Page 35

NINETEEN

REIGN

Audrey sits between my legs in the oversized tub, her bare back pressed against my chest, her wet hair slicked back from her face.

My arms encircle her waist, keeping her anchored against me as hot water and jasmine-scented bubbles surround us.

She’s holding the small crystal trophy they presented her with hours ago, turning it over in her hands like she’s still not convinced it’s real.

“I still can’t believe I won,” she whispers. Steam rises around us, fogging the massive bathroom mirror and blurring the San Diego skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I press my lips to her temple. “Believe it, Princess. That award is exactly where it belongs.”

“But there were so many incredible artists there.” She leans her head back against my shoulder, still cradling the trophy. “People who’ve been studying and creating their whole lives.”

“And yet none of them captured what you did.” I take the trophy from her hands and place it carefully on the marble ledge beside the tub. “That’s why you won. Not because of technique or training, but because you painted something that made people feel.”

She turns slightly in my arms, water lapping gently around us as she shifts. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” I cup her face with one wet hand. “You should have seen the judges’ expressions when they were looking at your work. Like they’d found something they’d been searching for.”

Her smile, small and uncertain at first, blooms into something radiant. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Of course, you could have.” I trace her lower lip with my thumb. “You did every brushstroke. All I did was make sure the right people saw it.”

Her body relaxes against mine, the smooth curve of her ass pressing against my cock in a way that’s both innocent and maddening.

“Turn around,” I murmur against her ear. “Let me wash your hair.”

She complies without hesitation, shifting in the large tub until she’s facing me, her legs draped over mine, her breasts peeking through the mountain of bubbles between us. I reach for the bottle of hotel shampoo, pouring a generous amount into my palm.

She sighs as my fingers work through her hair, massaging her scalp with firm, rhythmic pressure. Her eyes close, dark lashes fanning against flushed cheeks, her lips parting slightly in pleasure.

“That feels amazing,” she murmurs.

“Good.” I work the shampoo into a rich lather, taking my time with each stroke of my fingers. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

“You’re always taking care of me.” Her eyes open, catching mine with unexpected intensity. “Who takes care of you, Reign?”

The question catches me off guard, breaking through the careful control I maintain even in our most intimate moments. I’ve spent my adult life being the caretaker, the protector, the solid foundation others rely on. No one asks who’s supporting me.

“You do,” I admit, the truth of it surprising even me. “Every time you look at me like I’m worth something. Every time you trust me enough to let your guard down. Every time you paint something that shows me the world through your eyes.”

A smile touches her lips, soft and knowing. “That’s a very pretty answer. But not what I meant.”

Her hand slides beneath the water, finding my cock which has been at half-mast since she first settled between my legs. Her fingers wrap around me, giving a slow, deliberate stroke that pulls a groan from deep in my chest.

“I meant,” she continues, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, “who takes care of this?”

My body responds instantly to her touch, blood rushing south, hardening me fully in her grip.

“Careful, Princess. You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I want to burn.” Her thumb circles the sensitive head, spreading the moisture gathered there. “Maybe I need to.”

I capture her wrist beneath the water, stilling her movements. “Tonight is about you. Your achievement. Your pleasure.”

“And what if pleasuring you is what I want?” The challenge in her voice, in her eyes, sends heat coursing through me that has nothing to do with the bath water.

“Another time.” I release her wrist, smoothing my hands up her arms to her shoulders. “Lean back. Let me rinse your hair.”

She pouts but complies, tilting her head back as I cup water in my hands, carefully rinsing the suds from her hair. When I finish, I pull her toward me again, her back to my chest, her head resting against my shoulder.

“Do you know how proud I am of you?” I murmur against her ear, my hands sliding from her shoulders down to her waist. “How fucking amazing you were tonight?”

She makes a soft sound, half pleasure, half embarrassment. “I just showed up. The painting did all the work.”

“No.” My hands continue their slow journey, tracing the curve of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips. “You didn’t just show up. You claimed your space. When that collector tried to lowball you, you didn’t back down. You knew your worth.”

“I channeled my inner Reign,” she admits with a small laugh. “Asked myself what you would do.”

