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She shut her eyes, as if that could somehow stop her from crying.
“Nesta,” he said, and his hands were instantly on her face, tender and sweet. “Nesta—”
Her throat ached to the point where she couldn’t keep the sound in, and on her next exhale, a strangled sob came out.
Arms and wings wrapped around her, Cassian’s body curving about her own, pressing her into the muscle and the warmth and the scent that was pure home, things she’d missed so badly that every day had felt like dying.
“I love you,” she said into his neck, her entire body shaking. “That’s why I was mad at you this morning—because I needed you to come home last night so I could say it to your face. I love you, and I’m sorry about the Mask. There’s so much I still don’t know about the Trove, so much about it that terrifies me more than I can say, but it felt right to give it to her. Like I could sense that the Mask needed to go, even if it is the most powerful item in the Trove. Even if it unnerves me to be near it. So I’m sorry I didn’t warn you before; I didn’t have time, and I was trying to do the right—”
“Stop.”
He pulled her head back a bit, making her look at him. And fuck, she didn’t want to, certainly not as this crying, whimpering mess, but she did. She met his eyes.
“I was upset,” he said, wiping away her tears. “I was upset because you did something big, and it scared me—scared me because we were a team, and you just . . . decided not to be anymore. Not just Rhys and Feyre and everyone else, but you and me. And yes, giving the Mask to Bryce Quinlan was impulsive and reckless, and I’m not entirely sure I would have done the same thing, but mostly I was hurt. It made me feel like you’d shut me out again.”
“I didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t. But I still felt that way. And maybe that’s all on me, and maybe I need to accept that there might always be a piece of you that you keep to yourself and that will never answer to anyone, but . . . everything was going so well after the Blood Rite. It all felt fucking perfect, and then it wasn’t anymore.” He shook his head. “I’m shit at explaining myself. But it threw me, and then all that turned into anger, and . . . I’m sorry for these last few weeks. And I trust you—fuck, after today, I trust you perhaps more than anyone else—to handle the Trove. You faced Bryaxis, got to your feet when no one else could. That’s the kind of person I want responsible for the Trove. I’m sorry for not understanding that sooner.”
Her mouth curled up slightly. She pressed a kiss to his lips, then another to his cheek before she whispered in his ear, “Well, look at that. I didn’t even make you come first and you’re already groveling.”
He pulled back, eyes wide—dancing.
Nesta grinned, and kissed him, light, teasing. “I think I stupidly believed that being mates meant everything was going to be perfect and happy forever.”
“Too many romance books.” Cassian’s mouth twisted to one side in a crooked smile. “I’m going to write a strongly worded letter to Sellyn Drake about grossly misleading her readers.”
She traced a finger over his smile—a smile for her. “You must be exhausted from all that flying back and forth to Windhaven just to avoid me.”
He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. “There’s a reason I’m in bed, you know.” She lifted a brow and he clarified, “I’m so sore I can’t move.”
“Poor Illyrian baby,” she crooned, and reached a hand to where the apex of one of his wings hovered above them. “Where do you want me to kiss first to make it feel better?” She stroked a finger down the center of his wing, and sure enough, his cock hardened beneath her.
“I’m pretty sure you can guess where,” he said, voice guttural once more.
She dragged her nail along his wing this time, and a hiss burst from his lips. “I don’t want to make love and cry, and I don’t want to fuck until we’re screaming.”
His eyes had gone wholly black. “What do you want, Nes?”
“To touch you.” She traced an idle circle on his wing. His throat worked audibly. “To relearn every inch of you.” She peered down coyly. “I think there’s a few inches already eager to be reacquainted.”
“More than a few inches,” he crooned.
She snorted and ran a hand down the hard length straining against his leather pants. Her core positively ached in response, and it required every ounce of concentration to keep her hands from shaking, her voice low as she said, “Let me see if it tastes as good as I remember.”
She slid onto the carpet and spread his legs wide enough for her to kneel between them. Every magnificent inch of this male was hers. And she planned to savor all of it.
“Here I was,” he said, breath turning ragged as she unbuckled his sword-belt and started on his pants, “thinking you had no appetite for Illyrian cock these days.”
“I don’t remember saying those words,” she said primly, even as her fingers shook while working the buttons on his pants.
His cock came free, and every word went out of her head. Cassian’s chest was heaving, as he growled, “I want to be inside you.”
“Too bad,” she taunted, and let herself have the pleasure of watching his every minute expression as she lowered her mouth to him. She meant to note the tightening of his mouth, the way his eyes flared in pure pleasure, but gods, the taste of him, the size and hardness and warmth—
She’d intended to tease, to play, to lick him bit by bit. But the feel of him on her tongue had her taking him all, as much as she could, her hand wrapping around his base and squeezing hard.
His hips bucked off the bed, but she gently pinned him with her free hand, sliding her mouth up his length again.
