Page 150 of Reign

His hand presses more firmly against the small of my back, supporting every hard roll of my hips.

“So fucking impatient,” he murmurs. “You’d ride my cock exactly like this—taking me hard and deep and still demanding more.”

I moan openly, no longer trying to swallow the sounds. My hips move faster, chasing the slick drag of the toy against my clit and the firm muscle beneath it.

Luciano’s mouth brushes my neck.

“You’re doing beautifully,” he says. “Fuck, princesa—the way you move.”

The pressure winds tighter and tighter, pleasure gathering until every roll of my hips sends another sharp pulse through me.

Luciano lifts his head. “Look at me.”

I meet his eyes.

His control is still intact, but I can see what it costs him now. His jaw is tight. His breathing is deeper. His gaze follows every reaction like there is nowhere else he would rather look.

“Let me see you.”

My thighs begin to tremble around his leg.

“Luciano—”

“I know.” His hand tightens at my back, holding me close. “Come for me, princesa.”

The command breaks the last thread of control I have left.

The orgasm crashes through me, ripping a broken cry from my throat. My hips stutter over his thigh as pleasure rolls through me in sharp, breathless waves.

Luciano keeps the vibration steady and holds me through every one.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’ve got you. Ride it out.”

My fingers dig into his shoulders. My body shakes against him beneath the pleasure.

He lowers the vibration gradually as the waves begin to ease.

“Beautiful,” he says softly. “So fucking beautiful.”

By the time the toy goes still, I’m panting against him with my forehead resting on his shoulder and absolutely no usable dignity left in my body.

My hips twitch once against his thigh in an aftershock, completely beyond my control.

I would like to formally resign from having a body.

His hand strokes slowly up and down my back. “Color, Elena.”

“Green,” I breathe, still panting. “Very… very green.”

“Good.”

His fingers brush my hair back from my damp forehead, gentle enough to make my throat tighten. When I finally manage to look at him, there’s something in his eyes—dark, intense, almost possessive—that I’m not entirely sure I’m imagining.

Then my knee brushes against the very obvious hardness in his pants. A stupid little thrill runs through me.

Well.

At least my body isn’t the only traitor in the room.