Somewhere, Part 23
Nesta POV
> Somewhere masterlist
a/n: An update (finally) 2 years in the making and in spite of the worst case of writer's block I've ever had. I hope that for those of you who are still even mildly invested in this story, the wait was semi-worth it.
I would love to hear your thoughts on these two if you feel compelled to share! Otherwise, enjoy some fluff, some mild reference to the past, and a reunion.
NSFW. ~ 6k words.
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Nesta surveyed her nails for the fifth time since arriving at baggage claim. Shifting from foot to foot, she checked Cassian’s arrival time— again— to make sure she hadn’t tried to will an earlier landing into existence via her imagination. Logic told her she was anxious to see him, that any unit of time would be feel like an eternity considering their circumstances, but her longing wasn’t getting the memo.
She stood tall on her tiptoes, scanning every face. No luck, at least, not until a small group of passengers descended on the escalators and inch by glorious inch of Cassian came into view.
Her chest was heavy— almost full to bursting. Cassian was preoccupied with making sure his carry-on didn’t tumble down the steps and into his neighbors, and Nesta forced herself to be satisfied with his safe arrival rather than annoyed that she wasn’t yet pressed against him. He’d dressed for comfortable travel— t-shirt, hair half-up, and a pair of black joggers— and while she understood they were meant for Cassian’s physical comfort, she couldn’t help that he looked like the perfect, safe place to land at the end of any long day.
In his attempts to contain his luggage, Cassian hadn’t yet seen her. A good thing, if you asked Nesta, because it offered her the opportunity to summon a shred of dignity as opposed to melting into the airport’s stained, linoleum floor.
His attention shifted over his shoulder to a petite, elderly woman a couple of steps above him. She said something that made Cassian smile— a true, joyful smile— before she poked his shoulder to alert him that they were rapidly approaching the end of their ride. He stepped off gracefully with his bags and turned in one efficient movement to extend a hand to the woman. She beamed up at him as he settled her hand in the crook of his elbow and hauled her small, floral duffle onto his shoulder.
Guiding her to the side and out of the chaotic flow of foot traffic, he lifted his gaze to scan the room. Nesta felt the moment he saw her like a punch to the chest, and somehow, his winning smile grew even wider.
Nesta was known for many things— some more damning than others— but not one of them was her patience. She forced a casual pace into her steps to meet them halfway and slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans as some rudimentary form of self-restraint.
Her lips parted, but before she could utter a greeting, she heard a soft voice. “This must be your Nesta.”
Eyes crinkling in the corners, showcasing years worth of joy, the petite woman looked up at Nesta with something akin to pride in her smile. It disarmed her enough that the thought of correcting the statement, to tell her she belonged to no one, left her head entirely.
“The very one,” Cassian drawled, his intense focus fixed on Nesta, even as he lowered his travel bag to the ground near her feet.
“She’s even more beautiful than you described,” the older woman beamed. “Striking, really.”
Nesta’s brows shot up in amusement— incredulity, too, but mostly amusement— just as Cassian’s furrowed, and his gaze shifted to the other woman’s face.
“Dorothy,” he chided, although his tone lacked any bite at all, “you’re telling stories.”
Dorothy tutted. “Only the best ones.”
A smile stretched across Nesta’s face. Dorothy’s gaze snapped behind Nesta, and she raised a wrinkled hand in a delicate wave. Somehow, the joy on her face was tenfold.
“My son has deigned to pick me up. Finally.”
“Our flight landed a bit early, Dot,” Cassian said, moving to usher the woman where she aimed to go.
Nesta’s eyebrows flew up again at the nickname and their familiarity. The barest chuckle left her chest as she watched them shuffle around her. Cassian lifted his attention from the woman for a split second, enough to offer Nesta a wink.
“Only minutes, Cassian,” Dorothy fussed, “don’t make excuses.”
“Fair enough,” he relented, with a soft, fond shake of his head at Nesta.
Their voices faded with the growing distance, and as if her body had a sense for Cassian’s growing proximity, her chest tightened. The commitment to his new friend was admirable, and logic kept any true bristling at bay, but Nesta had never been particularly good at sharing. This was no different.
