Page 27 of Vows in Sin

R eign

The breeze comes off the water, cooling my skin. The night is so beautiful. I watch her, attempting to clean herself up with the old-fashioned napkin scarf thing that always seems to be in my suit jacket pocket.

The moonlight shimmers off her lavender silk dress as she wipes me from the inside of her thigh.

She’s so stunning. So mine. The sight of her makes me do something crazy.

“May I have this dance?”

She smiles at me. “Sure.”

Using my good hand, I take hers and place it on my shoulder. Guide her into a slow, awkward sway.

She winces as I step on her bare foot.

“Christ, sorry?—”

She laughs.

“I don’t dance.”

She leans in, breath tickling my neck. “You’re a terrible dancer. But you’re an incredible kisser.”

I pull her in. Crush my mouth to hers.

And nothing else exists.

Not the wedding. Not the danger. Not the secret we’re keeping.

Only Seraphina, and the fire she lights in me.

I sneak her back in the nick of time. Tabitha’s looking for me. She wants us to join the others for the father-daughter dance. The bride sways in the arms of her father, Falcon, a man with a graying beard. It’s not lost on me that I’m only a few years shy of him.

I try not to step on my daughter’s feet. And hold my tongue.

When the music fades and guests begin to slip away to guest rooms or the terrace for drinks, I return to the garden alone. The smoke from the candlelit ceremony still lingers in my clothes. My wounds ache. And I feel more alive than I have in years.

I go back to Blaze and Cleo’s place. The house bustles with quiet, with laughter, with whispered stories from the escape. People carry wine glasses and talk about the fire in soft voices like it’s already part of our history, not a trauma still vibrating in our bones.

I overhear someone. “Reign had a feeling. That hunch saved us all.”

I can’t hear any more. I slip past the voices. Up to my room.

Where her strawberry essence still lingers.

Her room is just down the hall. Right next to Tabitha’s.

I run a hand through my hair. Look in the mirror.

Not a young man.

Not a gentleman.

But not a beast either.

Only a man who’s finally found the thing he was sure he’d never see again.

Suddenly, her image appears beside me in the mirror. At first, I think I’m dreaming of her again.

Barefoot. Wearing one of those silk robes that the estate staff sets out in the guest rooms, except on her, it looks indecent like temptation itself. The moonlight cuts across her skin, softening everything—her curves, her cheeks, the uncertain glint in her eyes.

“You okay?” she asks.

I should lie. Tell her yes. But tonight, I’m too tired to pretend. I shake my head once.

She walks to me. No hesitation.

I sit on the edge of the bed, one arm still in a sling, the other gripping the edge of the mattress like it’s the only thing anchoring me. She kneels in front of me, her fingers brushing my knees, her eyes searching mine like she can see the storm inside me.

“I know what you’re going to say,” I murmur. “This is a bad idea.”

“No,” she whispers. “I was going to say I missed you. At the wedding. It was weird to be so close yet not be able to touch.”

It’s a fucking thrill when someone pulls the words straight from your heart. Feeling the same feelings. Having the same thoughts.

It makes the loneliness wash away.

I lean down. Our mouths meet like we’ve been waiting years instead of hours. My good hand buries in her hair. She climbs onto my lap, straddling me carefully, gently, mindful of my injury but not of my restraint.

There is none.

Her robe parts. She’s wearing nothing underneath.

And God help me, I forget how to breathe.

Her skin is like heaven under my palms—warm, flushed, impossibly soft. My hand trembles as I run it over her waist, down the curve of her hip. Not from hesitation. From reverence. From awe. From a kind of hunger I don’t know how to name.

She settles onto my lap with careful grace, mindful of the sling on my arm, but reckless with everything else.

She kisses me like she’s starving for it—like she’s waited too long and can’t stand another second.

And I kiss her back like a dying man clutching the only taste of salvation he’ll ever get.

