Page 210 of Reign

“Because you’ve been in this kitchen for thirty seconds and have barely looked at me. I’d like a closer look at whatever mood this is.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure.” I smile. “Come here.”

She gives me a look like I’m inconveniencing her and possibly ruining the entire concept of breakfast.

Then she sits on my thigh with the dramatic reluctance of a woman being asked to suffer for a cause.

My hand goes to her waist on instinct.

She’s light.

Warm.

Too easy to hold.

For a moment, she stays stiff, hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the bowl. Her ponytail brushes my shoulder when she shifts. She smells like her shampoo and the soap from her bath last night, and having her here feels embarrassingly natural.

I pick up the ridiculous fork.

I spear a few berries and drag them through the slushy coconut water.

“Open.”

She turns her head enough to glare. “You don’t need to feed me. I can feed myself.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because I want to feed you.”

Her lips part. Surprised for a moment.

“Are we having a lesson before nine in the morning?”

“If you need an academic reason to let me feed you breakfast, I can invent one.”

“Invent one?”

“Some doms will want that,” I say, bringing the fork closer. “Feeding you. Dressing you. Choosing for you in small ways. Not because you’re incapable, but because allowing it can be part of the exchange.”

Her eyes narrow. “That sounds suspiciously convenient.”

“It is.”

“So that’s your excuse for feeding me.”

“It’s educational.”

She looks like she’s considering biting me instead.

I lift the fork. “Open.”

Her glare holds for another second.

Then she opens her mouth.