Page 44

Reign

I stand in the middle of her room, her scent still hanging in the air even after she walked out. My chest feels tight, my lungs barely working as her last words ricochet in my head like stray bullets.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t watch’, as if she doesn’t know I’d die before I ever looked away.

I drag both hands through my hair before I hear the telltale sound of rain hitting the roof. The front door is wide open when I bolt outside, and through the downpour, I spot her silhouette as she stalks down the path toward the gardens, arms crossed over her chest, shoulders hunched.

“Angelique.” My voice is rough, torn open, but she doesn’t turn around.

I catch up to her fast, boots slamming through puddles, and grab her upper arm. She tries to pull away, but I tug her gently into my chest and wrap my arms around her like a fucking vice.

“I’m not letting you walk away from me,” I shout through the loudness of the rain. “Not again. ”

“Let me go,” she chokes out, her voice soaked in tears. “Please, Reign, just let me?—”

“No.” I hold her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head. “You’re hurting, and I get it. But if pain is the only thing that makes you feel alive right now... then let me be a part of it. Let me help you do it safely, like before. Don’t go through it alone.”

She looks up at me—eyes red-rimmed, soaked lashes clinging together, rain dripping down her cheeks like tears—and I crash my mouth against hers. She gasps into the kiss, startled, but then she kisses me back just as desperately, clutching my soaked shirt in both fists.

The rain is pouring between us, our lips sliding and clashing, and there’s nothing delicate about it. It’s everything we’ve been holding in and holding back, spilling out all at once. And when I finally pull back, we’re both breathless.

I press my forehead to hers and whisper, “You don’t have to be okay right now, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Her lips part, and her breath catches like she wasn’t expecting that I hadn’t given up on her yet. Silence stretches between us until finally she gives me a single nod.

My hands are still shaking as I slide my fingers through hers and turn us around, leading her back toward the house where I can take care of her properly.

We barely make it through the front door before I press her against it, hands braced on either side of her head, trying to get a grip on the storm inside me. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her lips parted, eyes already glazed with that familiar pull—equal parts fear and need.

“You sure you want this?” I ask, voice low, guttural.

She nods, then swallows. “I need to feel something that isn’t... this. ”

I lead her down the hall, letting the tension climb between us with every step. Once we’re in my bedroom, I close the door behind us and turn the lock, settling something feral inside me. This is our space. No one gets in, and no one touches her but me.

She stands near the foot of the bed, her wet shirt clinging to her frame, rain dripping from her curls. I take off my coat, toss it aside, and reach into the drawer for my knife. The blade glints under the low lamplight as I flip it open.

She shudders when I kneel between her legs. “Sit,” I say.

She obeys, hands gripping the edge of the bed as I take my time running my hands up her thighs, feeling the tremble in her skin.

Her eyes never leave mine as I inch her shirt up slowly and kiss her bare stomach, soft and warm, then lift her arm—the one she cuts—and press my lips to the healed scars, causing her to shudder again.

“I missed this,” I murmur against her skin. “All of you. Even the broken parts.”

I look up at her then, and she’s already breathless. Her eyes are dark, lips parted, and her pupils are blown wide with arousal and vulnerability. And fuck… she’s never looked more beautiful.

“Do you trust me?” I ask.

She nods without hesitation, and I bring the blade to her inner thigh, just above her knee, and press the cool metal flat against her skin. She gasps in anticipation, excitement flashing across her features.

Slowly, I tilt the blade and make a shallow cut. She gasps, her head tipping back, thighs twitching against my sides. Her hands fist the sheets, her whole body arching toward the sensation. My tongue traces the skin beside the blood. Close enough that she moans from it .

“Again,” she whispers, voice strangled.

I drift higher, lifting her shirt to reveal the side of her hip—the faint scar from last time still visible. I press a kiss there and then slice a new line an inch above it. Her breath comes harder now, her thighs clenching around me as her hips jerk forward.

“You’re beautiful like this,” I whisper. “Bleeding just for me. Giving me your pain.”

Tears form in her eyes, but they don’t fall.

I kiss each thigh, the space between the cuts, the soft flesh that trembles beneath me.

And when I rise over her, she lies back on the bed, hair wild against the pillow, lips parted, dazed and wanting.

I straddle her gently, blade in hand, and pull her shirt up to expose her ribs.

“This one…” My voice is low, almost a growl. “This one’s for the version of you that thinks no one would stay.”

She moans as I cut a shallow line under her ribs. She releases a broken sob, and a gasp fused together before she grabs at my shoulders, lips trembling.

“I can’t breathe,” she whispers.

“You’re safe.” I drop the blade onto the nightstand. “You’re mine.”

Her hands find my face, pulling me down, and our foreheads touch.

“I love you,” she whispers, barely audible. “I’m in love with you, Reign.”

Time stops and everything inside me goes still as I pull back, just enough to see her face. Her eyes are wet, so full of fear, yet so full of trust.

“Say it again.”

“I love you."