She watched as Cassian passed Dorothy’s duffle to her son and exchanged a few words. Before long, Dorothy was tugging her son’s arm toward the airport’s exit. Cassian lifted his hand in a polite wave and pivoted to face Nesta again. His shoulders sagged in something like relief, his legs carrying him with long, purposeful strides.
Nesta dragged her teeth over her bottom lip and cursed silently at the sting behind her eyes. She would not cry, no matter how overwhelming the emotions felt beneath the delicate barrier of her skin. She and Cassian had fallen apart and come back together in a number of ways over the years. Schooling her reactions should not have been as challenging as it felt.
Cassian gained speed with his final steps, bending at the waist to wrap his arms tightly around Nesta’s middle. Her arms responded in kind around his neck, her face tucked beneath the sharp angle of his jaw. With a bend of his knees, Cassian moved one of his forearms to bracket her thigh and lifted her flush against his body.
She huffed a laugh against his skin and wrapped her legs around his waist. Everything went quiet, from her racing thoughts to the chaos of the airport’s baggage claim.
And maybe it was all in her head, or maybe it was the result of the way their hug muffled any outside sounds, but Nesta didn’t care. She would take the peace no matter how it found her.
“Hey, Sweetheart,” Cassian rumbled, his lips dragging the words over neck.
Something in Nesta purred at the sound, and she somehow pressed herself even tighter to his body. Her voice couldn’t be trusted to keep the secret of her crumbling composure.
Kisses pressed against her neck, her jaw, her cheek. Hands with an almost bruising grip against the curves of her body. The scent of his shampoo and the texture of his waves against her fingers. Nothing had ever centered her quite like any of it. She had been naive to think she was ever giving him up. They were always going to end up right where they were.
An annoyed voice offered a well-timed interruption to her thoughts, and her head snapped up from Cassian’s shoulder at a passerby’s passive aggressive grumbling about dodging their PDA. Nesta’s spine went ramrod straight, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, her tongue curling around some scathing retort.
Cassian hummed in warning, followed by a soft, “Not worth it.”
He bent down to grab his bag and turned toward the exit without another word. Nesta looked down at him, a little disoriented at the sudden change in location and the fact that he was hauling her out of the airport as if he’d just grabbed her from the luggage carousel. Her brows furrowed in irritation.
“I can walk.”
Cassian rolled his eyes, but the soft uptick at the corner of his mouth gave him away. The fact that he found Nesta’s tendency to bristle endearing was a miracle most days, only followed closely by the way his body always felt sliding against hers. Her legs released him on instinct as he lowered her toward the ground, and she landed gracefully on her feet. Gracefully enough anyway, for someone who hadn’t gotten a proper warning.
It was curious the way Cassian carried himself with a certain strength and grace all at once. Without missing a beat, he gripped her hand as they waited at the crosswalk and smiled down at her with so much affection that every hard edge of her mood went soft almost instantly.
“You’ll have to lead the way from here,” he said, turning to scan traffic as they walked. “I don’t know where you parked.”
Nesta nodded and stepped slightly ahead. It took a second to remember where she’d left her car, but in minutes, she was opening the trunk to allow Cassian the opportunity to toss his bag inside.
With her hand was poised over the door handle, she allowed herself a quick glance over the top of the car to remind her that he was there. He was nowhere to be seen, but warm lips against the side of her neck chased any worry into a distant memory.
“Missed you,” he murmured, gripping her gently and turning her body to press it against the car.
Nesta placed her hands on the sides of his neck and tugged him forward, his mouth resuming the tortured affection against her heated skin. The departing planes were thunder, the sounds of traffic a buzz that matched the feeling in her veins.
Her nails dragged soft scratches against the nape of his neck, and Cassian hummed his appreciation. His body shuddered, curling tighter around her and trailing kisses across the line of her shoulder.
“Missed you, too,” she admitted and felt freer. Lighter.
