Page 180 of Reign

Absolutely not.

My stomach drops so fast I get offended by my own body.

No. He said I can’t see any other Doms while he’s training me.

Wait.

He never said the rule applied to him.

My chest burns.

No.

I am not jealous because that would be ridiculous.

I’m irritated.

Possibly homicidal.

Maybe a little hurt, which is even more annoying because I have no right to be. He’s not mine. I’m not his.

Another grunt rolls through the floor.

My hands curl into fists.

Oh my God.

If there is a woman in this house, I’m going to kill him.

Or her.

No. Him.

Probably him. Not really her fault.

I follow the sound down the hall, past a staircase I hadn’t noticed before, then down another level into a part of the house that feels colder, quieter. The air changes. Less polished wood and expensive citrus. More metal, leather, and heat.

The hall opens into a gym.

A real gym.

Weights line one wall. Treadmills face a long mirror. There are machines I don’t even know how to name, thick mats across the floor, a boxing ring in the back, and several heavy bags hanging from the ceiling.

And Luciano.

Alone.

Sweaty, shirtless, and hitting a punching bag hard enough that it swings back on its chain with every strike.

Oh.

That’s worse.

That is so much worse.

His knuckles are taped. His dark hair is damp, pushed back from his face. Sweat trails down the center of his chest, over the hard cut of his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his black shorts like it has somewhere important to be.

I hate sweat.