Page 233 of Reign

Luciano crosses to my side of the bed holding my nightlight.

My nightlight.

He crouches beside the outlet, plugs it in, and switches it on. A soft amber glow spreads across the wall.

A stupid lump rises in my throat.

He brought my nightlight into his room.

“You got it,” I whisper.

“You said you sleep with it.”

That’s all.

He doesn’t tease me. He doesn’t ask whether I’m too old for it or suggest that the lamp should be enough. He doesn’t decide that having him here should magically make me stop needing something I’ve always needed.

I told him.

He listened.

“Better?” he asks.

I nod before remembering he’s waiting for words. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He turns off the lamp beside me, returns to bed, and settles behind me.

His arms slip around me. He draws my back against his chest. His arm beneath my shoulders slips forward, his hand curving gently around my throat, warm and sure, his palm resting there like he’s anchoring the part of me that speaks and breathes. His other arm comes over my hip, his hand sliding down to cup between my legs with the same quiet possession, palm warm and firm against me, fingers relaxed. He doesn’t squeeze. He doesn’t stroke.

He simply has me.

He holds me without trapping me.

Surrounded, but not smothered.

Safe.

The weight of his hand at my throat and the steady claim of his palm between my legs don’t spark anything sharp. They settle something instead. Like every scattered, anxious piece of me has been gathered and is being kept together while I sleep.

“Good?” he murmurs against my ear.

My eyes burn for an entirely different reason now.

“Yes.”

His lips touch the side of my neck.

Barely there.

Still enough to make me melt.

“Sleep, princesa.”

Warm light from my nightlight rests against the wall. Luciano’s heartbeat presses steadily against my back. I’m secure in his arms.

This is the problem with him.