Until Cassian lowered his face an inch, and grazed the tip of his nose along her neck. Beneath her hand, his chest heaved upward as he inhaled a great, greedy breath of her scent.
Too far. She shouldn’t have let herself go this far with him, let him this close.
Yet she couldn’t withdraw. Couldn’t do anything but let him brush his nose over her neck again. The urge to press her body into his, to feel his warmth and hardness grinding into her, nearly overrode every rational thought.
Cassian’s hands remained at his sides, though. As if waiting for her to give permission.
Nesta pulled her head back, away—just enough to see his features.
Her knees nearly wobbled at the desire blazing in them. Liquid, unrelenting desire, all fixed upon her.
She couldn’t get a breath down as she drowned in that stare. As low, sensitive parts of her tightened and began throbbing, her breasts becoming heavy and aching. His nostrils flared, scenting that, too.
She couldn’t. She couldn’t do this to him. To herself.
Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t—
Nesta began to withdraw her hand from his chest, but he slid his own atop it. Rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, and just that graze of callused flesh had her grinding her teeth, unable to think, to breathe—
Cassian whispered in her ear, “Do you know what I’m going to think of tonight?”
A small sound must have come out of her, because he grinned as he stepped to the side. Let go of her hand.
The absence of his warmth, his scent, was like a bucket of ice water.
He smiled, nothing but wickedness and challenge. “I’m going to think of that look on your face.” He took another step down the hall. “I’m always thinking of that look on your face.”
She couldn’t sleep. The sheets chafed, strangled her, smothered her with their heat until sweat ran down her body.
I’m always thinking of that look on your face.
Nesta lay in the darkness, her breathing uneven, her body flushed and aching.
She’d barely been able to focus on reading when she’d returned to her room. And she’d been tossing and turning in bed for what had felt like hours now.
I’m always thinking of that look on your face.
She could see it: Cassian in his own bed, sprawled out like a dark king, gripping himself, pumping hard—
She managed to whisper into the room, “Come back at dawn.”
She didn’t know if the House obeyed. Didn’t find out if it understood why she wanted privacy as she traced her hand up her nightgown, the slide of silk against her skin nearly unbearable.
She moaned into her pillow as her fingers slid between her legs, instantly slippery with the wetness pooled there, which hadn’t gone away since she’d been left standing in that hallway. Her hips arched into the touch, and she gritted her teeth, letting out a long hiss as she dragged her fingers down her aching, throbbing center.
I’m always thinking of that look on your face.
She slid her fingers in deep, writhing at the intrusion, unable to stop seeing Cassian’s face, that half smile, that light in his eyes. The powerful body and beautiful wings. She withdrew her fingers nearly to their tips, and as she plunged them back in, it was Cassian’s hand she pictured there, felt there. Cassian’s other hand that rose to clasp her breast, squeezing hard, just the way she liked it, a sharp, slight edge of pain to heighten the pleasure.
It was Cassian’s hand she rode, biting her lip to keep her moaning contained. It was Cassian’s hand that brought her over the edge and into a release so intense she nearly cried out. It was Cassian’s hand that slid into her, over and over again, release after release, until Nesta lay wrung out and panting upon the bed, with only the darkness to hold her.
CHAPTER
16
Cassian hadn’t slept well.
It was hard to sleep well when he’d been so aroused he’d had to pleasure himself not once but three times just to calm the hell down enough to close his eyes. But he awoke before dawn aching for her, her scent still in his nose, and another release had barely taken the edge off.
He’d told her exactly what he planned to do last night, but meeting Nesta’s stare over the breakfast table the next morning was more uncomfortable than he’d anticipated.
She’d beaten him to the table, and had been reading a book while she ate. It lay closed now, but from the spine, he gleaned that it was one of the romances she favored so much.
To break the silence, Cassian asked, “What are you reading?”
Color stained Nesta’s pale cheeks. And he could have sworn it took an effort of will for her to meet his eyes, too. “A romance.”