They broke apart, climbing into the car and heading to The Merchant to check into their room. Nesta was renting Clare’s extra room, including the furniture that was already staged in the guest room. The twin bed she slept in every night wasn’t a viable option for Cassian alone, much less the two of them together. She appreciated her friend’s kindness more than she could express, especially since Nesta wasn’t ready to admit that the idea of finding her own apartment made her mouth dry and her skin erupt in goosebumps.
Circumstances had certainly changed since the last time they’d stayed at the hotel together, but the ugliness and heaviness of that visit didn’t linger the way they might have in the past. The guilt that choked her over Cassian’s involvement in her conflict with Tomas never boiled over. The tension associated with those memories didn’t crush her ribs from the inside.
Maybe the countless hours she’d spent in therapy were showing their effects in some tangible way after such a distant, abstract idea of improvement over the months.
Shaking the thoughts away, Nesta focused on the present. On the warm hand ghosting over the top of her thigh as she drove, the grip of the man who had loved her before she had a shred of progress to show of her healing. Who had loved her before and loved her through it, even when she hadn’t loved herself. Had loved her when he hadn’t truly known how, and she hadn't thought she could love him enough. Who loved her still.
—
The small flames atop each of the centerpiece’s candles danced over Cassian’s face, and while Nesta was happy to take her time admiring the way they enhanced the sharp contours of his jaw, his expression stopped her short.
His eyes tracked the room as his immutable attention to detail demanded, his left thumb rubbing absent-minded circles over the calluses of his opposite palm. The action stirred something in Nesta, a desire to ease whatever trouble roiled beneath his bronze skin, and she reached out to slide her hand over his.
“Let me,” she breathed, all but an order, and a smirk pulled at the edge of Cassian’s too-enticing mouth.
He stretched his arm toward her and rested it atop the table cloth. Nesta cradled his hand in both of hers, the size of it making hers look impossibly small. With slow, methodical pressure, her thumbs worked against his budding tension.
“What’s all this?” he teased. His smirk bloomed into an outright smile, and Nesta’s heart thudded in answer.
“You do this when you’re nervous,” she offered by way of explanation, “so I thought I would help.”
“Ah.” He nodded his understanding but didn’t elaborate.
With his free hand, he lifted his water glass and took several pulls. Nesta tried to be subtle in watching the way his throat bobbed, but the glimmer in Cassian’s eyes noted her failure. At least he was gentlemanly enough to stay quiet about it for once.
After a moment of taut silence, Nesta caved. “What?”
Cassian huffed a laugh at her irritation. “It’s just…” he trailed off, looked into the ether for the proper words. “It’s not only when I’m nervous.”
Her gaze snapped toward their hands and back to his face. “You always do this when you’re anxious.”
“Sure,” he agreed, and Nesta felt her brow furrow in both confusion and annoyance. “But it’s more when I’m antsy in general. When I feel like I need to move. Or like I’m crawling out of my skin.”
Dread pooled in her stomach while her brain picked furiously at each of Cassian’s words. If he was two ticks away from meltdown barely 8 hours into his visit, that didn’t bode well for the next several days. Or the rest of their days, for that matter.
Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, Nesta continued in an effort to keep her chaotic emotions contained. Better to direct her attention to something productive, she reasoned.
An awkward squeeze of Cassian’s hand forced her attention back to the bustling restaurant and out of her mind. She struggled to keep it there, but the look on Cassian’s face fortified her.
Heat, unbridled and solely focused, turned his eyes a deeper shade of brown. “As much as I appreciate this,” he began, his voice like gravel, “you aren’t helping, Sweetheart.”
Another flex of his grip, and he pulled his hand away. For a moment, she missed the warmth that left along with it, until she realized all he’d done is send that warmth right to her core.
Understanding hit her with very little grace, and the force of his honesty went straight to her bloodstream. She reached for her own water for no other reason than to do something with her hands.
Something that didn’t involve dragging them across every inch of Cassian’s skin.
“We should go.” Never mind the fact that they’d only ordered a glass of wine and an appetizer. The waiter hadn’t yet made it back to take the orders for their first course, but every moment felt too full of inessential details.
Cassian chuckled, low and rough. Just for her.
“Dinner first,” he ordered, redirecting his gaze to the menu.
Jaw slack, Nesta blinked incredulously in his direction.
