Page 35

Angelique

W e’re still damp from the pool when we get to the guest house, my curls dripping water down my back, while the hem of the shirt I borrowed from Lando sticks to my thighs.

Every step leaves a faint trail of water on the floor, but none of that matters because the second the front door clicks shut behind us, Reign’s on me.

Lips crashing against mine, hands in my hair, teeth catching my bottom lip as I gasp into his mouth. I don’t know who reaches for who first. All I know is that we’re both hungry—wild with it—and the second his tongue touches mine, my knees almost give out.

He backs me into the wall, our bodies slamming together, soaked fabric and flushed skin colliding in the dark. My fingers tug at his shirt, dragging it over his head as he kisses me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

We stumble down the hallway, tearing at each other’s clothes and flinging the damp material behind us.

He mouths at my throat as we move, then he grips my waist, spinning me into another wall.

I whimper when his thigh slips between mine, pressing up where I need him most. He grinds there once—slow and deep—and I bite down on his shoulder.

By the time we reach his bedroom door, I’m panting. Almost naked and completely undone. Reign pauses with his hands on my waist, his chest rising and falling like he’s struggling to keep himself tethered. He leans in, brushing his lips over my cheek.

“Angel,” he murmurs, his voice lower than I’ve ever heard it. “Do you want to try it tonight?”

I blink, breath catching. “Try what?”

His fingers gently trail up my sides.

“The knife,” he says quietly. “Only if you’re ready to test out your pain kink.”

I go completely still, because being naked with him is already terrifying enough. He hasn’t seen all of me yet, the worst of me. The places where I’ve carved reminders into my skin. The raw, ruined parts. The ones Alec made me feel like I’d never reclaim.

But this isn’t Alec, this is Reign.

When I look up, his expression isn’t lusty or pushy, it’s patient, focused on me. He’s giving me the choice. And maybe… just maybe… letting him all the way in—scars and all—might help me take back something that was stolen.

So, I nod, slowly. “Yes.”

He exhales, eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation. “Tell me to stop anytime. Do you understand?”

“I will,” I whisper.

Because I want this. Not because I enjoy pain for the sake of it—but because I want to feel something that belongs to me . Something no one took. Something I can control. And right now, I want Reign to be the one to give it to me .

He kisses me once, then leads me into the room. I watch as he disappears into the closet for a moment, and when he comes back, his expression has shifted. His body language is different now—more in control.

He sets the knife on the nightstand, and I stare at it. It’s a beautiful black steel, the edge gleaming even in the low light of Reign’s bedroom. It looks dangerous in a way that makes my blood heat and my thighs clench in anticipation. Reign turns to me and runs his fingers down my bare arms.

“Lie back for me,” he whispers.

I climb onto the bed, heart pounding, and sink into the pillows.

He undresses me the rest of the way—slowly, with worship—kissing along every inch of new skin he uncovers.

His hands move with care, but his eyes never stray.

He sees the faint white lines that slash across my ribs, and the pale, ridged scars on the insides of my thighs.

He doesn’t flinch or ask questions. He just kisses me softly, everywhere.

“Thank you for letting me see you,” he whispers into the space between my breasts.

Then he picks up the knife. It’s cool to the touch when the flat side of the blade drags along my collarbone.

My breath hitches, but not in fear, in want .

His eyes stay on mine as he glides the blade lower, pressing the blunt edge to the dip between my ribs, then down the curve of my waist, teasing me.

He watches my reactions carefully. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he says again, voice husky.

He leans forward, kissing the inside of my thigh, just above one of my oldest scars.

He whispers something I can’t quite make out and when he rises, he shifts the knife in his hand and slices a shallow line along my hip, just below the bone.

My body jerks from the sheer electric shock of it.

The pain is immediate, bright, and weirdly beautiful .

I gasp, and then I moan . My legs fall open instinctively, like my body knows exactly what it wants before I do.

Reign’s eyes flash. “You like that?” he asks softly, voice full of awe and heat.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Fuck, yes.”

He leans down and presses a kiss just above the fresh cut, then goes lower. He doesn’t give me time to recover before he slides his fingers between my legs and touches me like he owns me. Like he’s trying to worship and ruin me at once.