“What did you come up with?” My fingers trace idle patterns on her thighs, gradually working inward with each pass.

She shivers despite the warmth of the water. “That I shouldn’t apologize for my talent. That I should demand what I deserve.”

“And do you know what you deserve, Princess?” My lips brush the sensitive spot just beneath her ear as my hands finally, deliberately move to the apex of her thighs.

“Tell me,” she whispers, her legs falling open in invitation.

“Everything.” I cup her sex with one large hand, feeling the heat of her even through the bath water. “Pleasure. Recognition. Freedom.”

Each word is punctuated by a gentle press of my fingers, barely applying pressure, just letting her feel my presence. Her breath catches, her body arching slightly toward my touch.

“You’re a fucking queen,” I continue, my voice dropping lower as I finally allow one finger to trace her entrance. “And it’s time the world treated you that way.”

She whimpers as I slowly push that finger inside her, her inner walls gripping me with a heat that surpasses the bath water surrounding us. I add a second finger, stretching her gently as my thumb finds her clit.

“Reign,” she gasps, her head pressing back against my shoulder.

“That’s it, Princess.” I establish a slow, deliberate rhythm, curling my fingers to hit the spot that makes her thighs tremble. “Just feel. Don’t think. Don’t worry. Just feel what I’m giving you.”

Water sloshes gently around us as she moves against my hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. I keep the pace unhurried and deliberate, building her pleasure with the same care I’d take constructing a foundation. Brick by brick, each one precisely placed.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” I murmur against her ear, my free hand coming up to cup one perfect breast, rolling the nipple between my fingers. “Opening for me. Taking what I give you. Such a good girl for me.”

The praise makes her clench around my fingers, her breathing becoming more erratic. I know her body now, can read the signs of her approaching climax like a book I’ve memorized cover to cover.

“Please,” she whispers, the word broken and desperate. “Harder.”

“No.” I nip at her earlobe, soothing the sting with my tongue immediately after. “Not harder. Deeper.”

I push a third finger inside her, stretching her further as my thumb continues its relentless circles against her clit. She cries out, the sound echoing off the marble walls of the bathroom.

“That’s it,” I encourage, my voice rough with my own arousal. “Take it all. Show me how much you want it.”

Her hands grip the edges of the tub, knuckles white as she leverages herself against my touch. I can feel her getting close, her inner walls fluttering around my fingers.

“You’re going to come for me,” I growl against her ear. “Going to come all over my fingers like a good girl. Going to let me feel how much you need this. Need me.”

“Yes,” she gasps, her head thrashing against my shoulder. “Yes, please, Reign, please?—”

“Now.” I press down firmly on her clit as I curl my fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her see stars. “Come for me now, Princess.”

She shatters with a broken cry, her entire body tensing and then trembling as pleasure crashes through her.

I feel it in the rhythmic pulsing around my fingers, in the arch of her spine, in the helpless sounds that escape her throat.

I work her through it, gentling my touch as the aftershocks subside, but not stopping completely.

“That’s my girl,” I murmur, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder, her neck, any part of her I can reach from this position. “So perfect for me. So fucking beautiful when you come.”

She melts against me and giggles. “I don’t think I can move.”

“You don’t have to.” I shift, carefully maneuvering us both to standing in the large tub. Water cascades down our bodies as I lift her into my arms, one arm behind her back, the other beneath her knees. “I’ve got you.”

I step out of the tub, not bothering with towels yet, carrying her dripping wet into the bedroom. The massive king bed awaits, turned down by housekeeping while we were at the ceremony, soft lights creating a warm glow throughout the space.

She looks up at me, water droplets clinging to her eyelashes, her lips, the valley between her breasts. In this moment, she is more artwork than the painting that won her that trophy. She’s a living, breathing masterpiece that somehow, inexplicably, has chosen to be mine.

“What happens now?” she asks.

I lower her to the bed, her wet body immediately darkening the expensive sheets. Standing over her, I allow myself a moment to appreciate the view. Audrey Worthington, spread out before me like an offering, her eyes dark with desire and trust.

“Now,” I say, reaching for the buckle of my watch, the only thing I’m still wearing, “I show you what happens when you win.”