“Once we get back to the room, we’re not leaving again,” he promised.
Nesta had never been so decisive in choosing dinner.
—
Despite the earlier urgency, Nesta was enjoying dinner. Living in the moment wasn’t on her list of sharpest skills, but she managed if she did say so herself. The atmosphere was warm, yet private enough. The company was top tier, if not long overdue. And watching Cassian roll his head back and laugh at some harmless barb she lobbed his way, Nesta thought that maybe this could have always been enough.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she disguised it by taking another long sip of wine. Cassian’s eyes lowered to her face, smile still as bright as before, and shook his head before returning his attention to what remained of his meal. The speed at which the man could eat was remarkable, and even though he’d hardly held back in sharing about what she’d missed back home over the last few weeks, somehow he was almost finished. Nesta hadn’t even made it halfway through hers.
Spearing another bite with her fork, she popped it into her mouth and scanned the room. Her eyes caught over Cassian’s shoulder, and to her abject horror, she choked.
“Shit,” Cassian muttered, reaching across the table to shove Nesta’s water glass closer. It sloshed over the side, only barely, but enough that another curse fell from his mouth.
Nesta grabbed it, if for no other reason than to save it from an ill fate at the hands of the mother hen across the table. She forced her cough down long enough to take a deep breath and gulped the water down. It did wonders to soothe her throat, but unfortunately, it only served to recruit attention from the face that made her choke in the first place.
What was his name? God, she should know. They hadn’t been serious— especially since Nesta hadn’t been capable of anything remotely close to it when she first moved. They had seen each other a few times and had fun, but no one had ever written poetry with their arrangement in mind. Eventually, the pretense of dates had stopped, and they became a matter of convenience until they just… weren’t anymore.
Nesta couldn’t remember who ultimately called it off, and even worse, she wondered if no one ever had. For all she knew now, they fizzled out and never bothered with a proper ending. And if she’d had it in herself to be honest back then, she could have admitted they’d had decent chemistry at best. That was generous, in fact. Her best memory of him and sex actually didn’t involve him at all.
They made eye contact, and he smiled at her. The same way someone smiles at a co-worker or someone they met through a mutual friend. He lifted a hand in a wave, as if totally oblivious to Nesta choking, and she blinked through the tears in her eyes to wave back. His attention returned to the woman he was with— his date presumably, if the hand on her waist was any indication.
Cassian glanced over his shoulder to follow Nesta’s gaze, and before she could toss a silent prayer of thanks to the universe for the man’s diverted attention, his eyes rose again to to land on Cassian. His smile faltered, if only momentarily, but Cassian wasn’t pressed.
Her eyes must have been the size of saucers watching Cassian lift a hand over his shoulder in a casual wave. They exchanged a very bro-like up-nod, and just as quickly, Cassian turned back around to face Nesta. With a smile full of mirth, no less.
“Friend of yours?” he purred through a smile, eyes dancing with amusement. He was at his most beautiful like this. Relaxed, happy, and teasing Nesta. She hated him for it.
She indulged in another long pull of water before deciding on, “Mm.” She tilted her head side to side in consideration. “Not exactly.”
Cassian chuckled. “I have a few of those myself.”
She wished she had it in her to be unbothered by the reminders of their past. But Nesta had never been particularly graceful about accepting anyone else’s attention on Cassian. Whether it be for one night or for some short, doomed attempt at a relationship. Doomed, only because Nesta now had the benefit of hindsight. She’d never considered those relationships quite so rationally before now. Sometimes, progress was minimal, but it was progress all the same.
“Yep,” she said, forcing nonchalance into her voice.
Cassian didn’t buy it.
“Nes,” he groaned, though not in frustration. More like empathy and reassurance rolled into one. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Sometimes…” he trailed off, staring into the ether in that way of his. The way the night was going, Nesta was tempted to glance over her shoulder and check for Julia. “I know it matters, so I won’t say it doesn’t. But I guess it’s just easier to laugh about it now. It’s safer, anyway.”
“Safer?” That hadn’t been what she expected him to say, but oddly, she thought she understood it. Better to laugh it off than think on the details too much.
