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Extended and NSFW version of the cottage scene in ‘Lord of Shadows’

Happy Fourth of July to our US American readers!
To celebrate today’s Independence Day, we have a very special treat for you. 🙂 A while ago Cassandra Clare posted an extended and rather steamy scene from Lord of Shadows on her tumblr that we are now sharing with you!

Please only read the following scene if you are absolutely fine with Lord of Shadows spoilers and if you do not mind mature content and/or rather explicit art!


*Art by Cassandra Jean.

*clears throat* The most requested thing in my inbox has been the extended NSFW version of the cottage scene with Emma and Julian in Lord of Shadows. I usually write romantic scenes much longer than they actually are and then cut them down (it’s just how I do it) so these are the “unedited” versions. As such they do sometimes contain typos, word repeats, etc. I’m hoping you can enjoy them anyway. 😉 The first version of this scene was in Julian’s POV, so here are all his insecure, complicated, desirous thoughts. ;)“

Jules,” Emma said. “Say something, please —”

His hands tightened convulsively on her shoulders. She gasped as his body collided with hers, walking her backward until her shoulders hit the wall. She gazed up at him with obvious astonishment; he could see his face reflected in her dark irises. He barely recognized himself, and his voice sounded strange when he spoke, even to his own ears: “Julian,” he said. “I want you to call me Julian. Only ever that.”

Her eyes seemed to spark. Her lips moved slowly — her soft, delicious lips, her mouth that he had stared at for what felt like a million years of silent, hopeless wanting.

“Julian,” she said, exhaling his name on a breath.

The sound of her voice shaping his full name — not the name she’d called him when they were children —  sent something hot and dark through his veins. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he took her mouth with a hard, violent desperation that could hardly be called a kiss.

Every muscle in his body seemed to contract at once: the kiss filled all his senses, softness, sweetness, the scent of her hair and skin, the sight of her closed eyes, the flutter of her lashes. Emma. His Emma. And she was clutching him back, she was holding him to her, hard, giving back every part of the kiss. She tasted of wildness, of rain, and he wondered how he could have even imagined for a split second that the faerie he had kissed had been her. He felt a moan rise in his throat and forced it back down; Emma knew this was a bad idea, she was the sensible one and some part of his brain was telling him that if he could hide how much he wanted her, how much he would give up to have this, she would let it continue. Let them both take part in this colossal mistake that was all that was keeping his heart beating.

Her hands rose, touched the back of his neck. Her fingers were long, delicate for a warrior’s fingers, but not soft at all: her calluses scraped gently across the soft skin above the collar of his shirt and he shuddered with the effort not to lose control right then and there. She reached to yank his sweater over his head, dragging it off over his hands.

She reached for his t-shirt next; then hesitated. His heart slammed against his ribs. Please let it be that she didn’t want to stop. Please let her keep wanting him. Her lips parted as she looked up at him: her fair hair hung in thick wet golden ropes over her shoulders, down her back. It made damp patches on her shirt; he could see her bra through the material, and her nipples, stiffened with the cold. He was so hard that it hurt.

He put his hands on her waist. He loved holding her like this, as if he were about to lift her in his arms, as if they were dancing. He heard her breathing quicken. His hands slid up her body, cupped her breasts; his fingers stroked across their centers. She gave a little gasping moan and her head fell back against the wall.

Desire and triumph shot through him at once, a heady combination. Their first time had been an explosion of wanting and instinct; he had taken away from it no confidence that he could reliably please her. Every quickened breath she took now was like a match to dry tinder; he hadn’t thought he could want her more, but the fire coursing through him made him think of the church whose stone walls he and Emma had charred to ashes.

He kissed her deeply; she murmured against his mouth, her hands on his back, pulling him closer. She arched against him, against his body that ached and wanted her; he could hear his voice, saying her name, and he had to force himself not to beg her to tell him she loved him, that she wanted him.

But he couldn’t control his own words. He buried his face against her, kissing her cheek, her throat as he slid his thumbs under the waistband of her jeans and pushed down. She kicked the wet heap of denim away. His hands tightened on her curves, the delicate convexity of hipbones under his fingers, something unbearably intimate in the contact.

“I love you,” he said, or something like it: the words were half-choked. “I love you — so much.”

He thought he felt her freeze. He’d said too much. Even as the fear tore at him, his body was still aching, wanting hers; when she turned her head to the side and kissed his palm, he wanted to scream. “Julian,” she said, her voice shaking. “I —”

“Don’t,” he whispered, and kissed her, desperate not to hear that this was impossible. Her lips scorched his, feathering along the edge of his mouth. “I don’t want to hear anything reasonable, not now. I don’t want logic. I want this.”

