Page 23

THIRTEEN

REIGN

Something primal stirs in my chest as I lead Audrey into my bedroom.

Before I met Audrey, I wasn’tthe dominant type.

Growing up, I was the quiet kid who kept to himself.

Even in the military, I led through competence and respect, not intimidation or control.

But something about Audrey unlocks a part of me I didn’t know existed—a need to possess, to claim, to mark her as mine in ways that would make a caveman proud.

I set her on her feet beside my bed, watching her take in the space.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, moving toward the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the mountains. The fading sunlight catches in her hair, turning the dark strands to burnished gold. “The view is incredible.”

I don’t give a shit about the view. Not when she’s standing in my bedroom, in my territory, close enough to touch but still clothed. Still not completely mine.

“Before we start,” I say, closing the distance between us, “we need to establish something.”

Her eyes meet mine, curious but not afraid. Never afraid, not of me. It’s one of the things that drives me fucking crazy about her—the trust she places in me despite knowing what I am, what I’m capable of.

“Colors,” I tell her, my hand coming up to cup her face. “Green means continue. Yellow means slow down. Red means stop immediately. Understand?”

She nods, her pulse visibly quickening beneath the delicate skin of her throat. “Green, yellow, red. I understand.”

“Good girl. Now tell me who you belong to.”

Her breath catches, but her gaze doesn’t waver. “You.”

One word. So simple. So fucking perfect. But not enough.

“Say it again.” My thumb traces her lower lip, pressing slightly. “Who do you belong to, Audrey?”

“I belong to you, Reign. Only you.”

I back her against the window, my body caging hers, one hand braced beside her head while the other slides to her throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, feeling her pulse race beneath my palm.

“And what happens to things that belong to me when someone else touches them?”

“They get punished,” she whispers.

“That’s right.” I lean closer, my lips brushing her ear. “And you’ve been very, very bad, princess. Haven’t you?”

She nods, her hands coming up to rest against my chest. “Yes, I’ve been bad.”

I have no idea what the fuck I’m even saying right now doing.

The words coming out of my mouth feel foreign, like someone else is speaking through me.

But the way she responds—the quickening of her breath, the dilation of her pupils, the subtle arch of her body toward mine—tells me I’m on the right track.

“Tell me.” My grip on her throat tightens fractionally. “Tell me exactly what you did wrong.”

“I let him touch me,” she breathes, and I feel her swallow beneath my palm. “At dinner last week. He put his hand on my knee under the table, and I didn’t stop him.”

The confession ignites something dark inside me. I knew Vega had been pawing at her, but hearing it from her lips makes my vision blur red at the edges.

“Where else?” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Where else did he touch what’s mine?”

“My waist. When we were dancing at the charity gala.” Her eyes flutter closed. “My face when he kissed me goodnight.”

“Open your eyes.” I wait until she obeys before continuing. “Did you think about me when his hands were on you?”

“Every time.” The admission comes out as barely more than a whisper. “I thought about your hands instead. About how different it feels when you touch me.”

“And how does it feel when I touch you?”

“Like I’m alive,” she says without hesitation. “Like I’m finally real.”

The raw honesty in her voice nearly undoes my control. But this isn’t about tenderness. Not yet. This is about establishing what she already knows deep down—that she belongs to me completely.

“Strip.” I step back, giving her space. “Everything off. Now.”

Her hands move to the hem of her sweater, but I catch her wrists.

“Slowly,” I command. “I want to savor this.”

She pulls the soft cashmere over her head, revealing a black lace bra that makes my mouth water. Her jeans follow, peeled down her legs to expose matching panties that leave little to the imagination.

“All of it,” I say when she hesitates.

The bra goes first, freeing her perfect breasts to my hungry gaze. Then the panties slide down her thighs, pooling at her feet before she steps out of them.

“Hands behind your back.”

She complies immediately, the position pushing her breasts forward, making her even more vulnerable. More mine.

I circle her slowly, drinking in every inch of exposed skin. The bruises from our last encounter have faded, and that won’t do. Not when I need to see my marks on her, need evidence of my claim that even Vega can’t miss.

“I’m going to spank this perfect ass ten times. You’re going to count each one and thank me for it. Understand?”

“Yes,” she breathes, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.

“Yes, what?” I prompt, moving behind her.