The sting of the cut lingers, making every other sensation sharper. My body is on fire, so keyed up that I cry out when his thumb grazes my clit. My hips roll up against his hand, shameless now, and greedy.

“I love how you respond to this,” he mutters, dragging his tongue along the line of my stomach while his fingers move inside me, slow and deep. “So fucking perfect.”

He curls them just right, and I writhe beneath him. The pain on my hip pulses with every heartbeat, amplifying the pleasure until it’s all one overwhelming current.

“You’re so beautiful when I hurt you like this,” he whispers against my skin.

My eyes flutter shut and my head tilts back as my mouth falls open around a breathless moan. And when he kisses me, I taste my own desperation on his tongue.

It doesn’t take long before I come with a cry, my body spasming around his fingers, my hand gripping his wrist as if to anchor myself while the world fractures. This feeling is mine.

When I collapse back against the pillows, trembling, he slowly presses soft kisses to my throat, my cheeks, my forehead and then he sets the knife aside with care and lowers his body over mine.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

I nod, still catching my breath.

“More than okay,” I whisper.

I feel powerful.

He brushes the hair from my eyes and kisses my lips again—this time slow and soft.

We lie tangled together in his bed, skin damp and warm, the scent of sweat and chlorine still lingering in the air between us.

His arm is slung around my waist, our legs woven together beneath the sheets. My body aches in the best way.

I finally feel entirely mine. But also, his.

After a while, Reign tilts his head and murmurs, “We should shower together. Save warm water.”

I lift a brow. “You live on an estate with endless amounts of hot water.”

He smirks. “I’m trying to be environmentally conscious.” I roll my eyes but let him pull me from the bed.

The bathroom mirrors fog up from the steam within minutes of Reign turning on the hot water. I step in first and he follows. He grabs a bottle of soap and lathers it between his palms, then gently starts running his hands over my body.

It doesn’t feel sexual though, it feels healing .

He washes every part of me like I’m something sacred, not something ruined.

And when he moves behind me to shampoo my hair, my eyes flutter closed.

His fingers massage my scalp with firm, patient strokes, and I let myself lean into him, my back against his chest, the sound of the water drowning everything else out.

He rinses my hair and works in the conditioner next, gently running his fingers through my curls, detangling them with care. When he finishes rinsing that out, I turn to him, pouring soap onto my hands now. My hands move across his chest, his abs, and down the V of his hips.

I watch his body respond to me, the tension tightening his jaw and the hunger flaring in his eyes. When I wrap my fingers around his cock, he’s already half-hard, and by the time I stroke, he’s groaning.

I rinse the soap off him, watching the way the water rushes over the muscles that tense beneath my hands, and then I sink to my knees. His breath hitches, his head tilting slightly like he’s not sure he’s seeing this right.

“Fuck,” he breathes, one hand sliding up to rest on the back of his neck as the water beats down on his back. “Angel…”

I look up at him through wet lashes. His cock is thick and flushed, and when I wrap my mouth around him, his hips jerk forward slightly.

“Jesus,” he groans. “I’ve thought about your lips around my cock since the summer we spent together. I can’t tell you how many nights I lost sleep over it.”

I moan softly at his words and take him deeper. As deep as I can. His head falls back against the tile, a sharp sound catching in his throat as I work him with my mouth—slow and hungry, full of intent. I flatten my tongue, tighten my lips, and suck harder as he unravels above me.

His hands find the back of my head, but he doesn’t push, he just holds me, anchoring himself as I take him over and over, greedy for every sound, every moan, every twitch of his hips.

When he finally explodes, it’s with a loud groan that echoes off the walls.

I swallow it all, every drop, keeping my eyes on him the whole time.

When Reign finally opens his eyes, his gaze locks on mine and the look in them makes my stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with danger. He reaches down and runs his thumb across my bottom lip, slow and gentle.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs.

There’s love in his eyes, and it should scare me.

I should pull back and maybe even run, but I feel like something inside me that’s been frozen for years is thawing.

Reign helps me gently to my feet and grabs a towel before wrapping me up in it carefully.

He wraps a second towel around my hair, and then he wraps one around his own waist and steps back.

I study him in the silence that follows, the water still running behind us, the air thick with steam and affection.

And as I stand there, dripping and breathless, I wonder?—

Is falling for him even possible after everything I’ve survived? Or have I already fallen… without even realizing it?