remember the reason. To realize she was still in Cassian’s arms. She reveled in it. Savored each breath that brushed against her temple, felt the press of his fingers along her lower back. A calm settled over her, strikingly similar to what she felt when she did her daily Mind-Stilling.

Cassian awoke soon after, giving her a sleepy, sated smile. It softened into something tender, and for long minutes, they lay there, staring at each other, Cassian idly brushing his hand down her back. Caressing soon turned to more fervent touching, and as the dawn broke, they tangled again, their lovemaking thorough and unhurried.

When she again lay sweating and panting beside him, running a finger down the groove of his muscled stomach, Nesta murmured, “Good morning.”

Cassian’s fingers idly smoothed her hair. “Good morning to you, too.” He glanced toward the mantel—the small wooden clock in its center, then lurched upright. “Shit.”

Nesta frowned. “You have somewhere to be?” He was already hopping into his pants, scanning the floor for the rest of his clothes. Nesta silently pointed to the other side of the bed, where his shirt lay atop her dress.

“Snowball fight. I’ll be late.”

Nesta had to unload each word of his statement. But she could only ask, “What?”

“Annual tradition, with Rhys and Az. We go up to the mountain cabin—remind me to take you there one day—and … Well, it’s a long story, but we’ve done it pretty much every year for centuries, and I haven’t won in years. If I don’t win this year, I will never hear the end of it.” All of this was said while shoving himself into his shirt, leather jacket, and boots.

Nesta just laughed. “You three—the most feared warriors in all the land—have an annual snowball fight?”

Cassian reached the door, throwing her a wicked grin. “Did I mention we take a steam in the birchin attached to the cabin afterward?”

From that wicked grin, she knew he meant completely naked. Nesta sat up, hair sliding over her breasts. His eyes dipped lower, a muscle pounding in his neck. For a heartbeat she hoped he’d lunge for her again. Indeed, his nostrils flared, scenting the need that boiled in her just at the sight of his gaze roving freely over her body, the way every part of him tensed.