Page 36

Angelique

I wake to the soft drag of slow gentle fingertips against my skin, like a caress. I keep my eyes closed, not ready to break the spell. The room is warm, and the blankets are tangled around my bare legs, my cheek pressed into one of Reign’s pillows.

His fingers are moving across my back, drawing shapes I can’t see. I concentrate, trying to make out what he’s drawing, when I realize he’s spelling something.

i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u.

I suck in a tiny breath, and his hand stills, like he’s waiting for me to shift. I do a tiny wiggle, my way of telling him to keep going.

“Good morning, Angel,” Reign murmurs.

He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head, and I finally turn to face him, eyes still heavy with sleep. His blond hair is messy, his blue eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them. His hand moves again, but this time he just draws slow circles on my back.

I smile faintly, still not speaking as I watch him. Then I feel him twitch against my leg, and I remember we’re both completely naked. I wiggle my ass, teasing him as he smirks.

“Dangerous game you’re playing,” he murmurs.

His fingers trail down my spine, light as air, then over the swell of my ass. My breath hitches when he grazes my folds. One slow stroke, then another, and I’m already wet. A soft moan slips from my lips as his fingers circle my clit, gentle but skilled.

But before I can sink fully into it, he moves, kissing his way down my spine until he’s between my legs. He props up my hips, spreading me with one strong hand, and then his tongue is on every inch of me.

He licks into me with slow, filthy strokes, teasing and devouring in equal measure. He doesn’t just taste me—he worships me. Like this is his religion. His prayer. His offering. His tongue sweeps higher, licking softly over my asshole.

I moan, shocked and undone, my fingers clutching at the sheets as heat pulses through me in dizzy waves. He eats me like he owns me, and I come hard. Again, and again, and again. My body barely recovering from one orgasm before the next crashes over me.

By the time he pulls back, I’m barely coherent, trembling and dripping. He rises behind me, and I feel the thick weight of his cock rub against my entrance.

A memory of Alec flashes through my mind, and I freeze. The pain he made me feel, the pressure of his body on me, losing control. I squeeze my eyes shut and almost scream for him to stop, feeling like I’m back on that studio floor, but then Reign speaks.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmurs against my back. “I’ve got you, angel. You’re safe.”

Reign’s voice grounds me, bringing me back to the present. His hands are slow, steady, loving . It’s like he knows I need to hear those words. Like he knows I need to be reminded that I’m safe now, that no one can hurt me.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he breathes, his cock nudging gently at my entrance. “But if you let me in… I’ll make you forget anyone else ever touched you.”

I let out a breath. How could he possibly know that?

How could he know that’s all I want? To forget the hands that touched me before.

I chew on my lip and nod.He pushes in, inch by inch, slow enough for me to adjust. His hands never stop moving, brushing along my sides, stroking my thighs.

His lips finding my shoulder and gently kissing me.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmurs against my skin. “Let me take care of you.”

I feel every fucking stretch as he fills me from behind, one steady push at a time.

My muscles tremble from the sheer pressure of him sliding deeper, deeper, until he bottoms out inside me.

He stays buried and unmoving, and then the pressure is gone, replaced by heat, the fullness of him, and… pleasure .

I nod again, panting. My body’s pulsing around him, adjusting to his size. His hand comes around my waist, fingers dipping down to stroke my clit again, slow circles that make my hips roll back against him.

He groans. “That’s it, ride me.”

And I do. I rock back into him, feeling the drag of his cock pulling almost all the way out before he thrusts back in, harder this time.

The wet slap of our bodies meeting echoes in the quiet room.

He sets a rhythm, and every thrust makes my body jolt forward.

Every time he drives in, I feel him hit that spot that makes me see stars .

“You feel how tight you are around me?” he growls. “So fucking perfect.”

I whimper, arching my back, my ass pushing into him as he grips my hips tighter and starts to really fuck me. Long, hard strokes. He fucks me like he’s been waiting forever for this.

“Look at you,” he pants. “Taking all of me. Fuck, Angel… I’ll never get over how good you feel.”

