Page 36 of Made for Reign

“Why?”

“And spread your legs.”

“I asked why?”

His eyes burn into mine. “So I can make you come.”

My heart stops, then starts again at double speed. I know that I should tell him no, but I find myself sitting back onto the marble counter and spreading my legs anyway.

Reign’s hands slide up my thighs, and he pushes my dress up higher. “That’s my good girl.”

He hooks his fingers in my panties, and I lift my hips to help him slide them down my legs. The scrap of lace disappears into his pocket.

“These are mine now,” he says. Then he yanks my thighs apart.

The first touch of his fingers against my center makes me gasp. He’s gentle at first, exploring, relearning what makes me respond. When he finds that perfect spot, my head falls back against the mirror.

“Look at me,” he orders. “I want to watch your face when you fall apart.”

His fingers work me with devastating skill, building the pressure until I’m trembling on the edge. When he drops to his knees, and his mouth joins his fingers, I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud. The combination of his tongue and fingers pushes me over the cliff, pleasure crashing through me in waves.

Before I can recover, Reign stands up and positions himself between my thighs. I hear the tear of foil, then he’s pushing inside me, filling me completely. We both freeze at the sensation, adjusting to being joined again after two weeks of desperate longing.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he groans against my neck. “Like you were made just for me.”

He sets a rhythm that’s both tender and demanding as he drives into me. Each thrust hits exactly where I need him, building the tension again until I’m gasping his name.

“Come for me again,” he demands, his voice strained with his own need. “I want to feel this pussy clench around my cock.”

The command sends me spiraling over the edge again, my body clenching around him. He follows with a harsh groan, his face buried in my shoulder as he empties himself inside me. We stay locked together for a long moment, then Reign pulls back to look at me.

“Give me your phone,” he says suddenly.

I blink at him, still trying to catch my breath. Of all the things I expected him to say after what just happened, that wasn’t one of them.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“Your phone. Give it to me.”

“Why?”

His jaw tightens. “Because I’m not letting you disappear on me again. I spent two weeks going out of my mind wondering if you were real or if I’d imagined the whole thing.”

The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest ache. I reach for my purse with shaking hands and pull out my phone, handing it to him without another word.

He takes it and starts typing, his fingers moving quickly across the screen. After a moment, his own phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at it, then hands mine back to me.

“There. Now I have your real number, and you have mine.”

I stare down at the contact he’s created: “Reign.”

Simple. Direct. Like everything else about him.

He tilts my chin up with one finger, forcing me to meet his eyes. “From now on, when you’re feeling turned on or need to come, you call me.”

My head spins at the audacity of what he’s saying. “Reign, I’m engaged.”

“For now.”

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