“Yeah,” he confirmed, running his hand over his jaw. “We’re here now, you know?”
“I think so.” Nesta chewed the inside of her lip, considering her next words. Guess she was sharing. “Can I tell you something? And you not judge me?”
Cassian rolled his eyes. “You know I won’t.” A beat, then, “Tell me.”
The waiter chose the moment to offer refills on their wine. Nesta was tempted to ask for the bottle to drown the embarrassment of the last several minutes, but she saved those thoughts while Cassian politely refused and asked for their check.
Nesta took a deep breath. “I don’t even remember his name,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut and easing one of them open to gauge Cassian’s reaction. His face gave nothing away until his head dropped forward, and Nesta noticed the subtle shake of his shoulders.
“Are you laughing?” she hissed, throwing her cloth napkin into his chest. A laugh bubbled out of her in answer. Everything about him was contagious.
“I’m not laughing at you.” Cassian wiped his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, his wide smile still on full display. “I thought you were going to tell me something serious— shit, Nesta.” Another chuckle, and he leaned back to prop his elbow on the back of his chair.
His casual posture and clear amusement, contagious as it was, spoke to the haunted little part of Nesta that couldn’t resist poking at his resolve. A night, so many months ago that it felt like a lifetime, knocked at the forefront of her mind. An unhealthier version of the two of them, near their lowest. A brief visit to Velaris, a stupid gathering she should have blown off like she’d originally intended when she realized she’d only packed clothes befitting of a couch potato.
She leaned forward, her voice pitched low. “It was his, you know. The sweater you’re so fond of.”
Cassian’s head cocked to the side, but Nesta noticed when it clicked. The way he righted his head, the glint in his eye. The way he fixed his focus on her and leaned forward on his elbows, his voice gravel.
“Makes sense that you wouldn’t remember his name, then.”
Nesta huffed a laugh through her nose and leaned forward, too. Cassian was close enough for secrets and bad decisions, and for a moment, they were in another time— full of both.
“That was the goal, wasn’t it?” she murmured, dragging a slender finger over his clasped hands. Cassian rolled his palm up and laced their fingers together. Breathing seemed to be harder, the air thicker.
“Not really,” he rasped. “I was the one who needed to forget.”
Nesta squeezed her hand tighter around his. “Cass—”
“Don’t,” he admonished. “I don’t want to make it heavy.” His thumb traced the back of her her own as his eyes lifted. All she could do was nod. “Truth be told, I kind of hated how good you looked in it when it wasn’t mine.”
Nesta huffed another laugh. A lump formed in her throat at the memory, at the chaotic way they always gravitated to one another no matter the consequences. They weren’t recognizable that way anymore, especially as they sat now in a fancy restaurant discussing their baggage. Some of it, anyway. It would have taken more than a single meal to get into the half of it.
“I was, though,” she rasped, tracing nonsense patterns on the tablecloth with her free hand. “Yours, I mean. Even if I ran. Even when I couldn’t accept it.”
Silence met her, and she couldn’t look at him. His emotions always belonged to himself and everyone else in a mile radius, and she wasn’t sure she could stomach the possibilities.
A gentle, callused finger tipped her chin up and tugged her gently forward. Before she realized his closeness, Cassian’s lips brushed hers. Soft, the exact opposite of all the thorns that built them. Everything she wished she could have shown him sooner. He pressed his lips to hers a second and third time before standing, his hand never leaving hers. The look of adoration on his face was so plain that Nesta struggled not to balk under it, and she wondered what it meant that it was harder to stand than his ire.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, turning to tug her gently through the sea of people in the restaurant.
Her cheeks heated under others’ fleeting attention, as if they were privy to her erratic heartbeat and the intimacy of their conversation. Cassian, unbothered as always, strode confidently toward the door. And although she knew it deep down, it was then— staring at his shoulders under the fabric of his shirt as he led them to the restaurant exit— that it hit her in the chest and fizzed through her. Hope.
—
Everything felt significant.
The beep of the lock, the click of the door handle, the odd vacuum of silence that fell over any hotel room.
Sounds that were all too familiar to Nesta, especially where Cassian was concerned, but somehow, it all seemed different.