His chest presses into my back now, skin hot against mine, his arm sliding under my body to pull me tighter against him. One of his hands fists in my hair, tugging my head to the side so he can kiss my neck, bite my shoulder, devour me.

I’m soaking wet—slick and messy—loud with it. And I love it. He shifts his angle slightly and hits the spot that makes me cry out, my legs shaking as he keeps grinding into it, over and over.

“Are you going to come for me again?” he murmurs, biting my earlobe. “Come on, Angel. I want to feel you squeeze me while I fuck you.”

And that’s all it takes for me to fall apart, moaning his name.

I come hard, my body convulsing as he fucks me through it, never slowing down, letting me ride every wave until I’m trembling, overstimulated, and wrecked.

He groans, the sound almost feral now, and his thrusts become rougher and sloppier.

“Fuck , you’re perfect,” he growls, grinding against me as he chases his release. “You were made for me.”

And then he shudders, burying himself deep one last time as he explodes inside me, moaning into my shoulder, his hips twitching with every final pulse. For a long moment, we just breathe, our bodies tangled and sweat cooling on our skin. The smell of sex thick in the air .

He slowly pulls out, kisses the back of my shoulder, and rolls to his side, one arm looping around my waist, holding me close.

“Still with me?” he murmurs against my neck.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “More than I’ve been in a long time.”

And it’s true, because with him by my side, loving me like this…I finally feel like I belong to myself again.

I hover beside Reign near the back of the chemist, arms folded tightly across my chest, my hoodie zipped to my chin like I’m trying to disappear inside it.

This was my idea—technically—but now that we’re here, I want the floor to swallow me whole.

The hush of pharmacy counters and the faint clink of bottles feel more real than any hospital.

Reign leads me straight to the pharmacist’s hatch, and the pharmacist looks up from filling a prescription.

“How can I help?” she asks, professional but kind.

“Plan B, please. She needs it today,” Reign answers for me.

“Of course. If you’d just come through here, I’ll ask a few questions to make sure it’s right.”

She gestures to a small consultation room behind the counter, and I follow her through, barely registering the pharmacist asking about timing, weight, current meds, but within minutes I’m holding a box of Plan B.

“Take it as soon as possible. It can work up to five days after but sooner is better.”

Reign takes the box from me with no hesitation, or shame, or awkwardness, and he slips it into the little blue basket he’s holding as if he’s tossing in a bottle of water .

I follow him down a narrow aisle lined with blister packs and skincare bottles, tugging my sleeves over my hands like that might somehow make this less awkward. My insides feel scrambled, like I’m trying to settle into my skin again and it’s not quite fitting the same way it did this morning.

Without saying a word, he grabs a box of condoms off the shelf and sets it into the basket. Then he glances back at me, smirks, and picks up a second box, too.

I raise a brow. “That’s optimistic.”

“That’s restraint,” he says, calmly. “Optimism would’ve been a third box.”

I blush so hard I’m pretty sure my face is actively combusting. “Reign.”

He leans in, lips brushing my ear, voice dropping into that dangerous place between teasing and thoughtful. “I’m never forgetting again, Angel. But just in case...”

He pulls back with a wink, tosses the second box into the basket, and keeps walking. I groan and follow as we drift into the snack aisle next. It’s quiet, just the distant beep of a till and the occasional hum of footsteps on the tile.

“You should pick some things,” he says.

I blink. “What things?”

“Comfort food. Salty, sweet, whatever helps. You might feel like shit later. Cramping, nausea. Mood swings. I googled it.”

“You googled it?”

He nods once. “Of course I did. I’m not letting you go through this alone,” he says, eyes on the shelves now. “Not for a second.”

My chest pulls tight at the honesty in his voice.

At how simple he makes it sound, like protecting me is as easy as breathing for him.

I turn toward the aisle and start picking things I recognize from old, bad days—plain crackers, salted popcorn, dark chocolate, mint tea, a bottle of Lucozade.

