Page 49 of Reign

The control I’ve held since the second I locked that door gives under the tight, fluttering grip of her pussy. She comes around me without warning, eyes wide with shock, a choked sound tearing from her lips.

Responsive.

So goddamn responsive.

The surprise in her eyes nearly makes me smile. She crossed a ballroom with all that confidence and had no idea how easily her own body would surrender her.

Now I do.

I drive into her harder—deeper—chasing the greedy pulses that keep dragging me under.

I don’t stop.

She locks her legs tighter and takes every thrust with those soft, broken sounds spilling against my mouth. Her scent is everywhere. Her voice is everywhere.

Every response she gives me asks for more.

So I give it to her.

The way her pussy clenches as she trembles and takes every thrust like she needs it just as badly as I do—it burns away every rule I’ve lived by.

I bury myself to the hilt and let pleasure tear through me, sharp enough to strip away every remaining thought.

My head drops to the curve of her neck. A rough groan leaves me as I come, my hand gripping her thigh hard enough to bruise.

For once, I don’t contain a damn thing.

For several breaths, I stay there, buried inside her, breathing against her skin.

When the last pulse eases, I lift my head. My mouth grazes her throat before I press my forehead to hers.

Her eyes are dazed. Her mouth is swollen. She looks…happy.

I am too.

I kiss her once more because I want to, then finally ease out of her. The loss of her almost enough to make me push back in. My hands stay steady on her waist as I lower her until her heels touch the floor.

She sways.

I catch her before she can stumble, keeping one hand around her waist while I tuck myself away without looking down. My attention is still on her and the satisfaction she hasn’t managed to hide.

I tug the folded linen pocket square from my breast pocket and drop to one knee. I clean gently between her thighs, taking my time with an intimacy I didn’t expect to want.

The first pass between her thighs comes away slick.

The second leaves a thin streak of bright red across the white.

The moment dies.

Every detail I ignored replays in cold, precise clarity: the sharp gasp when I first pushed inside, the impossible tightness that never eased, the way her body trembled but never pulled away, the way she kissed me instead of answering when I gave her an out.

She was bold.

But bold is not the same as experienced, and I made them interchangeable because I wanted to.

She followed me because she wanted me. She hid the one truth that would’ve changed what I was willing to give her.

The realization lands like ice water.