Page 278 of Reign

He kisses me slowly.

When he draws back, his forehead rests against mine.

“No list,” he murmurs. “No guest room. No one waiting in a club or anywhere else. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Words.”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

He releases me and returns to the closet like the decision has been settled.

Because it has. I open a drawer and grab my pajamas.

“What if I need a thousand night-lights?”

Luciano turns from the closet.

“Then your thousand night-lights go wherever you do, mi vida.”

My heart squeezes.

I immediately look down at the shorts in my hands.

“That was disgustingly sweet.”

“You’ll recover.”

“I might not.”

I place the shorts inside the suitcase.

Then I begin packing the rest of my things for our room.

Chapter 41

Luciano

This has already surpassed every fantasy I ever had about her.

Elena hangs from the ceiling of the private room at Obsidian exactly the way I pictured her the day I first saw her. Arms stretched high, wrists crossed and bound, body open, thighs spread and secured so she has nowhere to hide. Rope frames her chest, waist, and hips, supporting her while keeping her exactly where I want her. Her toes barely brush the floor, enough to steady herself without giving her any real leverage. Every breath presses her ribs against the rope. Every small shift makes it creak.

She’s perfect.

I have always thought of women as sacred things. Goddesses. Beautiful, worthy of respect, meant to be kept safe. I have never been awestruck. Never looked at a woman and understood worship. Until her.

Her body is a masterpiece, yes, but it is her mind that undoes me. That sharp, vicious, brilliant mind. And that mouth I love so much—the same mouth that has cut me, challenged me, and begged me—is currently silenced by the gag I chose for her tonight.

The fire in her eyes is still there though, bright and furious and alive. I smirk at it. Without that tongue she can’t spit venom, but she doesn’t need words. I can read every filthy promise and every quiet threat in the way she looks at me.

She let me put her here, exactly like this. The trust in that nearly rivals the sight of her.

I step closer and don’t touch her yet.

My fingertips hover just above the underside of one breast, close enough that she can feel the heat of my skin. I drag them slowly downward without making contact, watching the way her stomach tightens in anticipation. Then I let the soft edge of a silk-covered paddle whisper across the inside of her thigh. Light. Almost nothing.