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The Night's Jewels

Chapter Text

As Nesta leaned against the balcony railing, and took in the glittering city spread out before her, she couldn’t help but feel like a Queen surveying conquered territory. Nevermind that Velaris was in fact ruled by her darling sister and brother-in-law. In every way that truly mattered to her, she was its undisputed ruler.

Oh—no one, not even she, would question the authority of High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court. But did Feyre and Rhys know the secret tastes and desires of all the fae in their court? Did they know exactly which strings to pull to get someone to do their bidding? They knew only what Azriel’s shadows could tell them, and they had long ago agreed that Nesta’s patrons deserved privacy away from his many prying eyes.


But Nesta knew. Nesta knew exactly what strings to pull and when. She knew which fetishes her clients were ashamed of, and which secrets they would kill to protect. She knew how to reel them back in with promises of heightened pleasure and endless pain. Once one became a patron of the Night’s Jewels it was difficult to get out, and she rarely let anyone go once they had been caught.


There was no other pleasure house in Velaris after all, nowhere else for her patrons to go. Feyre and Rhysand has seen to that, and were more than happy to allow Nesta her monopoly as long as she fed them secrets.


She stretched her arms above her head and sighed. It was late and the day had been stressful. An old...client had returned after many years and she wasn’t sure what to think of it. Or how to feel.


The smell of lemon and spices filled her nostrils, and she turned her head to see Mor crossing the room towards her, her rose colored silks swishing against her legs as she walked. She came to a stop at Nesta’s side and pulled her close. Nesta sagged against her softness, thankful that there was one being she could allow herself to let her guard down around.


They were silent as they stared out at the city before them, words not needed after all the years together. They weren’t mates. They weren’t even really together, or at least, not all the time, and not in a way that Feyre and Rhys or Lucien and Elain could understand. Just...companions. Friends. Lovers. Business partners. Whatever the other needed whenever she needed it, without the deathly confines of immortal commitment.


And right now, Nesta needed Mor, needed her in a way she couldn’t express. She nestled deeper into Mor’s arms, letting the other female stroke her back and hair, a touch Nesta allowed no one else. She thought, for about the thousandth time, how lucky she was to have Morrigan beside her.


At first, Mor hadn’t liked the idea of a pleasure house in Velaris. She didn’t like the idea of paying for sex. But when Nesta explained her true intentions—to bleed the bank accounts of wealthy males dry and use the funds the build shelters for victims of abuse all across Prythian and beyond—and when Feyre and Rhys had promised to make all other forms of prostitution illegal, Mor had agreed to help enthusiastically.


The Night’s Jewel was not a regular pleasure house anyway. They didn’t force young fae into working for them for one thing. Nor did they force the courtesans to do anything they didn’t want to do. Every fae who worked for them was there of their own free will and could leave whenever they wanted to. And Nesta paid them well. She paid very, very well.


“He’s still down there, you know,” Mor said, breaking through Nesta’s train of thought.


“I know,” Nesta responded, shivering as Mor traced circles on the inside of her wrist, “I didn’t expect him to leave.”


“He offered to pay our usual membership fee, and he has more than enough money for it,” Mor said softly.


“No,” Nesta bit out, “I don’t want him here...all the time.”


“I expected as much. I told Hans and Brienne that he was allowed to stay the night, for a hefty price. And I expect the females will flock to him. They always have.”

Nesta stiffened a bit, but forced herself to relax again. It had been years—years and years since she had seen him. His presence changed nothing.

“Let’s go inside,” she said, lifting her head to place a soft kiss on Mor’s neck.

“No,” Mor said, circling Nesta’s wrist with her hand, “I want you out here, outside.”

“Where anyone could see?” Nesta whispered.

“Yes, Nesta, where anyone could see,” Mor said more forcefully.

The brothel was one of the tallest buildings in Velaris, and though they were on the tenth floor, the balcony was made of glass and anyone who bothered to look up would see them. But Mor was a bit of an exhibitionist and Nesta more than happily went along with it.