With an unceremonious flop, the key card landed next to the TV. Cassian’s voice was a velvet rasp in the loaded quiet.
“This is new,” he said through a huff of laughter, “meeting up in a hotel room where we both have a key.”
His hands slipped over her hipbones, each broad finger squeezing adoration and affection in a simple move that usually felt possessive and unwelcome by anyone else’s hands.
A chuckle rolled through her. “Not exactly,” she replied, turning within the circle of his arms. Her finger traced the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, already half undone. “We’ve shared a room here before.”
Cassian hummed. “Not really what I meant, Sweetheart.”
“I know.” She stood on her tiptoes, bracing a hand on his shoulder. “I was being funny.”
With a delicate tilt of her chin, Cassian dipped his head to capture her mouth. The smile she felt against her lips was her only warning before—
“Ah,” he said, pressing another chaste kiss to her mouth. “But you’re not funny.”
Nesta pulled back— all mock, steely rage— and eased out of her heels.
“My humor requires a certain wit.”
The farthest Cassian was willing to step away from her was a step or two, enough to allow Nesta room to move around her shoes. Once free of them, he stooped slightly to wrap his arms around her waist, tucking his face against the side of her neck and pulling her tightly to his body.
The ghost of his laugh warmed her from the inside out. “That’s true,” he admitted, running his nose along the side of her throat.
Nesta’s breath hitched. Her arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close, and she didn’t resist the urge to press her lips against his hair. His scent wrapped around her as it always did, leaving her almost boneless.
Cassian took her weight effortlessly and swayed them back and forth. A contented, raspy hum left him, and the sound tickled the length of Nesta’s spine.
Her body flushed, skin revolting against the barrier of clothing between them. She leaned back to tell him as much, but his hands twisted her hips to turn her around in his arms again.
Nesta’s head lolled to the side, her neck exposed completely to his affections with only her fingertips to keep her balance atop the small hotel desk. A pose too reminiscent of the night they’d discussed at dinner and one that had her arching her back to press against Cassian.
“Cass,” she whispered, her hand reaching for his hair. “Please, baby.”
His groan thrummed against her back, the perfect balance to his bruising grip. One of his hands left her waist, and she almost cursed him for it had she not heard the release of his belt buckle.
His teeth sank into her neck, only hard enough to send electricity through her body, and suddenly her weight was shifting forward against her hands. He made quick work of the long zipper of her dress, and the fabric pooled around her feet.
One hand pressed against her stomach, his hardness at her lower back. His other hand slipped beneath the elastic of her underwear to tease her. Her lips parted on a quiet moan, and she was spinning again, her hips lifted roughly onto the desk.
“Need to taste you,” Cassian rasped, his hands already tugging the fabric down her legs.
Nesta discarded her bra like it was on fire and leaned back on her hands. She loved the way he looked on his knees.
“Fuck,” she whimpered at the first press of his tongue. With an iron grip, he held one of her legs over his shoulder and used his other hand to free himself from the confines of his pants.
His moan vibrated against her, and Nesta’s head rolled back. Cassian’s tongue worked her with such precision it almost made her dizzy.
One of her hands snapped toward his head, her fingers threading through his hair. His eyes snapped up and darkened, and he was on his feet.
Nesta was almost bereft with the loss, but Cassian quickly rid himself of his button down shirt and his pants.
“Come here,” he ordered, tossing the comforter down and lying across the bed, his knees bent over the side. “On my face.”
Blinking, Nesta realized she was still leaning against the desk. She padded over to the side of the bed and ran her fingers over his knees, teasing all the way up his thighs.
“I want these,” she murmured, touching the elastic of his boxer briefs.
“Later,” he said, voice gruff, and tugged her gently by the wrist to coax her over him.
Nesta managed to kiss his collarbones, his neck, until he urged her quickly along to bring her over his face like he wanted. She straddled his head, his hands anchoring her thighs. Before she could assess her positioning, Cassian tugged her roughly down to his mouth.
Nesta keened, hands buried in Cassian’s hair. She moved over him, earning a hum of approval from Cassian, and soon her thighs were screaming to keep their rhythm.