She stopped, her lips against his jawline. “But you need to know —”

He shook his head. “I don’t.” He reached down, grabbed the hem of his shirt, dragged it off. His wet hair showered droplets on them both. “I’ve been broken for weeks,” he said, and the words hurt to say, though they were true and honest. Maybe because they were true and honest. “I need to be whole again. Even if it doesn’t last.”

She was shaking her head, but her hands stroked his collarbone, brushed across his bare skin. When her fingers found his parabatai rune and traced its contours, the rush of blood to his groin made him dizzy.

“It can’t last,” she whispered. “It’ll break our hearts.”

He couldn’t stand it. There was something about her fingertips on the rune that was driving him out of his mind; he caught her by the wrist, drew her hand away and brought it to his bare chest. Splayed her fingers over his heart, imagining she could see through his ribcage like a window, see where she had left her fingerprints on every valve and ventricle and artery.  “Break my heart,” he told her. “Break it in pieces. I give you permission.”

He saw her pupils expand, blown wide like doors. She reached her arms out for him and he could hear the ache of longing in her voice, a longing that matched his own. “Julian, yes,” she said. “Yes.”

He caught her, lifted her, pulling her tank top up over her head. She unsnapped her bra, shrugged it off, reached for the waistband of his jeans. Slid her hand down under it with a wicked smile. Her hand closed around him, palm and fingers a hot sweet torment. He pressed his forehead into her shoulder, riding the waves of delight that she wanted him, was touching him, until they began to crest and in fear that it would be over too soon, he drew away abruptly to rid himself of his own clothes while she laughed the low, throaty laugh that tore a hole right through his solar plexus.

“Julian,” she breathed. “Come back.” Her arms were out to him, beckoning him back to her. Then his hands were on her hips; he was lifting her so she was pinned between his body and the wall. They looked at each other for what was probably only a second: it felt like forever. Outside the wind and rain and sea smashed against the stone of the cliffs; here, inside this house, this odd place that was a monument to lost love, they were together and nothing else mattered: they fit into the smallest space imaginable, the space inside the hearts of lovers who had found their way back to each other after an impossible separation.

He bent his head to kiss her with a gentle reverence: first her lips and then her breasts; he felt her tremble with pleasure; her long legs rose and wrapped themselves around his waist. She urged his face up with her fingers beneath his chin as he held her, hands under her thighs, and she kissed his mouth open, circled his tongue with hers until he could stand it no longer and pressed forward and inside her.

She gasped, shuddered, her body hot and soft around him. Her lips parted, her eyes fluttering shut. He said a silent apology to every cliché that he’d now realized was true: that they fit together like puzzle pieces, that she was the other half of him, that this was something so extraordinary that no one else had ever experienced it, that no one else ever would, that he had happened upon undiscovered country. Oh my America, my new-found-land —

He dragged himself back to reality. “You’re all right?” he whispered, astonished he could form the words.

Her ankles locked in the small of his back and he nearly blacked out. Sweat gleamed at her throat, her collarbones. Her voice shook: “Don’t stop.”

He began to move and she arched against him, her hands reaching back, scrabbling at the wall for something to brace herself. She was saying his name, Julian, Julian, and his hands slid up her spine, cradling her body as he fought for control. The intense sensation of it rose in a spiral with every movement, with each slide of her skin against his. Her breath came in sobbing gasps; her fingers flew to grip his shoulders; he knew he was saying he loved her, over and over and over as she cried out and the pleasure blew apart inside him, searing every nerve in his body.

He sank to his knees, still cradling Emma in his arms. There were tears on her face, though he doubted she knew it: she was holding him still; they were holding each other, dazed and exhausted, like the only survivors of a ship that had run aground on some distant, legendary shore.

We ♥ this so much! How amazing is this extended scene? Thank you to the Cassies!

We can’t decide which scene we prefer, this one or Cassie’s recently published Clary and Jace short story. What about you? Leave your thoughts in the comments below!

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About Cathrin (504 Articles)
Writer for TMI Source and 'The Shadowhunter Chronicles' lover extraordinaire. Fangirls over books, history, German football, movies and fictional characters.

2 Comments on Extended and NSFW version of the cottage scene in ‘Lord of Shadows’

  1. WOW, I am sooooooo happy you released this. I personally loved the clace one a bit more but I am loving the heat and intensity of both!!! I think I need to sit in front of a fan for a while. Thanks so much. And as always
    I ❤️ You, Cassie

  2. I can’t help it Clace always take the cake for me but I do love this and Jemma of course. But Jace and Clary just have something I can’t get enough of……..There will never be anyone else for me – Clary

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