Nesta placed another kiss on Mor’s neck, and then one lower, right near her fluttering pulse, and then lower near the edge of the silk dress. She licked at Mor’s golden skin, softly and gently, and then moved her mouth over to Mor’s full breasts, sucking lightly on her nipples through the silk of the dress until it became wet and sheer. She heard Mor groan softly and and then her strong arms came around Nesta’s waist and she was lifted onto the thick edge of the balcony.
Nesta squeaked a bit in protest.

“Hush, I would never let you fall.” And then Mor was on her knees before Nesta, her hands working their way up Nesta’s legs and pushing her wide skirts out of the way.

Mor kissed her way up Nesta’s calves and then her thighs, stopping at the apex, and stroking her skin in small circles. And then she was licking at the inside of Nesta’s thighs, her thumb lightly rubbing Nesta’s clit through her sheer underwear.

Nesta whimpered in longing and Mor looked up at her, eyes flashing.

“What do you want?” she said softly.

This was the part that Nesta hated—but also loved—the most. The part where Mor demanded things, words from her that she would not have been able to speak to anyone else. She could not be this...vulnerable with anyone else.

“I want you to lick me,” Nesta managed, her voice cracking a bit, and a blush blooming high on her cheeks.

“Where?” Mor demanded.

Nesta couldn’t answer, couldn’t get herself to say the words even after all these years.

“Here?” Morrigan asked more gently, her thumb pressing into Nesta’s clit.

“Please,” Nesta said.

Mor rose from her position on the floor and then lifted Nesta off the balcony. Without speaking, she undid the row of buttons down Nesta’s back, and divested her of the heavy dress, and then the sheer bra and underwear she wore. Nesta let Mor guide her onto the floor, and she hissed as her back met the cool glass.

Mor settled in between Nesta’s legs, using her hands to lift Nesta off of the floor slightly. The first few flicks of her tongue had Nesta arching her back in pleasure, and then whimpering when she withdrew.

“I think I want you to beg me Nesta.”

“Mor…” Nesta bucked her hips up unintentionally, seeking out pleasure.

“Beg me for it,” Mor repeated.

“Please...don’t…”

“Beg me for it, Nesta,” Mor said, tracing one of Nesta’s nipples lightly with her finger.

Nesta’s resolve broke. She could only, only do this with Mor. She couldn’t—wouldn’t submit to anyone else.

“Please Mor, please, just lick me. Fuck me.”

Morrigan did not move, but merely cocked an eyebrow at Nesta.

“Mor please. I need you. I’m begging you.”

Mor grinned, satisfied, and settled back in between Nesta’s thighs. She worked her in long strokes, and then with delicate flicks of her tongue. But not hard enough to let Nesta come quickly. Never enough to send her over the edge completely.

She slipped two fingers inside of Nesta gently, rubbing at the spot she knew would drive Nesta wild. And then her fingers darted in and out, all while her tongue continued its torturous rhythm.

Nesta felt herself coming apart at the edges, felt her walls coming down. She was so close, so fucking close.

“Mor, please. Please I’m so close. Gods I—I—

“Don’t come until I let you Nesta,” Mor warned, her fingers thrusting harder and deeper.

Nesta felt herself tighten involuntarily around Mor, her muscles clenching.

“Please just let me come,” she whimpered.

Mor replaced her fingers with one of the smooth, polished toys the pleasure house was stocked with, and she drove it into Nesta hard and fast, over and over again, her free hand cupping Nesta’s behind.

Nesta screamed, and writhed, so close to the edge but determined not to come until Mor said she could.

“Please Mor, please, I can’t, I can’t wait,” she sobbed, digging her fingers into Mor’s back.

And then the toy was gone and Mor was gentle with her once more.

“Come Nesta, come for me,” she said, and then she was lapping at Nesta’s clit, making circles with her tongue.

The orgasm thundered through Nesta, paralyzing her entire body with pleasure—wave after wave of it shooting through her, lifting her off of the glass floor, making her scream and moan as Mor continued her torturous circles.

Finally, Nesta collapsed, and Mor’s arms were around her in an instant, cradling her against her breasts.

Nesta was weak with pleasure, but still, she reached up and undid the clasp at the neck of Mor’s dress.

“My turn,” she said, grinning wickedly.