Page 130 of Reign

“Should I be?”

“Most men don’t enjoy being called possessive.”

“Most men waste energy lying to themselves.”

I stare at him.

Damn, that was hot.

“Sixth,” he says, “you don’t owe me trust because I ask for it. I earn it.”

He lowers himself into the armchair across from me and leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“I’ll direct the training,” he says. “You keep authority over your consent. If I misread you, push too quickly, or make you feel unsafe, you tell me. If I haven’t earned enough trust for something I ask of you, the answer is no.”

I study his face. “So that one is your rule.”

“It’s my responsibility.”

I write that down without adding anything beneath it.

“That’s all six?” I ask.

“Those are the six that fit in your notebook.”

“Reassuring.”

“You’re making jokes because you’re nervous.”

“I make jokes whenever I’m awake.”

“I’ve noticed.” His gaze warms. “Keep them. I enjoy your mouth, princesa. But when I ask for the truth, the joke comes with an answer.”

My fingers tighten slightly around the pen.

“That seems demanding.”

“You came to me for training.”

“I’m beginning to regret it.”

“Another lie.”

His amusement returns, quiet and certain, while the truth settles somewhere low in my chest.

I look down at my notebook, at all the comments I’ve written between the rules. They suddenly look less like jokes and more like shields.

I close it halfway. “Do I learn how to sit? Yield? Stay?”

Luciano’s attention shifts from the notebook to me. “What’s underneath the joke?”

My fingers tighten around the cover.

“Curiosity,” I admit. “Embarrassment.”

He waits, giving me room to find the rest.

“And I don’t know what I’m doing.”