“Cassian,” she begged, desperate to come. “Yes.”
His tongue moved expertly over her, making her thighs shake in earnest. She squirmed, and Cassian gripped her wrist again and tugged her upper body forward.
Nesta could have cried in relief. She was on an elbow, her other hand still buried in Cassian’s nest of hair. He never faltered in his attention, and Nesta couldn’t help but drop her forehead against the sheets as she rocked over his mouth.
She cried out, the sound blessedly muffled by the linens, but Cassian didn’t seem entirely impressed by that. He eased two fingers into her, her walls stretching to accommodate them, and she had to release his hair in favor of bracing on both elbows, her hands fisting the sheets.
Cassian groaned against her wetness. Nesta was strung out, her back arching in pursuit of release. The sensitive peaks of her breasts grazed the sheets with each rock of her body, and without warning, she splintered into a million pieces.
Tears stung her eyes at the intensity of her pleasure. Cassian eased his fingers from her and eased her through it, murmuring a quiet instruction to stay put.
Nesta wanted to melt into a puddle as Cassian slid from under her and turned to kneel on the bed behind her. His calloused hands ran over her back, squeezed her shoulders, gripped the back of her neck. She rocked her hips backwards against his length, and to her satisfaction, Cassian hissed at the contact.
“You look perfect like this,” he said, almost reverent. “Are you ready for me, baby?”
Nesta lifted her forehead in an attempt to shoot a glare his way for entertaining any doubt, but she didn’t have it in her. Instead, she made some embarrassing little noise in the back of her throat and pressed harder against him.
Cassian freed himself and entered her in one long, slow thrust. His lips touched the back of her neck until he leaned back and cupped a hand over one of her shoulders, his other hand splaying over the side of her waist.
The way they moved so naturally together always gave Nesta pause. Everything seemed to work without fail when they were pressed together. If only life had been so kind.
Nesta rolled her hips in time with his, cataloguing all the sounds he made and the things he whispered roughly for only her to hear.
So good, Nesta.
God, I could live inside you.
Perfect. Just like that, baby.
Nesta’s muscles tightened again in anticipation, her cries growing louder in the small room. Cassian’s hand shot out to the side to brace himself on the headboard, and his hips worked her hard and slow.
“Come for me, Nes,” he said, his voice strained. Nesta tightened around him, a sob leaving her at how perfect he felt. “There you go,” he encouraged. “That’s it. Let go, baby.”
Nesta shattered, her knuckles white in the tangle of the sheets. Cassian’s hips kept their steady rhythm until he was moaning her name and throbbing inside her.
His forehead fell between her shoulder blades as they recovered. He managed to keep his hulking weight from crushing her, barely, until he separated them and lay on his back next to her.
Snaking an arm beneath her, he pulled her over to rest her head on his chest, pressing her hair away from her sweat-slick brow. She sighed against him and nearly purred when he brought his hand up to massage her scalp.
When they could manage to move, they showered together, fumbling as they washed each other and pressing their smiles together in some approximation kisses. Nesta resumed her usual barbs, and Cassian took them gracefully as always before lobbing one of his own that shocked a loud laugh out of Nesta as they brushed their teeth. It was an odd time— but as good as any— to realize that this was everything.
To Nesta’s delight, Cassian wordlessly tossed an extra tee he’d packed for her to sleep in. She caught it against her chest, dropping it over her head and dragging her heavy limbs into the bed.
It was all so familiar. Familiar in the way that hurt a little, because although other moments like it had passed between them, they always ended. And even though everything about the night promised more, they would never have this one again, and the sheer existence of it carried a veil of melancholy because they couldn’t cocoon themselves in it to their content.
But maybe they didn’t need the stolen minutes together and the safety of their own little world anymore. As much as Nesta thought she’d loved the false intimacy their shared secrets offered, they didn’t need them anymore. Not when they had this— Cassian’s fingers tracing small paths through her hair, his heartbeat beneath her ear, his steady breaths regulating her own.
A whisper, yet one that seemed to echo somehow in the quiet room. “I love you.”
——————————————————————————
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