Page 47 of Reign

In a bathroom.

At my brother’s wedding.

With a man I met twenty-three minutes ago.

His free hand slides beneath the silk of my dress, palm gliding up my bare thigh with unhurried certainty. My breath catches when his fingers find the silk between my legs. He doesn’t rush. He presses the pads of two fingers against the damp fabric and rubs slow, deliberate circles over my clit. The sudden, focused pleasure forces a whimper from my throat. My hips jerk forward on instinct, chasing the pressure.

A low chuckle vibrates against my neck. “Still deciding how the night ends?”

“I’m considering my options,” I breathe out.

His fingers press harder, and my answer fractures into a moan.

“Take your time,” he murmurs, smiling into my skin.

The silk grows wetter under his touch. I can feel it. I can hear the soft, slick sound of it when he drags his fingers in tighter circles. My thighs start to tremble.

One thick fingertip traces lower, teasing along the edge of my panties, pressing just enough to feel every helpless clench of my body beneath the fabric. He doesn’t push inside. He just circles the entrance, slow and patient, letting me feel the size of those perfect fingers even through the barrier, letting the ache build until I’m shaking and soaked and making soft, desperate noises into his shoulder.

When he finally lifts his head, his gaze is dark and intent.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

His fingers leave and he pushes the skirt of my dress up my thighs, silk whispering over skin, before he lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, heels digging into his back. One of his hands stays under my ass, holding me open for him. The other yanks my panties aside with a low sound that vibrates against my mouth.

I feel the blunt, thick head of his cock against me—hot, smooth, insistent.

His eyes lock on mine. “Last chance, princesa.”

I kiss him hard instead of answering.

He pushes in slowly. The stretch is immediate, burning, too much.

It hurts. God, it hurts—a sharp, stinging burn that rips a broken cry from my throat before I can swallow it.

But underneath the pain, something electric sparks open. Bright and terrifying. It makes me chase the next breath instead of pulling away.

Luciano stills inside me, buried deep, his chest expanding hard against mine like even he needs the second. His control is everywhere else—the iron grip on my ass, the forearm braced beside my head, the steady press of his forehead to mine, but I feel the fracture anyway.

A low, rough groan tears out of him. Startled. Ruined. Then he smiles like pleasure caught him by surprise and he has decided not to deny himself another second of it.

The sound sinks straight into my blood.

He broke first.

And he likes that I made him.

“Hold on to me,” he says, his voice low and wrecked—the first time he sounds less like a man controlling the moment and more like a man inside it with me.

I obey instantly, arms wrapping tighter around his neck. His grip flexes against my thigh in quiet approval. “Tighter.”

I squeeze harder, heels digging into his back, pulling him impossibly closer. Another low groan vibrates against my mouth—quieter this time, but no less devastating. The sweetest thing I’ve ever earned.

He pulls back an inch and thrusts again. Deeper. My vision whites at the edges. A broken cry escapes me and I clench around him on instinct, the burn blooming into something sharper, hotter, almost unbearable and still not enough.

“Fuck.” His breath catches against my mouth. “You feel incredible.”

His grip on my thigh tightens—sure, strong, unyielding, like he could hold me here as long as he wanted. His mouth finds my neck again, sucking a mark just below my jaw. Slow. Deliberate. Placed where hiding it tomorrow will take effort. The realization makes me clench around him.