Page 115 of Made for Reign

TWENTY-SIX

AUDREY

Warmth encases me like a cocoon.Reign’s arm lies heavy across my waist, his fingers splayed possessively against my stomach even in sleep. I blink against the early morning light streaming through the cabin windows, taking in the mountain view that will witness our vows today.

Our wedding day.

The thought sends a little thrill through me, so different from the dread I felt when planning my ceremony with Gio. This is real. This is mine. This is us.

I shift slightly, just enough to see more of the mountains without disturbing Reign. Their peaks catch the morning sun, turning the snow caps golden. In just a few hours, we’ll stand in that clearing halfway up the slope, exchanging vows under the open sky. No church filled with society’s elite. No photographers from glossy magazines. No designer gown worth more than some people’s homes. Just us, a handful of friends, and a justice of the peace Marcus arranged.

Behind me, Reign’s breathing changes, deepening slightly. His arm tightens, drawing me back against the hard plane of his chest. Even unconscious, he needs to feel me, to hold me. Thepossessiveness that once might have seemed controlling now feels like sanctuary.

It’s been two weeks since the lakehouse. Two weeks since Reign came for me. Since Gio died by Reign’s hand when he tried to kill us both. The investigation closed yesterday. Self-defense, the detective said. Cut and dried. The bullet in Reign’s shoulder and the statement from Marcus left no room for doubt.

Reign shifts again behind me, his lips finding the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

“Morning,” he rumbles, voice rough with sleep and something darker, more primal.

“Morning,” I whisper back, tilting my head to give him better access.

His teeth graze my skin, sending shivers down my spine. “Last chance to back out, Princess. After today, you’re mine. Completely. Legally. Forever.”

I turn in his arms, needing to see his face. His eyes are dark, watching me with that intense focus that still makes my breath catch.

“I’m already yours,” I remind him, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips.

“But it’s different now. After today, everyone will know it. That you chose me.” His hand slides down my side. “That you belong to me.”

The caveman possessiveness in his voice sends heat pooling low in my belly. With Reign, belonging has never meant being owned. It’s means being cherished. Protected. Desired. Seen.

Loved.

“Do you regret it?” he asks, his hand pausing at my hip. “The small ceremony?”

I laugh, the sound soft in the quiet morning.

“Definitely not. I’ve had enough performances to last a lifetime.” I press closer, letting him feel the length of my bodyagainst his. “This is all I want. You. Our friends. No pretending for anyone.”

His hand resumes its journey, sliding beneath the T-shirt I slept in—his T-shirt, which swallows my smaller frame.

“Good,” he says, voice dropping to that register that makes my toes curl. “Because after today, you’re Mrs. Mitchell. My wife. Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to fuck whenever and however I want.”

The crude words contrast with the gentle way his fingers trace patterns on my skin. This is Reign with his rough edges and tender center. Brutally honest but always deeply caring.

“And what does that mean?” I ask, my own hands sliding under his shirt to feel the warm skin and hard muscle beneath. “Being your wife?”

His eyes darken further.

“It means you never have to pretend again. Never have to be anyone but yourself.” His hand slides higher, skimming the underside of my breast. “It means I’ll destroy anyone who tries to hurt you. Who tries to control you.” His thumb brushes over my nipple, drawing a gasp from my lips. “It means I’ll spend every day making sure you know exactly how fucking perfect you are.”

I arch into his touch, my body responding to him with embarrassing eagerness. “And what does it mean for you?” I challenge, my nails scraping lightly down his chest. “Being my husband?”

A dangerous smile curves his lips.

“It means I’m the luckiest bastard alive.” He rolls suddenly, pinning me beneath him with his larger frame. “It means I get to wake up to this every morning. Get to touch you, taste you, whenever you’ll let me.” He lowers his head, his mouth a breath away from mine. “Which better be often, Princess, because I’m not sure I can keep my hands off you.”

As if to prove his point, he slides one hand into my sleep shorts. My legs part instinctively.

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