My lips trail fire across her throat, her collarbone. She arches into me, her breath catching when I trace my mouth lower. She’s all soft sounds and warm curves, a symphony of sensation. My name escapes her lips in a whisper, almost reverent, and it guts me.

Because this isn’t lust.

This is surrender.

Her fingers knot in my hair, holding me to her as I explore her slowly, thoroughly. I don’t rush. I don’t dominate. I don’t need to.

We make love like we’re rediscovering touch.

Like we’ve both been starved for something real and finally found it in each other.

I guide her gently, lifting her with my good arm as she sinks onto me. Her gasp breaks into a moan that echoes through my chest. She fits me like we were made for this—this slow, aching rhythm that feels more like worship than sex.

Her hands slide over my shoulders. Her forehead presses to mine. We breathe each other in, eyes wide open. No masks. No pretense. Raw, stripped honesty.

Every rock of her hips is a confession.

Every gasp is a promise.

“Don’t disappear on me again,” I growl against her skin, my voice low. “Ever. You hear me?”

“I won’t,” she whispers, breathless, trembling. “I swear, I won’t.”

And then I lose myself completely.

She’s everything. The pulse of her body around mine. The grip of her thighs. The heat of her mouth when I kiss her again and again like I’ll never stop. And maybe I won’t. Not now. Not after this.

Not after knowing what it feels like to be wanted finally.

I lift her hips, sink into her deeper, and everything else disappears.

The ache. The guilt. The fear.

“Dad?” The familiar voice freezes us both.

We jolt apart, Seraphina yanking the sheets over her chest as we turn toward the door.

Tabitha.

Standing in the doorway.

Wide-eyed.

Silent.

Seraphina makes a tiny sound—somewhere between a gasp and a sob. I reach for the edge of the sheet, cursing under my breath, heart pounding like I’ve been shot.

Tabitha blinks.

Then turns?—

And walks away.

The silence she leaves behind is deafening.

Seraphina sits frozen, her body trembling under the covers, her breathing shallow and uneven. I shift toward her, the adrenaline still slamming through my veins like a wrecking ball. My heart feels like it’s trying to climb out of my chest.

“She saw,” she whispers, voice raw. “Oh God, Reign. She saw us.”

I pull the sheets tighter around her, shielding her like it makes a goddamn difference now. “I know.”

“She didn’t even say anything.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, panic blooming across her face. “What if she hates me? What if she thinks I?—”

“She won’t,” I say, too fast. Too desperate.

She turns her face to mine. “But she might.”

And fuck if that doesn’t tear something open in me.

Because I don’t have the right words. Not this time. I don’t have the wisdom to fix it, no quiet strength to wrap around her like armor.

All I’ve got is blood on my hands and fire in my past. And now the one good thing I’ve touched might be burning, too.

“She’s my daughter,” I finally say. “And I’ve protected her from everything. Except this.”

Seraphina flinches, as if I include her in the wreckage.

I reach for her cheek. “I didn’t mean?—”

“I know,” she breathes, eyes closing as she leans into my touch.

“Do you?” I ask, really hoping she gets it but understanding if she can’t.

Blinking back tears, she nods. Wrapping a robe around herself, she gets up, leaving the bed. Leaving me. Going to the farthest corner of the room like she needs all the space she can get.

But she’s back, her phone in her hand. She comes to my side. “I want to show you something.”

The phone screen lights up and I stare down at it. Pictures. Of me and my daughter. She’s been secretly working on her art. She glides through, finding one of us and Tabitha at dinner, sharing a joke, the same spark of laughter in our matching green eyes.

My voice chokes with emotion. “That’s beautiful.”

Seraphina swipes the screen.

Now we’re under the medical tent. Me in a chair, my shirt open to the chest, Tabitha hovering over me, lips pursed, brow furrowed as she dabs antiseptic on the burn along my neck.

So proud of the woman my little girl has grown up to be, I’m staring up at Tabitha like she hung the damn moon.

“You can see—I do get it.” Seraphina puts a soft hand on my arm. “Go after her.”