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.”

“I gathered that. What’s this one about?”

She dropped her gaze quickly. But the blush remained.

He knew it had nothing to do with the novel.

But she lifted her eyes to him again, spine stiffening. Like she was working hard as hell to make herself meet his stare. Her fingers clenched her fork. And when he looked at them, she pulled her hand under the table.

As if it were blazing with proof.

His blood heated as he realized the blush, her embarrassment … He made himself take deep, steadying breaths. They had to train together for the next two hours. Being at attention wasn’t only unhelpful, but inappropriate in the training ring.

It didn’t make him stop picturing it: that hand between her legs, her body as aching for release as his had been. The way she’d probably bitten her lip, just as he had, to keep from crying out. His cock grew hard, pushing at his pants to the point of pain.

Cassian shifted in his seat, trying to free up any space for himself. It only succeeded in making the hard seam rub against his cock, the friction enough to make him grit his teeth.

Training. They had training.

“The book,” Nesta said, a bit breathlessly, “is about …” Her nostrils flared and her eyes went a bit unfocused. “A book.”

“Interesting,” Cassian murmured. “Sounds great.”

He had to get out of this room. Had to sort his shit out before he went upstairs. The heat between them didn’t belong in the training ring. Where the fuck was Az when he needed him? Cassian had played buffer for Mor for years—where the fuck was she when he needed her?

But he couldn’t rise from his chair. If he did, Nesta would see precisely how she’d affected him. That is, if she hadn’t already scented it—and understood the shift in his smell. And if she looked at the bulge in his pants with that heat she’d had in her eyes last night, the heat he’d come to just picturing her, he might very well make a fool of himself.

It was a risk he was willing to take. Had to take, before he laid her flat on the table and removed their clothing piece by piece.

Cassian shot out of his chair, muttering, “I’ll see you there,” and left.

“The book,” Nesta repeated to herself, staring at her porridge, “is about a book.” She cupped her forehead in her hands. “Idiot.”

At least Cassian hadn’t seemed to be listening. But whatever willingness had been in his eyes last night seemed reluctant today, as if he couldn’t help—didn’t want that heat between them, that tension. He’d practically run out of the room to avoid her.

Training would be awful.

He was waiting in the ring, the portrait of a swaggering warrior. Nesta didn’t dare look at his pants. To what she could have sworn she’d glimpsed straining at the stays and buttons when he’d fled the room.

But if he appeared unruffled, then fine. She’d match him in it.

Nesta rolled her shoulders, approaching him. “More stretching and balance?”

“No.”

Their eyes met, and there was only clear, determined calm—and a challenge. “We’ll do the warm-up, and then we’re moving into some core work.”

She gaped. Her … core?

“Abdominals,” he clarified, and pink washed across his face. He cleared his throat. “Filthy mind.” He flicked her cheek. “Too much smut.”

She batted him away and gestured to the muscles hidden beneath his shirt. “You’re going to make me look like that?”

His low laugh rippled over her body. “No one can look like this but me, Nes.”

Arrogant ass.

“Rhysand and Azriel do,” she said sweetly.

“I’ve got one or two muscles on them.”

“I don’t see it.”

He winked. “Maybe they’re in other places.”

She couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. Not the flash of desire, but the smile that overtook her face. She huffed a laugh.

Cassian stared like he hadn’t seen her before.

His shock was enough that Nesta dropped her smile. “All right,” she said. “Warm-up, then abdominals.”

She hated abdominal exercises.

Mostly because she couldn’t do them.

“I knew you didn’t have much muscle,” Cassian observed as Nesta lay belly-down on the ground, having collapsed onto her front after trying to hold a full-body plank, “but this is absolutely pathetic.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be my inspirational teacher?”

“You can’t do more than five seconds.”

She spat, “And how long can you do?”

“Five minutes.”

Nesta pushed herself onto her elbows. “I’m sorry if I haven’t had five hundred years of core work.”

“I asked you to hold that plank for thirty seconds.”

She shoved onto her knees, stomach aching. He’d had her doing curls upward, then leg extensions while lying on her back, and then lifting a smooth five-pound rock over her head while she’d tried to raise herself from lying prone into a sitting position using only her stomach muscles. She hadn’t been able to do more than one or two of any of them before her body gave out. No amount of will or grit could make it move.