“Yes, sir.”

The honorific sends a jolt of satisfaction through me.

I’ve never needed a woman to call me sir before, never let my dominant side show like this. But with Audrey, everything’s different. She brings out parts of me I’ve kept locked away, makes me want things I’ve never allowed myself to want.

“Bend over. Hands on the window.”

She moves into position, presenting herself to me with a trust that humbles and inflames me in equal measure. The dying sunlight paints her skin gold, highlighting every curve, every hollow.

My hand connects with her ass in a sharp crack that echoes through the room.

“One. Thank you, sir.”

Her voice wavers but doesn’t break. I rub the reddening skin gently before delivering the second strike.

“Two. Thank you, sir.”

By the fifth, she’s trembling. By the eighth, soft whimpers escape between counts. But she never uses her safe word, never asks me to stop. If anything, she pushes back into my hand, silently begging for more.

“Ten. Thank you, sir.”

I pull her upright, spinning her to face me. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, but there’s heat there, too. Need. Desire so intense it matches my own.

“Color?” I ask, needing to be sure.

“Green,” she gasps. “So green.”

I claim her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her moan as my hands roam her heated skin. She melts against me, her arms winding around my neck, pulling me closer.

“Please,” she whispers against my lips. “I need you.”

“Not yet.” I grip her wrists, pinning them above her head against the window. “First, you’re going to come just from my mouth. Then my fingers. And only when you’re begging, when you can’t form coherent words anymore, will I give you my cock.”

Her whole body shudders at my words. “Reign?—”

“That’s not what you call me right now.”

“Sir,” she corrects herself. “Please, sir.”

I drop to my knees before her, spreading her thighs wider.

She’s already wet, glistening in the fading light. The sight makes my cock strain painfully against my jeans, but this isn’t about me. This is about worship. About showing her exactly how a real man treats what’s his.

The first touch of my tongue makes her cry out, her hands scrambling for purchase against the smooth glass. I grip her hips, holding her steady as I devour her like a man starved. And I am starved—for her taste, her sounds, the way she comes apart under my touch.

“Oh, god,” she gasps, her thighs trembling. “I’m going to?—”

“Ask permission,” I growl against her.

“Please, sir. Please, may I come?”

“Come for me, princess.”

She shatters with a cry that would wake the dead if anyone was around to hear. But there’s no one for miles. Just us and the mountains and the truth of what we are together.

I don’t give her time to recover, immediately sliding two fingers inside her still-clenching heat while my thumb finds her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Again,” I command. “Give me another one.”

“I can’t?—”

“You can, and you will.” I curl my fingers, finding that spot that makes her see stars. “Because you’re mine, and I say you’re going to come on my fingers like the perfect girl you are.”

This orgasm builds slower, deeper. I watch her face as she climbs, memorizing every expression, every gasp and whimper. When she finally crashes over the edge, it’s with my name on her lips—not sir, but Reign, raw and desperate and perfect.

I stand, finally shedding my clothes with efficient movements. Her eyes track every reveal of skin, darkening when I free my cock from my jeans.

“Turn around. Hands on the glass.”

She obeys on shaky legs, presenting herself to me once more. I run my hands over the marks I left on her ass, satisfaction flooding through me at the evidence of my claim.

“Who do you belong to?” I ask, positioning myself at her entrance.

“You,” she breathes. “Only you, Reign.”

I thrust home in one smooth motion, burying myself to the hilt. We both groan at the sensation—the perfect fit, the heat, the rightness of being joined.

“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” I set a punishing pace, each thrust driving her forward against the window. “To be claimed. To be fucked like you deserve.”

“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, god, yes.”

I fist my hand in her hair, pulling her head back. “Look at yourself. Look at how beautiful you are taking my cock.”

Her reflection in the window is a work of art—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes glazed with pleasure.

But it’s the expression of complete surrender that nearly undoes me.

She’s given herself to me completely, trusting me with not just her body but with the parts of herself she hides from everyone else.

“I’m close,” she whimpers. “Please, I need?—”

“I know what you need.” I reach around to circle her clit, timing my movements with my thrusts. “Come for me, Audrey. Show me you’re mine.”

She comes with a scream that echoes off the mountains, her body clenching around me like a vice. The sensation triggers my own release, and I follow her over the edge with a growl of her name.