My mouth crashes into hers and I kiss her like I’ve been starving.

She melts under me, lips desperate, her hands clawing at my back.

I kiss her until she’s gasping again, and this time it’s not from the knife, it’s from need.

I slide down, pull her shorts off, and roll on a condom before I bury myself between her legs like it’s the only place I’ll ever belong.

When I take her, it’s not gentle. Her back arches as I slam into her, hands gripping her thighs to keep her spread wide and open for me, her heels digging into the small of my back.

I’m deep—so fucking deep—and she takes all of it, over and over, like she’s starved for it.

Like a good girl. Her breath hitches, gasps tearing from her throat as I fuck her into the mattress hard enough to make it creak.

Her body is fire under mine, damp from the rain still, flushed from head to toe, her hair fanned across the pillows like a crown. Her mouth is parted, moaning my name, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

Her breasts move with every hard thrust, flushed and perfect, like they were made to fit in my hands, and her nails rake down my back, like she’s desperate to anchor herself to something—someone—before she completely falls apart.

She lets out a sob when I drive into that perfect spot, the one that makes her legs shake and her fingers claw at the sheets like she’s unraveling right beneath me.

“You feel that?” I growl against her throat, thrusting deeper and rougher. “That’s mine. You’re fucking mine.”

Angelique cries out, nodding, barely able to breathe. “Yes—Reign—fuck—yes.”

I shift, hook her knees over my shoulders and drive into her harder, pounding her into the mattress until the headboard slams against the wall. She screams loudly as her body spasms beneath me, clenching around my cock, eyes rolling back as her orgasm hits her.

But I don’t let up. I fuck her through it, making her take every second until her moans turn into desperate little whimpers, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes as her thighs twitch uncontrollably.

When I finally slow down, it’s not because I’m spent.

It’s because I want to feel her fall apart again, slowly this time.

I pull out and flip her, dragging her onto all fours and ripping off her soaked shirt.

Her shaking arms barely hold her up, but she lifts her head and looks back at me with wet lashes and parted lips.

And fuck, I nearly come from just that. I push back inside, and her mouth falls open in a silent cry, forehead pressing to the sheets as I roll my hips into her, deep and slow now, punishing in a different way.

“You feel what you do to me?” I murmur, one hand gripping her waist, the other sliding up her spine to wrap around her throat. “You feel how fucking perfect you are like this?”

She whimpers, and her walls flutter again.

I lean forward, lips brushing her ear. “You ruin me, Angel. Every time.”

And when the pressure finally snaps and I spill into her with a strangled moan, hips jerking, muscles locking tight, I stay buried. I hold her there, breathing ragged, chest pressed to her back, her hair stuck to our skin.

We collapse together, limbs tangled, hearts racing like war drums. I kiss her temple, slowly, then her cheek, and finally her jaw.

“I love you too, Angel. I always have,” I whisper against her flushed skin.

Her breath is still hitching softly as she lies curled into my side, her body slick with sweat, flushed and trembling. I stroke her curls back from her face, watching her chest rise and fall with every shallow inhale.

She said she loved me. She finally said it.

I press a kiss to her temple and slowly slip out of bed. Her lashes flutter, but she doesn’t stir, murmuring my name under her breath.

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper, and she settles again.

In the bathroom, I remove the condom and toss it in the garbage bin before I run warm water into a basin, gather antiseptic, and fresh cotton pads, carrying it all back into the bedroom. Angelique watches me from the bed now, eyes open but still a little dazed.

“Are they bad?” she asks softly, her voice raspy.

“No,” I murmur as I set everything on the nightstand and kneel beside her. “But I’m still going to clean them.”

She nods and shifts so I can reach the cut on her inner thigh first. I dip the cotton into the warm water and clean the dried blood from her skin, careful not to touch the cut too directly yet. She hisses when I bring the antiseptic close, but I pause, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee.

“Breathe through it,” I whisper.

She nods again, bracing herself while I work slowly. I speak barely above a whisper the entire time, murmuring things she doesn’t need to respond to.

“You did so good tonight.”

“You’re stronger than you know.”

“I’m proud of you.”

When I reach the last one—the one below her ribs—I pause and let my hand rest lightly against her side. I kiss the skin beside it, and she exhales shakily.

“I needed that,” she whispers.

“I know.” I look up at her, meeting her gaze as I press the gauze gently to the last cut. “I’ll give you what you need every time. No matter what it looks like.”

Her lip trembles, but she doesn’t cry. “I thought you’d get tired of me,” she admits.

“I thought you’d leave me,” I say back. “Turns out, we were both fucking wrong.”

When I’ve finished cleaning her wounds, I tuck the covers around her and climb in beside her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close. She rests her head against my chest, right over my heart.

“You love me?” I murmur, just to hear it again.

She nods against my skin. “I love you.”

My hand finds hers under the blankets, and we lace our fingers together.

“Then I’ll fight like hell to make sure you’re here to say it again tomorrow.”