Reign adds a box of mac and cheese, a giant bag of crisps, and a box of ginger biscuits to the basket without comment.

At the till, I glance down at the Plan B box nestled between our mess of snacks and feel a dull ache of reality twist in my stomach.

I can’t tuck away everything that’s happened between Reign and I into a dark corner and pretend it doesn’t matter.

Sooner or later, I’ll have to admit to myself, and to him, how much I care about this. About us.

Reign’s hand brushes mine, knuckles skimming carefully. “You okay?” he asks, voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

But he studies me for a beat longer, like he’s trying to see if I’m lying to myself. Then he turns back to the cashier and pays.

Outside, the sky is painted in deep purples and steel greys as Reign opens the passenger door for me. He waits until I’m in, then walks around and slides into the driver’s seat, the bag of snacks resting between us.

“I’m putting on Pride and Prejudice when we get back,” he says, starting the engine.

I glance over at him. “You remember my favourite movie?”

His jaw flexes. “I remember everything that matters.”

I squint my eyes at him. “I bet you don’t remember which version of Pride and Prejudice is my favourite.”

He gives me a look like I’ve insulted his intelligence. “The 2005 version with Keira Knightley. ”

My eyebrows raise in surprise, and he scoffs in response. “I’ve been paying attention,” he mutters as he backs out of the parking lot and begins the drive home.

My throat tightens just a little as I smile. “I guess you have.”

He reaches over and runs his thumb along the inside of my wrist, like a grounding wire. Like he’s reminding himself I’m real, and that I’m here, and I’m his. As we drive through the darkening streets toward home, I realize something that hits deeper than panic or afterglow or consequence.

Reign doesn’t just want me. He claims me—quietly and completely—and I’ve never felt safer.

When we get back to the estate, he kills the engine, grabs the bag, and comes around to open my door like always.

But this time, when I step out, he doesn’t let go of my hand.

The minute we’re inside, I head straight to the kitchen and get a glass of water while Reign sets the bag down on the counter, unpacks everything, and places the Plan B packet down in front of me.

I take the pill while he watches me swallow, and then he nods once like it settles something in him.

“Come on,” he murmurs, already walking toward the bathroom. “Bath’s next.”

He starts the water and pours a lavender-scented bubble bath into the tub, testing the temperature with his hand before stepping back. His gaze rakes over my naked body once, slow and appreciative, and then he leaves the room without a word.

I soak for a while, letting the warmth work into my bones. My thighs ache faintly, and my lower stomach feels a little off as I rest my head against the back of the tub and close my eyes, breathing in the steam, letting my muscles uncoil one at a time.

Before I step out of the tub, my eye catches on the razor I’ve used on my wrists. I stare at it for a moment, realizing I don’t have the overwhelming urge to cut anymore, as if being with Reign has satisfied that voice in my head that begs for the self-inflicted pain.

I step out of the tub and find a towel along with one of his hoodies and a pair of my underwear waiting for me on the sink. After drying off, I change into the clothes and walk barefoot into the living room.

The lights are low, and Reign has rearranged the couch with blankets and pillows.

A mug of tea waits for me on the coffee table too, still steaming.

He’s in the kitchen, putting popcorn in a bowl when he glances up and sees me.

I watch as his eyes rake over my bare legs, but he looks away with restraint and crosses the room, placing the popcorn down, and gently tugging me toward the couch.

Reign settles in first, back against the cushions, legs spread slightly. Then he pulls me between them, guiding me to sit against his chest like he already knows I need to be held, and I let myself sink into him.

“You’re warm,” I murmur.

His arms curl around my middle, protective and solid, and then the TV turns on. The opening piano notes of Pride and Prejudice drift through the room and my chest squeezes. We stay like that—wrapped in blankets, our bodies pressed close, as Elizabeth Bennet walks alone through the fields.

Halfway through the film, Reign slides his hand under my hoodie, resting flat against my lower stomach, and his other arm tightens around my waist, drawing me closer. The pain never comes, but regardless, for the first time in a long, long time, I feel taken care of.